theodicy essays on the goodness of god the freedom of man and the origin of evil g.w. leibniz edited with an introduction by austin farrer, fellow of trinity college, oxford translated by e.m. huggard from c.j. gerhardt's edition of the collected philosophical works, - open [logo] court la salle, illinois * * * * * [logo] open court and the above logo are registered in the u.s. patent & trademark office. published by open court publishing company, peru, illinois . this edition first published by routledge & kegan paul limited, london. second printing third printing fourth printing fifth printing printed and bound in the united states of america. library of congress cataloging-in-publication data leibniz, gottfried wilhelm, freiherr von, - . theodicy: essays on the goodness of god, the freedom of man, and the origin of evil. translation of: essais de théodicée. includes index. . theodicy--early works to . i. title. b .e '. - isbn o- - - [ ] * * * * * contents * * * * * editor's introduction page preface preliminary dissertation on the conformity of faith with reason essays on the justice of god and the freedom of man in the , , origin of evil, in three parts appendices summary of the controversy, reduced to formal arguments excursus on theodicy, § reflexions on the work that mr. hobbes published in english on 'freedom, necessity and chance' observations on the book concerning 'the origin of evil', published recently in london causa dei asserta index [ ] * * * * * editor's introduction * * * * * i leibniz was above all things a metaphysician. that does not mean that his head was in the clouds, or that the particular sciences lacked interest for him. not at all--he felt a lively concern for theological debate, he was a mathematician of the first rank, he made original contributions to physics, he gave a realistic attention to moral psychology. but he was incapable of looking at the objects of any special enquiry without seeing them as aspects or parts of one intelligible universe. he strove constantly after system, and the instrument on which his effort relied was the speculative reason. he embodied in an extreme form the spirit of his age. nothing could be less like the spirit of ours. to many people now alive metaphysics means a body of wild and meaningless assertions resting on spurious argument. a professor of metaphysics may nowadays be held to deal handsomely with the duties of his chair if he is prepared to handle metaphysical statements at all, though it be only for the purpose of getting rid of them, by showing them up as confused forms of something else. a chair in metaphysical philosophy becomes analogous to a chair in tropical diseases: what is taught from it is not the propagation but the cure. confidence in metaphysical construction has ebbed and flowed through philosophical history; periods of speculation have been followed by periods of criticism. the tide will flow again, but it has not turned yet, and [ ] such metaphysicians as survive scarcely venture further than to argue a case for the possibility of their art. it would be an embarrassing task to open an approach to leibnitian metaphysics from the present metaphysical position, if there is a present position. if we want an agreed starting-point, it will have to be historical. the historical importance of leibniz's ideas is anyhow unmistakable. if metaphysical thinking is nonsensical, its empire over the human imagination must still be confessed; if it is as chimerical a science as alchemy, it is no less fertile in by-products of importance. and if we are to consider leibniz historically, we cannot do better than take up his _theodicy_, for two reasons. it was the only one of his main philosophical works to be published in his lifetime, so that it was a principal means of his direct influence; the leibniz his own age knew was the leibniz of the _theodicy_. then in the second place, the _theodicy_ itself is peculiarly rich in historical material. it reflects the world of men and books which leibniz knew; it expresses the theological setting of metaphysical speculation which still predominated in the first years of the eighteenth century. leibniz is remembered for his philosophy; he was not a professional philosopher. he was offered academic chairs, but he declined them. he was a gentleman, a person of means, librarian to a reigning prince, and frequently employed in state affairs of trust and importance. the librarian might at any moment become the political secretary, and offer his own contributions to policy. leibniz was for the greater part of his active life the learned and confidential servant of the house of brunswick; when the duke had nothing better to do with him, he set him to research into ducal history. if leibniz had a profession in literature, it was history rather than philosophy. he was even more closely bound to the interests of his prince than john locke was to those of the prince of orange. the houses of orange and of brunswick were on the same side in the principal contest which divided europe, the battle between louis xiv and his enemies. it was a turning-point of the struggle when the prince of orange supplanted louis's stuart friends on the english throne. it was a continuation of the same movement, when leibniz's master, george i, succeeded to the same throne, and frustrated the restoration of the stuart heir. locke returned to england in the wake of the prince of orange, and became the [ ] representative thinker of the régime. leibniz wished to come to the english court of george i, but was unkindly ordered to attend to the duties of his librarianship. so he remained in hanover. he was then an old man, and before the tide of favour had turned, he died. posterity has reckoned locke and leibniz the heads of rival sects, but politically they were on the same side. as against louis's political absolutism and enforced religious uniformity, both championed religious toleration and the freedom of the mind. their theological liberalism was political prudence; it was not necessarily for that reason the less personally sincere. they had too much wisdom to meet bigotry with bigotry, or set protestant intolerance against catholic absolutism. but they had too much sympathy with the spirit of europe to react into free thinking or to make a frontal attack on revealed truth. they took their stand on a fundamental christian theism, the common religion of all good men; they repudiated the negative enormities of hobbes and spinoza. the christian was to hold a position covered by three lines of defences. the base line was to be the substance of christian theism and of christian morals, and it was to be held by the forces of sheer reason, without aid from scriptural revelation. the middle line was laid down by the general sense of scripture, and the defence of it was this. 'scriptural doctrine is reconcilable with the findings of sheer reason, but it goes beyond them. we believe the scriptures, because they are authenticated by marks of supernatural intervention in the circumstances of their origin. we believe them, but reason controls our interpretation of them.' there remained the most forward and the most hazardous line: the special positions which a church, a sect, or an individual might found upon the scriptural revelation. a prudent man would not hold his advance positions in the same force or defend them with the same obstinacy as either of the lines behind them. he could argue for them, but he could not require assent to them. one cannot help feeling, indeed, the readiness of these writers to fall back, not only from the front line to the middle line, but from the middle line itself to the base line. leibniz, for example, writes with perfect seriousness and decency about the christian scheme of redemption, but it hardly looks like being for him a crucial deliverance from perdition. it is not the intervention of mercy, by which alone he possesses himself of [ ] us: it is one of the ways in which supreme benevolence carries out a cosmic policy; and god's benevolence is known by pure reason, and apart from christian revelation. in one politically important particular the theological attitude of leibniz differed from that of locke. both stood for toleration and for the minimizing of the differences between the sects. this was a serious enough matter in england, but it was an even more serious matter in germany. for germany was divided between catholics and protestants; effective toleration must embrace them both. english toleration might indulge a harmless catholic minority, while rejecting the catholic régime as the embodiment of intolerance. but this was not practical politics on the continent; you must tolerate catholicism on an equal footing, and come to terms with catholic régimes. leibniz was not going to damn the pope with true protestant fervour. it was his consistent aim to show that his theological principles were as serviceable to catholic thinkers as to the doctors of his own church. on some points, indeed, he found his most solid support from catholics; in other places there are hints of a joint catholic-lutheran front against calvinism. but on the whole leibniz's writings suggest that the important decisions cut across all the churches, and not between them. leibniz was impelled to a compromise with 'popery', not only by the religious divisions of germany, but (at one stage) by the political weakness of the german protestant states. at the point of louis xiv's highest success, the protestant princes had no hope but in catholic austria, and austria was distracted by turkish pressure in the rear. leibniz hoped to relieve the situation by preaching a crusade. could not the christian princes sink their differences and unite against the infidel? and could not the christian alliance be cemented by theological agreement? hence leibniz's famous negotiation with bossuet for a basis of catholic-lutheran concord. it was plainly destined to fail; and it was bound to recoil upon its author. how could he be a true protestant who treated the differences with the catholics as non-essentials? how could he have touched pitch and taken no defilement? leibniz was generally admired, but he was not widely trusted. as a mere politician, he may be judged to have over-reached himself. it has been the object of the preceding paragraphs to show that leibniz[ ] the politician and leibniz the theologian were one and the same person; not at all to suggest that his rational theology was just political expediency. we may apply to him a parody of his own doctrine, the pre-established harmony between nature and grace. everything happens as though leibniz were a liberal politician, and his theology expressed his politics. yes, but equally, everything happens as though leibniz were a philosophical theologian, and his politics expressed his theology. his appreciation of catholic speculation was natural and sincere; his dogmatic ancestry is to be looked for in thomism and catholic humanism as much as anywhere. above all, he had himself a liberal and generous mind. it gave him pleasure to appreciate good wherever he could see it, and to discover a soul of truth in every opinion. from the moment when leibniz became aware of himself as an independent thinker, he was the man of a doctrine. sometimes he called it 'my principles', sometimes 'the new system', sometimes 'pre-established harmony'. it could be quite briefly expressed; he was always ready to oblige his friends with a summary statement, either in a letter or an enclosed memorandum, and several such have come down to us. the doctrine may have been in leibniz's view simple, but it was applicable to every department of human speculation or enquiry. it provided a new alphabet of philosophical ideas, and everything in heaven and earth could be expressed in it; not only could be, but ought to be, and leibniz showed tireless energy in working out restatements of standing problems. as a man with an idea, with a philosophical nostrum, leibniz may be compared to bishop berkeley. there was never any more doubt that leibniz was a leibnitian than that berkeley was a berkeleian. but there is no comparison between the two men in the width of their range. about many things berkeley never took the trouble to berkeleianize. to take the most surprising instance of his neglect--he assured the world that his whole doctrine pointed to, and hung upon, theology. but what sort of a theology? he scarcely took the first steps in the formulation of it. he preferred to keep on defending and explaining his _esse est percipi_. with leibniz it is wholly different; he carries his new torch into every corner, to illuminate the dark questions. the wide applicability of pre-established harmony might come home to its inventor as a rich surprise. the reflective historian will find it less[ ] surprising, for he will suspect that the applications were in view from the start. what was leibniz thinking of when the new principle flashed upon him? what was he _not_ thinking of? he had a many-sided mind. if the origins of the principle were complex, little wonder that its applications were manifold. every expositor of leibniz who does not wish to be endlessly tedious must concentrate attention on one aspect of leibniz's principle, and one source of its origin. we will here give an account of the matter which, we trust, will go most directly to the heart of it, but we will make no claims to sufficient interpretation of leibniz's thought-processes. leibniz, then, like all the philosophers of the seventeenth century, was reforming scholasticism in the light of a new physical science. the science was mathematical in its form, mechanistical in its doctrine, and unanswerable in its evidence--it got results. but it was metaphysically intractable, and the doctrines of infinite and finite substance which it generated furnish a gallery of metaphysical grotesques; unless we are to except leibniz; his system is, if nothing else, a miracle of ingenuity, and there are moments when we are in danger of believing it. it is a natural mistake for the student of seventeenth-century thought to underestimate the tenacity of scholastic aristotelianism. descartes, we all know, was reared in it, but then descartes overthrew it; and he had done his work and died by the time that leibniz was of an age to philosophize at all. we expect to see leibniz starting on his shoulders and climbing on from there. we are disappointed. leibniz himself tells us that he was raised in the scholastic teaching. his acquaintance with descartes's opinions was second-hand, and they were retailed to him only that they might be derided. he agreed, like an amiable youth, with his preceptors. the next phase of his development gave him a direct knowledge of cartesian writings, and of other modern books beside, such as those of the atomist gassendi. he was delighted with what he read, because of its fertility in the field of physics and mathematics; and for a short time he was an enthusiastic modern. but presently he became dissatisfied. the new systems did not go far enough, they were still scientifically inadequate. at the same time they went too far, and carried metaphysical paradox beyond the limits of human credulity. [ ] there is no mystery about leibniz's scientific objections to the new philosophers. if he condemned them here, it was on the basis of scientific thought and observation. descartes's formulation of the laws of motion could, for example, be refuted by physical experiment; and if his general view of physical nature was bound up with it, then so much the worse for the cartesian philosophy. but whence came leibniz's more strictly metaphysical objections? where had he learned that standard of metaphysical adequacy which showed up the inadequacy of the new metaphysicians? his own disciples might be satisfied to reply, that he learnt it from reason herself; but the answer will not pass with us. leibniz reasoned, indeed, but he did not reason from nowhere, nor would he have got anywhere if he had. his conception of metaphysical reason was what his early scholastic training had made it. there are certain absurd opinions which we are sure we have been taught, although, when put to it, we find it hard to name the teacher. among them is something of this sort. 'leibniz was a scholarly and sympathetic thinker. he had more sense of history than his contemporaries, and he was instinctively eclectic. he believed he could learn something from each of his great predecessors. we see him reaching back to cull a notion from plato or from aristotle; he even found something of use in the scholastics. in particular, he picked out the aristotelian "entelechy" to stop a gap in the philosophy of his own age.' what this form of statement ignores is that leibniz _was_ a scholastic: a scholastic endeavouring, like descartes before him, to revolutionize scholasticism. the word 'entelechy' was, indeed, a piece of antiquity which leibniz revived, but the thing for which it stood was the most familiar of current scholastic conceptions. 'entelechy' means active principle of wholeness or completion in an individual thing. scholasticism was content to talk about it under the name of 'substantial form' or 'formal cause'. but the scholastic interpretation of the idea was hopelessly discredited by the new science, and the scholastic terms shared the discredit of scholastic doctrine. leibniz wanted a term with a more general sound. 'there is an _x_', he wanted to say, 'which scholasticism has defined as substantial form, but i am going to give a new definition of it.' entelechy was a useful name for _x_, the more so as it had the authority of aristotle, the master of scholasticism. under the name of entelechy leibniz was upholding the soul of [ ] scholastic doctrine, while retrenching the limbs and outward flourishes. the doctrine of substantial form which he learnt in his youth had had _something_ in it; he could not settle down in the principles of descartes or of gassendi, because both ignored this vital _something_. since the requirements of a new science would not allow a return to sheer scholasticism, it was necessary to find a fresh philosophy, in which entelechy and mechanism might be accommodated side by side. if one had asked any 'modern' of the seventeenth century to name the 'ancient' doctrine he most abominated, he would most likely have replied, 'substantial form'. let us recall what was rejected under this name, and why. the medieval account of physical nature had been dominated by what we may call common-sense biology. biology, indeed, is the science of the living, and the medievals were no more inclined than we are to endow all physical bodies with life. what they did do was to take living bodies as typical, and to treat other bodies as imperfectly analogous to them. such an approach was _a priori_ reasonable enough. for we may be expected to know best the physical being closest to our own; and we, at any rate, are alive. why not argue from the better known to the less known, from the nearer to the more remote, interpreting other things by the formula of our own being, and allowing whatever discount is necessary for their degree of unlikeness to us? common-sense biology reasons as follows. in a living body there is a certain pattern of organized parts, a certain rhythm of successive motions, and a certain range of characteristic activities. the pattern, the sheer anatomy, is basic; but it cannot long continue to exist (outside a refrigerator) without accompanying vital rhythms in heart, respiration and digestion. nor do these perform their parts without the intermittent support of variable but still characteristic activities: dogs not only breathe and digest, they run about, hunt their food, look for mates, bark at cats, and so on. the anatomical pattern, the vital rhythm, and the characteristic acts together express dogginess; they reveal the specific form of the dog. they _reveal_ it; exactly what the specific form _consisted in_ was the subject of much medieval speculation. it need not concern us here. taking the form of the species for granted, common-sense biology proceeds to ask how it comes to be in a given instance, say in the dog toby. [ ] before this dog was born or thought of, his form or species was displayed in each of his parents. and now it looks as though the form of dog had detached itself from them through the generative act, and set up anew on its own account. how does it do that? by getting hold of some materials in which to express itself. at first it takes them from the body of the mother, afterwards it collects them from a wider environment, and what the dog eats becomes the dog. what, then, is the relation of the assimilated materials to the dog-form which assimilates them? before assimilation, they have their own form. before the dog eats the leg of mutton, it has the form given to it by its place in the body of a sheep. what happens to the mutton? is it without remainder transubstantiated from sheep into dog? it loses all its distinctively sheep-like characteristicsm but there may be some more basically material characteristics which it preserves. they underlay the structure of the mutton, and they continue to underlie the structure of the dog's flesh which supplants it. whatever these characteristics may be, let us call them common material characteristics, and let us say that they belong to or compose a common material nature. the common material nature has its own way of existing, and perhaps its own principles of physical action. we may suppose that we know much or that we know little about it. this one thing at least we know, that it is capable of becoming alternatively either mutton or dog's flesh. it is not essential to it to be mutton, or mutton it would always be; nor dog's flesh, or it would always be dog's flesh. it is capable of becoming either, according as it is captured by one or other system of formal organization. so the voters who are to go to the polls are, by their common nature, englishmen; they are essentially neither socialist curs nor conservative sheep, but intrinsically capable of becoming either, if they become captured by either system of party organization. according to this way of thinking, there is a certain _looseness_ about the relation of the common material nature to the higher forms of organization capable of capturing it. considered in itself alone, it is perhaps to be seen as governed by absolutely determined laws of its own. it is heavy, then it will fall unless obstructed; it is solid, then it will resist intrusions. but considered as material for organization by higher forms, it is indeterminate. it acts in one sort of way under the persuasion of the sheep-form, and in another sort of way under the persuasion of the [ ] dog-form, and we cannot tell how it will act until we know which form is going to capture it. no amount of study bestowed on the common material nature will enable us to judge how it will behave under the persuasion of the higher organizing form. the only way to discover that is to examine the higher form itself. every form, then, will really be the object of a distinct science. the form of the sheep and the form of the dog have much in common, but that merely happens to be so; we cannot depend upon it, or risk inferences from sheep to dog: we must examine each in itself; we shall really need a science of probatology about sheep, and cynology about dogs. again, the common material nature has its own principles of being and action, so it will need a science of itself, which we may call hylology. each of these sciences is mistress in her own province; but how many there are, and how puzzlingly they overlap! so long as we remain within the province of a single science, we may be able to think rigorously, everything will be 'tight'. but as soon as we consider border-issues between one province and another, farewell to exactitude: everything will be 'loose'. we can think out hylology till we are blue in the face, but we shall never discover anything about the entry of material elements into higher organizations, or how they behave when they get there. we may form perfect definitions and descriptions of the form of the dog as such, and still derive no rules for telling what elements of matter will enter into the body of a given dog or how they will be placed when they do. all we can be sure of is, that the dog-form will keep itself going in, and by means of, the material it embodies--unless the dog dies. but what happens to the matter in the body of the dog is 'accidental' to the nature of the matter; and the use of this matter, rather than of some other equally suitable, is accidental to the nature of the dog. no account of material events can dispense with accidental relations altogether. we must at least recognize that there are accidental relations between particular things. accident in the sense of brute fact had to be acknowledged even by the tidiest and most dogmatic atomism of the last century. that atomism must allow it to be accidental, in this sense, that the space surrounding any given atom was occupied by other atoms in a given manner. it belonged neither to the nature of space to be occupied by just those atoms in just those places, nor to the nature of the atoms to be [ ] distributed just like that over space; and so in a certain sense the environment of any atom was an accidental environment. that is, the particular arrangement of the environment was accidental. the nature of the environment was not accidental at all. it was proper to the nature of the atom to be in interaction with other atoms over a spatial field, and it never encountered in the fellow-denizens of space any other nature but its own. it was not subject to the accident of meeting strange natures, nor of becoming suddenly subject to strange or unequal laws of interaction. all interactions, being with its own kind, were reciprocal and obedient to a single set of calculable laws. but the medieval philosophy had asserted accidental relations between distinct sorts of _natures_, the form of living dog and the form of dead matter, for example. no one could know _a priori_ what effect an accidental relation would produce, and all accidental relations between different pairs of natures were different: at the most there was analogy between them. every different nature had to be separately observed, and when you had observed them all, you could still simply write an inventory of them, you could not hope to rationalize your body of knowledge. let us narrow the field and consider what this doctrine allows us to know about the wood of a certain kind of tree. we shall begin by observing the impressions it makes on our several senses, and we shall attribute to it a substantial form such as naturally to give rise to these impressions, without, perhaps, being so rash as to claim a knowledge of what this substantial form is. still we do not know what its capacities of physical action and passion may be. we shall find them out by observing it in relation to different 'natures'. it turns out to be combustible by fire, resistant to water, tractable to the carpenter's tools, intractable to his digestive organs, harmless to ostriches, nourishing to wood-beetles. each of these capacities of the wood is distinct; we cannot relate them intelligibly to one another, nor deduce them from the assumed fundamental 'woodiness'. we can now see why 'substantial forms' were the _bêtes noires_ of the seventeenth-century philosophers. it was because they turned nature into an unmanageable jungle, in which trees, bushes, and parasites of a thousand kinds wildly interlaced. there was nothing for it, if science was to proceed, but to clear the ground and replant with spruce in rows: to postulate a single uniform nature, of which there should be a single science. now neither probatology nor cynology could hope to be [ ] universal--the world is not all sheep nor all dog: it would have to be hylology; for the world is, in its spatial aspect, all material. let us say, then, that there is one uniform material nature of things, and that everything else consists in the arrangements of the basic material nature; as the show of towers and mountains in the sunset results simply from an arrangement of vapours. and let us suppose that the interactions of the parts of matter are all like those which we can observe in dead manipulable bodies--in mechanism, in fact. such was the postulate of the new philosophers, and it yielded them results. it yielded them results, and that was highly gratifying. but what, meanwhile, had happened to those palpable facts of common experience from which the whole philosophy of substantial forms had taken its rise? is the wholeness of a living thing the mere resultant of the orderly operations of its parts? is a bee no more essentially one than a swarm is? is the life of a living animal indistinguishable from the rhythm of a going watch, except in degree of complication and subtlety of contrivance? and if an animal's body, say my own, is simply an agglomerate of minute interacting material units, and its wholeness is merely accidental and apparent, how is my conscious mind to be adjusted to it? for my consciousness appears to identify itself with that whole vital pattern which used to be called the substantial form. we are now told that the pattern is nothing real or active, but the mere accidental resultant of distinct interacting forces: it does no work, it exercises no influence or control, it _is_ nothing. how then can it be the vehicle and instrument of my conscious soul? it cannot. then is my soul homeless? or is it to be identified with the activity and fortunes of a single atomic constituent of my body, a single cog in the animal clockwork? if so, how irrational! for the soul does not experience itself as the soul of one minute part, but as the soul of the body. such questions rose thick and fast in the minds of the seventeenth-century philosophers. it will cause us no great surprise that leibniz should have quickly felt that the formal principle of aristotle and of the scholastic philosophy must be by hook or by crook reintroduced--not as the detested _substantial form_, but under a name by which it might hope to smell more sweet, _entelechy_. nothing so tellingly revealed the difficulties of the new philosophy in[ ] dealing with living bodies as the insufficiency of the solutions descartes had proposed. he had boldly declared the unity of animal life to be purely mechanical, and denied that brutes had souls at all, or any sensation. he had to admit soul in man, but he still denied the substantial unity of the human body. it was put together like a watch, it was many things, not one: if descartes had lived in our time, he would have been delighted to compare it with a telephone system, the nerves taking the place of the wires, and being so arranged that all currents of 'animal spirit' flowing in them converged upon a single unit, a gland at the base of the brain. in this unit, or in the convergence of all the motions upon it, the 'unity' of the body virtually consisted; and the soul was incarnate, not in the plurality of members (for how could it, being one, indwell many things?), but in the single gland. even so, the relation between the soul and the gland was absolutely unintelligible, as descartes disarmingly confessed. incarnation was all very well in the old philosophy: those who had allowed the interaction of disparate natures throughout the physical world need find no particular difficulty about the special case of it provided by incarnation. why should not a form of conscious life so interact with what would otherwise be dead matter as to 'indwell' it? but the very principle of the new philosophy disallowed the interaction of disparate natures, because such an interaction did not allow of exact formulation, it was a 'loose' and not a 'tight' relation. from a purely practical point of view the much derided pineal gland theory would serve. if we could be content to view descartes as a man who wanted to make the world safe for physical science, then there would be a good deal to be said for his doctrine. in the old philosophy exact science had been frustrated by the hypothesis of loose relations all over the field of nature. descartes had cleared them from as much of the field as science was then in a position to investigate; he allowed only one such relation to subsist, the one which experience appeared unmistakably to force upon us--that between our own mind and its bodily vehicle. he had exorcized the spirits from the rest of nature; and though there was a spirit here which could not be exorcized, the philosophic conjurer had nevertheless confined it and its unaccountable pranks within a minutely narrow magic circle: all mind could do was to turn the one tiny switch at the centre of its [ ] animal telephone system. it could create no energy--it could merely redirect the currents actually flowing. practically this might do, but speculatively it was most disturbing. for if the 'loose relation' had to be admitted in one instance, it was admitted in principle; and one could not get rid of the suspicion that it would turn up elsewhere, and that the banishment of it from every other field represented a convenient pragmatic postulate rather than a solid metaphysical truth. moreover, the correlation of the unitary soul with the unitary gland might do justice to a mechanistical philosophy, but it did not do justice to the soul's own consciousness of itself. the soul's consciousness is the 'idea' or 'representation' of the life of the whole body, certainly not of the life of the pineal gland nor, as the unreflective nowadays would say, of the brain. i am not conscious in, or of, my brain except when i have a headache; consciousness is in my eyes and finger-tips and so on. it is physically true, no doubt, that consciousness in and of my finger-tips is not possible without the functioning of my brain; but that is a poor reason for locating the consciousness in the brain. the filament of the electric bulb will not be incandescent apart from the functioning of the dynamo; but that is a poor reason for saying that the incandescence is in the dynamo. certainly the area of representation in our mind is not simply equivalent to the area of our body. but in so far as the confines of mental representation part company with the confines of the body, it is not that they may contract and fall back upon the pineal gland, but that they may expand and advance over the surrounding world. the mind does not represent its own body merely, it represents the world in so far as the world affects that body or is physically reproduced in it. the mind has no observable natural relation to the pineal gland. it has only two natural relations: to its body as a whole and to its effective environment. what descartes had really done was to pretend that the soul was related to the pineal gland as it is in fact related to its whole body; and then that it was related to the bodily members as in fact it is related to outer environment. the members became an inner environment, known only in so far as they affected the pineal gland; just as the outer environment in its turn was to be known only in so far as it affected the members. [ ] this doctrine of a double environment was wholly artificial. it was forced on descartes by the requirements of mechanistical science: if the members were simply a plurality of things, they must really be parts of environment; the body which the soul indwelt must be _a_ body; presumably, then, the pineal gland. an untenable compromise, surely, between admitting and denying the reality of the soul's incarnation. what, then, was to be done? descartes's rivals and successors attempted several solutions, which it would be too long to examine here. they dissatisfied leibniz and they have certainly no less dissatisfied posterity. it will be enough for us here to consider what leibniz did. he admitted, to begin with, the psychological fact. the unity of consciousness is the representation of a plurality--the plurality of the members, and through them the plurality of the world. here, surely, was the very principle the new philosophy needed for the reconciliation of substantial unity with mechanical plurality of parts. for it is directly evident to us that consciousness focuses the plurality of environing things in a unity of representation. this is no philosophical theory, it is a simple fact. our body, then, as a physical system is a mechanical plurality; as focused in consciousness it is a unity of 'idea'. very well: but we have not got far yet. for the old difficulty still remains--it is purely arbitrary, after all, that a unitary consciousness should be attached to, and represent, a mechanical collection of things which happen to interact in a sort of pattern. if there is a consciousness attached to human bodies, then why not to systems of clockwork? if the body is _represented_ as unity, it must surely be because it _is_ unity, as the old philosophy had held. but how can we reintroduce unity into the body without reintroducing substantial form, and destroying the mechanistical plurality which the new science demanded? it is at this point that leibniz produces the speculative postulate of his system. why not reverse the relation, and make the members represent the mind as the mind represents the members? for then the unity of person represented in the mind will become something actual in the members also. representation appears to common sense to be a one-way sort of traffic. if my mind represents my bodily members, something happens to my mind, for it becomes a representation of such members in such a state; but nothing happens to the members by their being so represented in the mind. the [ ] mental representation obeys the bodily facts; the bodily facts do not obey the mental representation. it seems nonsense to say that my members obey my mind _because_ they are mirrored in it. and yet my members do obey my mind, or at least common sense supposes so. sometimes my mind, instead of representing the state my members are in, represents a state which it intends that they shall be in, for example, that my hand should go through the motion of writing these words. and my hand obeys; its action becomes the moving diagram of my thought, my thought is represented or expressed in the manual act. here the relation of mind and members appears to be reversed: instead of its representing them, they represent it. with this representation it is the opposite of what it was with the other. by the members' being represented in the mind, something happened to the mind, and nothing to the members; by the mind's being represented in the members something happens to the members and nothing to the mind. why should not we take this seriously? why not allow that there is two-way traffic--by one relation the mind represents the members, by another the members represent the mind? but then again, how can we take it seriously? for representation, in the required sense, is a mental act; brute matter can represent nothing, only mind can represent. and the members are brute matter. but are they? how do we know that? by brute matter we understand extended lumps of stuff, interacting with one another mechanically, as do, for example, two cogs in a piece of clockwork. but this is a large-scale view. the cogs are themselves composed of interrelated parts and those parts of others, and so on _ad infinitum_. who knows what the ultimate constituents really are? the 'modern' philosophers, certainly, have proposed no hypothesis about them which even looks like making sense. they have supposed that the apparently inert lumps, the cogs, are composed of parts themselves equally inert, and that by subdivision we shall still reach nothing but the inert. but this supposition is in flat contradiction with what physical theory demands. we have to allow the reality of _force_ in physics. now the force which large-scale bodies display may easily be the block-effect of activity in their minute real constituents. if not, where does it come from? let it be supposed, then, that these minute real constituents are active because they are alive, because they are minds; for indeed we have no notion of activity other than the perception we have [ ] of our own. we have no notion of it except as something mental. on the hypothesis that the constituents of active body are also mental, this limitation in our conception of activity need cause us neither sorrow nor surprise. the mind-units which make up body will not of course be developed and fully conscious minds like yours or mine, and it is only for want of a better word that we call them minds at all. they will be mere unselfconscious representations of their physical environment, as it might be seen from the physical point to which they belong by a human mind paying no attention at all to its own seeing. how many of these rudimentary 'minds' will there be in my body? as many as you like--as many as it is possible there should be--say an infinite number and have done with it. we may now observe how this hypothesis introduces real formal unity without prejudicing mechanical plurality. each of the mind-units in my body is itself and substantially distinct. but since each, in its own way and according to its own position, represents the superior and more developed mind which i call 'me', they will order themselves according to a common form. the order is real, not accidental: it is like the order of troops on a parade-ground. each man is a distinct active unit, but each is really expressing by his action the mind of the officer in command. he is expressing no less his relation to the other men in the ranks--to obey the officer is to keep in step with them. so the metaphysical units of the body, being all minds, represent one another as well as the dominant mind: one another co-ordinately, the dominant mind subordinately. but if the metaphysically real units of the body are of the nature of mind, then _the_ mind is a mind among minds, a spirit-atom among spirit-atoms. what then constitutes its superiority or dominance, and makes it a mind _par excellence_? well, what constitutes the officer an officer? two things: a more developed mentality and the fact of being obeyed. in military life these two factors are not always perfectly proportioned to one another, but in the order of leibniz's universe they are. a fuller power to represent the universe is necessarily combined with dominance over an organized troop of members; for the mind knows the universe only in so far as the universe is expressed in its body. that is what the [ ] _finitude_ of the mind means. only an infinite mind appreciates the whole plurality of things in themselves; a finite mind perceives them in so far as mirrored in the physical being of an organized body of members. the more adequate the mirror, the more adequate the representation: the more highly organized the body, the more developed the mind. the developed mind has an elaborate body; but the least developed mind has still some body, or it would lack any mirror whatever through which to represent the world. this means, in effect, that leibniz's system is not an unmitigated spiritual atomism. for though the spiritual atoms, or monads, are the ultimate constituents out of which nature is composed, they stand composed together from the beginning in a minimal order which cannot be broken up. each monad, if it is to be anything at all, must be a continuing finite representation of the universe, and to be that it must have a body, that is to say, it must have other monads in a permanent relation of mutual correspondence with it. and if you said to leibniz, 'but surely any physical body can be broken up, and this must mean the dissolution of the organic relation between its monadical constituents,' he would take refuge in the infinitesimal. the wonders revealed by that new miracle, the microscope, suggested what the intrinsic divisibility of space itself suggests--whatever organization is broken up, there will still be a minute organization within each of the fragments which remains unbroken--and so _ad infinitum_. you will never come down to loose monads, monads out of all organization. you will never disembody the monads, and so remove their representative power; you will only reduce their bodies and so impoverish their representative power. in this sense no animal dies and no animal is generated. death is the reduction and generation the enrichment of some existing monad's body; and, by being that, is the enrichment or the reduction of the monad's mental life. 'but,' our common sense protests, 'it is too great a strain on our credulity to make the real nature of things so utterly different from what sense and science make of them. if the real universe is what you say it is, why do our minds represent it to us as they do?' the philosopher's answer is, 'because they _represent_ it. according to the truth of things, each monad is simply its own mental life, its own world-view, its own thoughts and desires. to know things as they are would be simultaneously to live over, as though from within and by a miracle of sympathy, the [ ] biographies of an infinite number of distinct monads. this is absolutely impossible. our senses represent the coexistent families of monads _in the gross_, and therefore conventionally; what is in fact the mutual representation of monads in ordered systems, is represented as the mechanical interaction of spatially extended and material parts.' this does not mean that science is overthrown. the physical world-view is in terms of the convention of representation, but it is not, for all that, illusory. it can, ideally, be made as true as it is capable of being. there is no reason whatever for confusing the 'well-grounded seemings' of the apparent physical world with the fantastic seemings of dream and hallucination. so far the argument seems to draw whatever cogency it has from the simplicity and naturalness of the notion of representation. the nature of idea, it is assumed, is to represent plurality in a unified view. if idea did not represent, it would not be idea. and since there _is_ idea (for our minds at least exist and are made up of idea) there is representation. it belongs to idea to represent, and since the whole world has now been interpreted as a system of mutually representing ideations, or ideators, it might seem that all their mutual relations are perfectly natural, a harmony of agreement which could not be other than it is. but if so, why does leibniz keep saying that the harmony is _pre-established_, by special and infinitely elaborate divine decrees? leibniz himself says that the very nature of representation excludes interaction. by representing environment a mind does not do anything to environment, that is plain. but it is no less plain that environment does nothing to it, either. the act of representing is simply the act of the mind; it represents _in view of_ environment, of course, but not under the causal influence of environment. representation is a business carried on by the mind on its own account, and in virtue of its innate power to represent. very well; but does this consideration really drive us into theology? is not leibniz the victim of a familiar fallacy, that of incompletely stated alternatives? '_either_ finite beings interact _or else_ they do not directly condition one another. monads do not interact, therefore they do not directly condition one another. how then explain the actual conformity of their mutual representation, without recourse to divine fore-ordaining?' it seems sufficient to introduce a further alternative in the first line of the argument, and we are rid of the theology. things may condition the [ ] action of a further thing, without acting upon it. it acts of itself, but it acts in view of what they are. we are tempted to conclude that leibniz has introduced the _deus ex machina_ with the fatal facility of his age. 'where a little further meditation on the characters in the play would furnish a natural _dénouement_, he swings divine intervention on to the scene by wires from the ceiling. it is easy for us to reconstruct for him the end of the piece without recourse to stage-machines.' is it? no, i fear it is not. there is really no avoiding the pre-established harmony. and so we shall discover, if we pursue our train of reflexion a little further. it is natural, we were saying, than an idea should represent an environment; indeed, it _is_ the representation of one. given no environment to represent, it would be empty, a mere capacity for representation. then every idea or ideator, taken merely in itself, _is_ an empty capacity. but of what is the environment of each made up? according to the leibnitian theory, of further ideas or ideators: of empty capacities, therefore. then no idea will either be anything in itself, or find anything in its neighbours to represent. an unhappy predicament, like that of a literary clique in which all the members are adepts at discussing one another's ideas--only that unfortunately none of them are provided with any; or like the shaky economics of the fabled irish village where they all lived by taking in one another's washing. it is useless, then, to conceive representations as simply coming into existence in response to environment, and modelling themselves on environment. they must all mutually reflect environment or they would not be representations; but they must also exist as themselves and in their own right or there would be no environment for them mutually to represent. since the world is infinitely various, each representor must have its own distinct character or nature, as our minds have: that is to say, it must represent in its own individual way; and all these endlessly various representations must be so constituted as to form a mutually reflecting harmony. considered as a representation, each monadical existence simply reflects the universe after its own manner. but considered as something to be represented by the others, it is a self-existent mental life, or world of ideas. now when we are considering the fact of representation, that which is to be represented comes first and the representation follows upon it. thus in considering the leibnitian universe, we must begin with the[ ] monads as self-existent mental lives, or worlds of ideas; their representation of one another comes second. nothing surely, then, but omnipotent creative wisdom could have pre-established between so many distinct given mental worlds that harmony which constitutes their mutual representation. our common-sense pluralistic thinking escapes from the need of the pre-established harmony by distinguishing what we are from what we do. let the world be made up of a plurality of agents in a 'loose' order, with room to manoeuvre and to adjust themselves to one another. then, by good luck or good management, through friction and disaster, by trial and error, by accident or invention, they may work out for themselves a harmony of _action_. there is no need for divine preordaining here. but on leibniz's view what the monads do is to represent, and what they are is representation; there is no ultimate distinction between what they are and what they do: all that they do belongs to what they are. the whole system of action in each monad, which fits with such infinite complexity the system of action in each other monad, is precisely the existence of that monad, and apart from it the monad is not. the monads do not _achieve_ a harmony, they _are_ a harmony, and therefore they are pre-established in harmony. leibniz denied that he invoked god to intervene in nature, or that there was anything arbitrary or artificial about his physical theology. he was simply analysing nature and finding it to be a system of mutual representation; he was analysing mutual representation and finding it to be of its nature intrinsically pre-established, and therefore god-dependent. he was not adding anything to mutual representation, he was just showing what it necessarily contained or implied. at least he was doing nothing worse than recognized scholastic practice. scholastic aristotelianism explained all natural causality as response to stimulus, and then had to postulate a stimulus which stimulated without being stimulated, and this was god. apart from this supreme and first stimulus nothing would in fact be moving. the aristotelians claimed simply to be analysing the nature of physical motion as they perceived it, and to find the necessity of perpetually applied divine stimulation implicit in it. no violence was thereby done to the system of physical motion nor was anything brought in from without to patch it up; it was simply found to be of its own [ ] nature god-dependent. it seems as though the reproachful description _'deus ex machina'_ should be reserved for more arbitrary expedients than aristotle's or leibniz's, say for the occasionalist theory. occasionalism appeared to introduce god that he might make physical matter do what it had no natural tendency to do, viz. to obey the volitions of finite mind. ideas, on the other hand, have a natural tendency to represent one another, for to be an idea is to be a representation; god is not introduced by leibniz to make them correspond, he is introduced to work a system in which they shall correspond. this may not be _deus-ex-machina philosophy_, but it is _physical theology_; that is to say, it treats divine action as one factor among the factors which together constitute the working of the natural system. and this appears to be perhaps unscientific, certainly blasphemous: god's action cannot be a factor among factors; the creator works through and in all creaturely action equally; we can never say 'this is the creature, and that is god' of distinguishable causalities in the natural world. the creature is, in its creaturely action, self-sufficient: but because a creature, insufficient to itself throughout, and sustained by its creator both in existence and in action. the only acceptable argument for theism is that which corresponds to the religious consciousness, and builds upon the insufficiency of finite existence throughout, because it is finite. all arguments to god's existence from a particular gap in our account of the world of finites are to be rejected. they do not indicate god, they indicate the failure of our power to analyse the world-order. when leibniz discovered that his system of mutual representations needed to be pre-established, he ought to have seen that he had come up a cul-de-sac and backed out; he ought not to have said, 'with the help of god i will leap over the wall.' if we condemn leibniz for writing physical theology, we condemn not him but his age. no contemporary practice was any better, and much of it a good deal worse, as leibniz liked somewhat complacently to point out. and because he comes to theology through physical theology, that does not mean that all his theology was physical theology and as such to be written off. on the contrary, leibniz is led to wrestle with many problems which beset any philosophical theism of the christian type. this is particularly so[ ] in the _theodicy_, as its many citations of theologians suggest. his discussions never lack ingenuity, and the system of creation and providence in which they result has much of that luminous serenity which colours the best works of the age of reason. every theistic philosopher is bound, with whatever cautions, to conceive god by the analogy of the human mind. when leibniz declares the harmony of monads to be pre-established by god, he is invoking the image of intelligent human pre-arrangement. nor is he content simply to leave it at that: he endeavours as well as he may to conceive the sort of act by which god pre-arranges; and this involves the detailed adaptation for theological purposes of leibnitian doctrine about the human mind. the human mind, as we have seen, is the mind predominant in a certain system of 'minds', viz. in those which constitute the members of the human body. if we call it predominant, we mean that its system of ideas is more developed than theirs, so that there are more points in which each of them conforms to it than in which it conforms to any one of them. the conception of a divine pre-establishing mind will be analogous. it will be the conception of a mind _absolutely_ dominant, to whose ideas, that is to say, the whole system simply corresponds, without any reciprocating correspondence on his side. in a certain sense this is to make god the 'mind of the world'; and yet the associations of the phrase are misleading. it suggests that the world is an organism or body in which the divine mind is incarnate, and on which he relies for his representations. but that is nonsense; the world is not _a_ body, nor is it organic to god. absolute dominance involves absolute transcendence: if everything in the world without remainder simply obeys the divine thoughts, that is only another way of saying that the world is the creature of god; the whole system is pre-established by him who is absolute being and perfectly independent of the world. of createdness, or pre-establishedness, there is no more to be said: we can think of it as nothing but the pure or absolute case of subjection to dominant mind. it is no use asking further _how_ god's thoughts are obeyed in the existence and action of things. what we can and must enquire into further, is the nature of the divine thoughts which are thus obeyed. they must be understood to be volitions or decrees. there are indeed two ways in which things obey the divine thought, and correspondingly two sorts of divine thoughts that they obey. in so far as created things conform to [ ] the mere universal principles of reason, they obey a reasonableness which is an inherent characteristic of the divine mind itself. if god wills the existence of any creature, that creature's existence must observe the limits prescribed by eternal reason: it cannot, for example, both have and lack a certain characteristic in the same sense and at the same time; nor can it contain two parts and two parts which are not also countable as one part and three parts. finite things, if they exist at all, must thus conform to the reasonableness of the divine nature, but what the divine reasonableness thus prescribes is highly general: we can deduce from it only certain laws which any finite things must obey, we can never deduce from it which finite things there are to be, nor indeed that there are to be any. finite things are particular and individual: each of them might have been other than it is or, to speak more properly, instead of any one of them there might have existed something else; it was, according to the mere principles of eternal reason, equally possible. but if so, the whole universe, being made up of things each of which might be otherwise, might as a whole be otherwise. therefore the divine thoughts which it obeys by existing have the nature of _choices_ or _decrees_. what material does the finite mind supply for an analogical picture of the infinite mind making choices or decrees? if we use such language of god, we are using language which has its first and natural application to ourselves. we all of us choose, and those of us who are in authority make decrees. what is to choose? it involves a real freedom in the mind. a finite mind, let us remember, is nothing but a self-operating succession of perceptions, ideas, or representations. with regard to some of our ideas we have no freedom, those, for example, which represent to us our body. we think of them as constituting our given substance. they are sheer datum for us, and so are those reflexions of our environment which they mediate to us. they make up a closely packed and confused mass; they persevere in their being with an obstinate innate force, the spiritual counterpart of the force which we have to recognize in things as physically interpreted. being real spiritual force, it is quasi-voluntary, and indeed do we not love our own existence and, in a sense, will it in all its necessary circumstances? but if we can be said to will to be ourselves and to enact with native force what our body and its environment makes us, we are [ ] merely willing to conform to the conditions of our existence; we are making no choice. when, however, we think freely or perform deliberate acts, there is not only force but choice in our activity. choice between what? between alternative possibilities arising out of our situation. and choice in virtue of what? in virtue of the appeal exercised by one alternative as seemingly better. can we adapt our scheme of choice to the description of god's creative decrees? we will take the second point in it first: our choice is in virtue of the appeal of the seeming best. surely the only corrective necessary in applying this to god is the omission of the word 'seeming'. his choice is in virtue of the appeal of the simply best. the other point causes more trouble. we choose between possibilities which arise for us out of our situation in the system of the existing world. but as the world does not exist before god's creative choices, he is in no world-situation, and no alternative possibilities can arise out of it, between which he should have to choose. but if god does not choose between intrinsic possibilities of some kind, his choice becomes something absolutely meaningless to us--it is not a choice at all, it is an arbitrary and unintelligible _fiat_. leibniz's solution is this: what are mere possibilities of thought for us are possibilities of action for god. for a human subject, possibilities of action are limited to what arises out of his actual situation, but possibilities for thought are not so limited. i can conceive a world different in many respects from this world, in which, for example, vegetables should be gifted with thought and speech; but i can do nothing towards bringing it about. my imaginary world is practically impossible but speculatively possible, in the sense that it contradicts no single principle of necessary and immutable reason. i, indeed, can explore only a very little way into the region of sheer speculative possibility; god does not explore it, he simply possesses it all: the whole region of the possible is but a part of the content of his infinite mind. so among all possible creatures he chooses the best and creates it. but the whole realm of the possible is an actual infinity of ideas. out of the consideration of an infinity of ideas, how can god arrive at a choice? why not? his mind is not, of course, discursive; he does not successively turn over the leaves of an infinite book of sample worlds, for then he would never come to the end of it. embracing infinite possibility in [ ] the single act of his mind, he settles his will with intuitive immediacy upon the best. the inferior, the monstrous, the absurd is not a wilderness through which he painfully threads his way, it is that from which he immediately turns; his wisdom is his elimination of it. but in so applying the scheme of choice to god's act, have we not invalidated its application to our own? for if god has chosen the whole form and fabric of the world, he has chosen everything in it, including the choices we shall make. and if our choices have already been chosen for us by god, it would seem to follow that they are not real open choices on our part at all, but are pre-determined. and if they are pre-determined, it would seem that they are not really even choices, for a determined choice is not a choice. but if we do not ourselves exercise real choice in any degree, then we have no clue to what any choice would be: and if so, we have no power of conceiving divine choice, either; and so the whole argument cuts its own throat. there are two possible lines of escape from this predicament. one is to define human choice in such a sense that it allows of pre-determination without ceasing to be choice; and this is leibniz's method, and it can be studied at length in the _theodicy_. he certainly makes the very best he can of it, and it hardly seems that any of those contemporaries whose views he criticizes was in a position to answer him. the alternative method is to make the most of the negative element involved in all theology. after all, we do not positively or adequately understand the nature of infinite creative will. perhaps it is precisely the transcendent glory of divine freedom to be able to work infallibly through free instruments. but so mystical a paradox is not the sort of thing we can expect to appeal to a late-seventeenth-century philosopher. one criticism of leibniz's argument we cannot refrain from making. he allows himself too easy a triumph when he says that the only alternative to a choice determined by a prevailing inclination towards one proposal is a choice of mere caprice. there is a sort of choice leibniz never so much as considers and which appears at least to fall quite outside his categories, and that is the sort of choice exercised in artistic creativity. in such choice we freely feel after the shaping of a scheme, we do not arbitrate simply between shaped and given possible schemes. and perhaps some such element enters into all our choices, since our life is to some extent [ ] freely designed by ourselves. if so, our minds are even more akin to the divine mind than leibniz realized. for the sort of choice we are now referring to seems to be an intuitive turning away from an infinite, or at least indefinite, range of less attractive possibility. and such is the nature of the divine creative choice. the consequence of such a line of speculation would be, that the divine mind designs more through us, and less simply for us, than leibniz allowed: the 'harmony' into which we enter would be no longer simply 'pre-established'. leibniz, in fact, could have nothing to do with such a suggestion, and he would have found it easy to be ironical about it if his contemporaries had proposed it. ii leibniz wrote two books; a considerable number of articles in learned periodicals; and an enormous number of unpublished notes, papers and letters, preserved in the archives of the electors of hanover not because of the philosophical significance of some of them, but because of the political importance of most of them. from among this great mass various excerpts of philosophical interest have been made by successive editors of leibniz's works. it may be that the most profound understanding of his mind is to be derived from some of these pieces, but if we wish to consider the public history of leibniz, we may set them aside. of the two books, one was published, and the other never was. the _new essays_ remained in leibniz's desk, the _theodicy_ saw the light. and so, to his own and the succeeding generation, leibniz was known as the author of the _theodicy_. the articles in journals form the immediate background to the two books. in leibniz heard that a french translation of locke's _essay concerning human understanding_ was being prepared at amsterdam. he wrote some polite comments on locke's great work, and published them. he also sent them to locke, hoping that locke would write a reply, and that leibniz's reflexions and locke's reply might be appended to the projected french translation. but locke set leibniz's comments aside. leibniz, not to be defeated, set to work upon the _new essays_, in which the whole substance of locke's book is systematically discussed in dialogue. the _new essays_ were written in . but meanwhile a painful dispute had broken out between leibniz [ ] and the disciples of locke and newton, in which the english, and perhaps newton himself, were much to blame, and leibniz thought it impolitic to publish his book. it was not issued until long after his death, in the middle of the century. the discussion with locke was a failure: locke would not play, and the book in which the whole controversy was to be systematized never appeared. the discussion with bayle, on the other hand, was a model of what a discussion should be. bayle played up tirelessly, and was never embarrassingly profound; he provided just the sort of objections most useful for drawing forth illuminating expositions; he was as good as a fictitious character in a philosophical dialogue. and the book in which the controversy was systematized duly appeared with great éclat. here is the history of the controversy. in leibniz was forty-nine years old. he had just emerged from a period of close employment under his prince's commands, and he thought fit to try his metaphysical principles upon the polite world and see what would come of it. he therefore published an article in the _journal des savants_ under the title: 'new system of nature and of the communication of substances, as well as of the union between soul and body'. in the same year foucher published an article in the _journal_ controverting leibniz; and in the next year leibniz replied with an 'explanation'. a second explanation in the same year appeared in basnage's _histoire des ouvrages des savants_, in answer to reflexions by the editor. m. pierre bayle had all these articles before him when he inserted a note on leibniz's doctrine in his article on 'rorarius', in the first edition of his _historical and critical dictionary_. the point of connexion between rorarius and leibniz was no more than this, that both held views about the souls of beasts. pierre bayle was the son of a calvinist pastor, early converted to catholicism, but recovered to his old faith after a short time. he held academic employments in switzerland and holland; he promoted and edited the _nouvelles de la république des lettres_, and he produced that extraordinary work the _historical and critical dictionary._ the notices it contains of authors and thinkers are little more than pegs upon which bayle could hang his philosophical reflexions. he could write an intelligent discussion on any opinion; what he could not do was to reconcile the points of view from which he felt impelled to write upon this author and that.[ ] his was not a systematic mind. so far as he had a philosophical opinion, he was a cartesian; in theology he was an orthodox calvinist. he could not reconcile his theology with his cartesianism and he did not try to. he made a merit of the oppositions of faith to reason and reason to itself, so that he could throw himself upon a meritorious and voluntary faith. there is nothing original in this position. it was characteristic of decadent scholasticism, it squared with luther's exaggerations about the impotence of reason in fallen man, and pascal had given his own highly personal twist to it. bayle has been hailed as a forerunner of voltairean scepticism. it would be truer to say that a voltairean sceptic could read bayle's discussions in his own sense and for his own purposes if he wished. but bayle was not a sceptic. it is hard to say what he was; his whole position as between faith and reason is hopelessly confused. he was a scholar, a wit, and a philosophical sparring-partner of so perfectly convenient a kind that if we had not evidence of his historical reality, we might have suspected leibniz of inventing him. in the first edition of his _dictionary_, under the article 'rorarius', bayle gave a very fair account of leibniz's doctrine concerning the souls of animals, as it could be collected from his article in the _journal des savants_, june . he then proceeded to comment upon it in the following terms: 'there are some things in mr. leibniz's hypothesis that are liable to some difficulties, though they show the great extent of his genius. he will have it, for example, that the soul of a dog acts independently of outward bodies; that _it stands upon its own bottom, by a perfect _spontaneity_ with respect to itself, and yet with a perfect _conformity_ to outward things_.... that _its internal perceptions arise from its original constitution, that is to say, the representative constitution (capable of expressing beings outside itself in relation to its organs) which was bestowed upon it from the time of its creation, and makes its individual character_ (_journal des savants_, july ). from whence it results that it would feel hunger and thirst at such and such an hour, though there were not any one body in the universe, and _though nothing should exist but god and that soul_. he has explained (_histoire des ouvrages des savants_, feb. ) his thought by the example of two pendulums that should perfectly agree: that is, he supposes that according to the particular laws which put the soul upon action, it must feel hunger at such an hour; [ ] and that according to the particular laws which direct the motion of matter, the body which is united to that soul must be modified at that same hour as it is modified when the soul is hungry. i will forbear preferring this system to that of occasional causes till the learned author has perfected it. i cannot apprehend the connexion of internal and spontaneous actions which would have this effect, that the soul of a dog would feel pain immediately after having felt joy, though it were alone in the universe. i understand why a dog passes immediately from pleasure to pain when, being very hungry and eating a piece of bread, he is suddenly struck with a cudgel. but i cannot apprehend that his soul should be so framed that at the very moment of his being beaten he should feel pain though he were not beaten, and though he should continue to eat bread without any trouble or hindrance. nor do i see how the spontaneity of that soul should be consistent with the sense of pain, and in general with any unpleasing perceptions. 'besides, the reason why this learned man does not like the cartesian system seems to me to be a false supposition; for it cannot be said that the system of occasional causes brings in god acting by a miracle (ibid.), _deum ex machina_, in the mutual dependency of the body and soul: for since god does only intervene according to general laws, he cannot be said to act in an extraordinary manner. does the internal and active virtue communicated to the forms of bodies according to m. leibniz know the train of actions which it is to produce? by no means; for we know by experience that we are ignorant whether we shall have such and such perceptions in an hour's time. it were therefore necessary that the forms should be directed by some internal principle in the production of their acts. but this would be _deus ex machina,_ as much as in the system of occasional causes. in fine, as he supposes with great reason that all souls are simple and indivisible, it cannot be apprehended how they can be compared with a pendulum, that is, how by their original constitution they can diversify their operations by using the spontaneous activity bestowed upon them by their creator. it may clearly be conceived that a simple being will always act in a uniform manner, if no external cause hinders it. if it were composed of several pieces, as a machine, it would act different ways, because the peculiar activity of each piece might change every moment the progress of others; but how will you find in a simple substance the [ ] cause of a change of operation?' leibniz published a reply to bayle in the _histoire des ouvrages des savants_ for july . as in all his references to bayle, he is studiously polite and repays compliment for compliment. the following are perhaps the principal points of his answer. . on the example of the dog: (_a_) how should it of itself change its sentiment, since everything left to itself continues in the state in which it is? because the state may be a state of _change_, as in a moving body which, unless hindered, continues to move. and such is the nature of simple substances--they continue to evolve steadily. (_b_) would it really feel as though beaten if it were not beaten, since leibniz says that the action of every substance takes place as though nothing existed but god and itself? leibniz replies that his remark refers to the causality behind an action, not to the reasons for it. the spontaneous action of the dog, which leads to the feeling of pain, is only decreed to be what it is, for the reason that the dog is part of a world of mutually reflecting substances, a world which also includes the cudgel. (_c_) why should the dog ever be displeased _spontaneously_? leibniz distinguishes the spontaneous from the voluntary: many things occur in the mind, of itself, but not chosen by it. . on cartesianism and miracle: cartesianism in the form of occasionalism _does_ involve miracle, for though god is said by it to act according to laws in conforming body and mind to one another, he thereby causes them to act beyond their natural capacities. . on the problem, how can the simple act otherwise than uniformly? leibniz distinguishes: some uniform action is monotonous, but some is not. a point moves uniformly in describing a parabola, for it constantly fulfils the formula of the curve. but it does not move monotonously, for the curve constantly varies. such is the uniformity of the action of simple substances. bayle read this reply, and was pleased but not satisfied with it. in the second edition of the dictionary, under the same article 'rorarius', he added the following note: 'i declare first of all that i am very glad i have proposed some small difficulties against the system of that great philosopher, since they [ ] have occasioned some answers whereby that subject has been made clearer to me, and which have given me a more distinct notion of what is most to be admired in it. i look now upon that new system as an important conquest, which enlarges the bounds of philosophy. we had only two hypotheses, that of the schools and that of the cartesians: the one was a _way of influence_ of the body upon the soul and of the soul upon the body; the other was a _way of assistance_ or occasional causality. but here is a new acquisition, a new hypothesis, which may be called, as fr. lami styles it, a _way of pre-established harmony_. we are beholden for it to m. leibniz, and it is impossible to conceive anything that gives us a nobler idea of the power and wisdom of the author of all things. this, together with the advantage of setting aside all notions of a miraculous conduct, would engage me to prefer this new system to that of the cartesians, if i could conceive any possibility in the _way of pre-established harmony_. 'i desire the reader to take notice that though i confess that this way removes all notions of a miraculous conduct, yet i do not retract what i have said formerly, that the system of occasional causes does not bring in god acting miraculously. (see m. leibniz's article in _histoire des ouvrages des savants_, july .) i am as much persuaded as ever i was that an action cannot be said to be miraculous, unless god produces it as an exception to the general laws; and that everything of which he is immediately the author according to those laws is distinct from a miracle properly so called. but being willing to cut off from this dispute as many things as i possibly can, i consent it should be said that the surest way of removing all notions that include a miracle is to suppose that all created substances are actively the immediate causes of the effects of nature. i will therefore lay aside what i might reply to that part of m. leibniz's answer. 'i will also omit all objections which are not more contrary to his opinion than to that of some other philosophers. i will not therefore propose the difficulties that may be raised against the supposition that a creature can receive from god the power of moving itself. they are strong and almost unanswerable, but m. leibniz's system does not lie more open to them than that of the aristotelians; nay, i do not know whether the cartesians would presume to say that god cannot communicate to our souls a power of acting. if they say so, how can they own that adam sinned? and if they dare not[ ] say so they weaken the arguments whereby they endeavour to prove that matter is not capable of any activity. nor do i believe that it is more difficult for m. leibniz than for the cartesians or other philosophers, to free himself from the objection of a fatal mechanism which destroys human liberty. wherefore, waiving this, i shall only speak of what is peculiar to the system of the _pre-established harmony_. 'i. my first observation shall be, that it raises the power and wisdom of the divine art above everything that can be conceived. fancy to yourself a ship which, without having any sense or knowledge, and without being directed by any created or uncreated being, has the power of moving itself so seasonably as to have always the wind favourable, to avoid currents and rocks, to cast anchor where it ought to be done, and to retire into a harbour precisely when it is necessary. suppose such a ship sails in that manner for several years successively, being always turned and situated as it ought to be, according to the several changes of the air and the different situations of seas and lands; you will acknowledge that god, notwithstanding his infinite power, cannot communicate such a faculty to a ship; or rather you will say that the nature of a ship is not capable of receiving it from god. and yet what m. leibniz supposes about the machine of a human body is more admirable and more surprising than all this. let us apply his system concerning the union of the soul with the body to the person of julius caesar. 'ii. we must say according to this system that the body of julius caesar did so exercise its moving faculty that from its birth to its death it went through continual changes which did most exactly answer the perpetual changes of a certain soul which it did not know and which made no impression on it. we must say that the rule according to which that faculty of caesar's body performed such actions was such, that he would have gone to the senate upon such a day and at such an hour, that he would have spoken there such and such words, etc., though god had willed to annihilate his soul the next day after it was created. we must say that this moving power did change and modify itself exactly according to the volubility of the thoughts of that ambitious man, and that it was affected precisely in a certain manner rather than in another, because the soul of caesar passed from a certain thought to another. can a blind power modify itself so exactly by virtue of an impression communicated thirty or forty years [ ] before and never renewed since, but left to itself, without ever knowing what it is to do? is not this much more incomprehensible than the navigation i spoke of in the foregoing paragraph? 'iii. the difficulty will be greater still, if it be considered that the human machine contains an almost infinite number of organs, and that it is continually exposed to the shock of the bodies that surround it,[ ] and which by an innumerable variety of shakings produce in it a thousand sorts of modifications. how is it possible to conceive that this _pre-established harmony_ should never be disordered, but go on still during the longest life of a man, notwithstanding the infinite varieties of the reciprocal action of so many organs upon one another, which are surrounded on all sides with infinite corpuscles, sometimes hot and sometimes cold, sometimes dry and sometimes moist, and always acting, and pricking the nerves a thousand different ways? suppose that the multiplicity of organs and of external agents be a necessary instrument of the almost infinite variety of changes in a human body: will that variety have the exactness here required? will it never disturb the correspondence of those changes with the changes of the soul? this seems to be altogether impossible. [ ] 'according to m. leibniz what is active in every substance ought to be reduced to a true unity. since therefore the body of every man is composed of several substances, each of them ought to have a principle of action really distinct from the principle of each of the others. he will have the action of every principle to be spontaneous. now this must vary the effects _ad infinitum_, and confound them. for the impression of the neighbouring bodies must needs put some constraint upon the natural spontaneity of every one of them.' 'iv. it is in vain to have recourse to the power of god, in order to maintain that brutes are mere machines; it is in vain to say that god was able to make machines so artfully contrived that the voice of a man, the reflected light of an object, etc., will strike them exactly where it is necessary, that they may move in a given manner. this supposition is rejected by everybody except some cartesians; and no cartesian would admit it if it were to be extended to man; that is, if anyone were to assert that god was able to form such bodies as would mechanically do whatever we see other men do. by denying this we do not pretend to limit the power and knowledge of god: we only mean that the nature of things does not permit that the faculties imparted to a creature should not be necessarily confined within certain bounds. the actions of creatures must be [ ] necessarily proportioned to their essential state, and performed according to the character belonging to each machine; for according to the maxim of the philosophers, whatever is received is proportionate to the capacity of the subject that receives it. we may therefore reject m. leibniz's hypothesis as being impossible, since it is liable to greater difficulties than that of the cartesians, which makes beasts to be mere machines. it puts a perpetual harmony between two beings, which do not act one upon another; whereas if servants were mere machines, and should punctually obey their masters' command, it could not be said that they do it without a real action of their masters upon them; for their masters would speak words and make signs which would really shake and move the organs of the servants. 'v. now let us consider the soul of julius caesar, and we shall find the thing more impossible still. that soul was in the world without being exposed to the influence of any spirit. the power it received from god was the only principle of the actions it produced at every moment: and if those actions were different one from another, it was not because some of them were produced by the united influence of some springs which did not contribute to the production of others, for the soul of man is simple, indivisible and immaterial. m. leibniz owns it; and if he did not acknowledge it, but if, on the contrary, he should suppose with most philosophers and some of the most excellent metaphysicians of our age (mr. locke, for instance) that a compound of several material parts placed and disposed in a certain manner, is capable of thinking, his hypothesis would appear to be on that very ground absolutely impossible, and i could refute it several other ways; which i need not mention since he acknowledges the immateriality of our soul and builds upon it. 'let us return to the soul of julius caesar, and call it an immaterial automaton (m. leibniz's own phrase), and compare it with an atom of epicurus; i mean an atom surrounded with a vacuum on all sides, and which will never meet any other atom. this is a very just comparison: for this atom, on the one hand, has a natural power of moving itself and exerts it without any assistance, and without being retarded or hindered by anything: and, on the other hand, the soul of caesar is a spirit which has received the faculty of producing thoughts, and exerts it without the influence [ ] of any other spirit or of any body. it is neither assisted nor thwarted by anything whatsoever. if you consult the common notions and the ideas of order, you will find that this atom can never stop, and that having been in motion in the foregoing moment, it will continue in it at the present moment and in all the moments that shall follow, and that it will always move in the same manner. this is the consequence of an axiom approved by m. leibniz: _since a thing does always remain in the same state wherein it happens to be, unless it receives some alteration from some other thing ... we conclude_, says he, _not only that a body which is at rest will always be at rest, but that a body in motion will always keep that motion or change, that is, the same swiftness and the same direction, unless something happens to hinder it_. (m. leibniz, ibid.) 'everyone clearly sees that this atom, whether it moves by an innate power, as democritus and epicurus would have it, or by a power received from the creator, will always move in the same line equally and after a uniform manner, without ever turning or going back. epicurus was laughed at, when he invented the motion of declination; it was a needless supposition, which he wanted in order to get out of the labyrinth of a fatal necessity; and he could give no reason for this new part of his system. it was inconsistent with the clearest notions of our minds: for it is evident that an atom which describes a straight line for the space of two days cannot turn away at the beginning of a third, unless it meets with some obstacle, or has a mind all of a sudden to go out of its road, or contains some spring which begins to play at that very moment. the first of these reasons cannot be admitted in a vacuum. the second is impossible, since an atom has not the faculty of thinking. and the third is likewise impossible in a corpuscle that is a perfect unity. i must make some use of all this. 'vi. caesar's soul is a being to which unity belongs in a strict sense. the faculty of producing thoughts is a property of its nature (so m. leibniz), which it has received from god, both as to possession and exercise. if the first thought it produces is a sense of pleasure, there is no reason why the second should not likewise be a sense of pleasure; for when the total cause of an effect remains the same, the effect cannot be altered. now this soul, at the second moment of its existence, does not receive a new faculty of thinking; it only preserves the faculty it had at the first moment, and it is as independent of the concourse of any other cause at the second [ ] moment as it was at the first. it must therefore produce again at the second moment the same thought it had produced just before. if it be objected that it ought to be in a state of change, and that it would not be in such a state, in the case that i have supposed; i answer that its change will be like the change of the atom; for an atom which continually moves in the same line acquires a new situation at every moment, but it is like the preceding situation. a soul may therefore continue in its state of change, if it does but produce a new thought like the preceding. 'but suppose it to be not confined within such narrow bounds; it must be granted at least that its going from one thought to another implies some reason of affinity. if i suppose that in a certain moment the soul of caesar sees a tree with leaves and blossoms, i can conceive that it does immediately desire to see one that has only leaves, and then one that has only blossoms, and that it will thus successively produce several images arising from one another; but one cannot conceive the odd change of thoughts, which have no affinity with, but are even contrary to, one another, and which are so common in men's souls. one cannot apprehend how god could place in the soul of julius caesar the principle of what i am going to say. he was without doubt pricked with a pin more than once, when he was sucking; and therefore according to m. leibniz's hypothesis which i am here considering, his soul must have produced in itself a sense of pain immediately after the pleasant sensations of the sweetness of the milk, which it had enjoyed for the space of two or three minutes. by what springs was it determined to interrupt its pleasures and to give itself all of a sudden a sense of pain, without receiving any intimation of preparing itself to change, and without any new alteration in its substance? if you run over the life of that roman emperor, every page will afford you matter for a stronger objection than this is. 'vii. the thing would be less incomprehensible if it were supposed that the soul of man is not one spirit but rather a multitude of spirits, each of which has its functions, that begin and end precisely as the changes made in a human body require. by virtue of this supposition it should be said that something analogous to a great number of wheels and springs, or of matters that ferment, disposed according to the changes of our machine, awakens or lulls asleep for a certain time the action of each of those spirits. but then the soul of man would be no longer a single substance[ ] but an _ens per aggregationem_, a collection and heap of substances just like all material beings. we are here in quest of a single being, which produces in itself sometimes joy, sometimes pain, etc., and not of many beings, one of which produces hope, another despair, etc. 'in these observations i have merely cleared and unfolded those which m. leibniz has done me the honour to examine: and now i shall make some reflexions upon his answers. 'viii. he says (ibid., p. ) that _the law of the change which happens in the substance of the animal transports him from pleasure to pain at the very moment that a solution of continuity is made in his body; because the law of the indivisible substance of that animal is to represent what is done in his body as we experience it, and even to represent in some manner, and with respect to that body, whatever is done in the world_. these words are a very good explication of the grounds of this system; they are, as it were, the unfolding and key of it; but at the same time they are the very things at which the objections of those who take this system to be impossible are levelled. the law m. leibniz speaks of supposes a decree of god, and shows wherein this system agrees with that of occasional causes. those two systems agree in this point, that there are laws according to which the soul of man is _to represent what is done in the body of man, as we experience it_. but they disagree as to the manner of executing those laws. the cartesians say that god executes them; m. leibniz will have it, that the soul itself does it; which appears to me impossible, because the soul has not the necessary instruments for such an execution. now however infinite the power and knowledge of god be, he cannot perform with a machine deprived of a certain piece, what requires the concourse of such a piece. he must supply that defect; but then the effect would be produced by him and not by the machine. i shall show that the soul has not the instruments requisite for the divine law we speak of, and in order to do it i shall make use of a comparison. 'fancy to yourself an animal created by god and designed to sing continually. it will always sing, that is most certain; but if god designs him a certain tablature, he must necessarily either put it before his eyes or imprint it upon his memory or dispose his muscles in such a manner that according to the laws of mechanism one certain note will always come after another, agreeably to the order of the tablature. without this one cannot apprehend that the animal can always follow the whole set of the notes [ ] appointed him by god. let us apply this to man's soul. m. leibniz will have it that it has received not only the power of producing thoughts continually, but also the faculty of following always a certain set of thoughts, which answers the continual changes that happen in the machine of the body. this set of thoughts is like the tablature prescribed to the singing animal above mentioned. can the soul change its perceptions or modifications at every moment according to such a set of thoughts, without knowing the series of the notes, and actually thinking upon them? but experience teaches us that it knows nothing of it. were it not at least necessary that in default of such a knowledge, there should be in the soul a set of particular instruments, each of which would be a necessary cause of such and such a thought? must they not be so placed and disposed as to operate precisely one after another, according to the correspondence _pre-established_ between the changes of the body and the thoughts of the soul? but it is most certain that an immaterial simple and indivisible substance cannot be made up of such an innumerable multitude of particular instruments placed one before another, according to the order of the tablature in question. it is not therefore possible that a human soul should execute that law. 'm. leibniz supposes that the soul does not distinctly know its future perceptions, _but that it perceives them confusedly_, and that _there are in each substance traces of whatever hath happened, or shall happen to it: but that an infinite multitude of perceptions hinders us from distinguishing them. the present state of each substance is a natural consequence of its preceding state. the soul, though never so simple, has always a sentiment composed of several perceptions at one time: which answers our end as well as though it were composed of pieces, like a machine. for each foregoing perception has an influence on those that follow agreeably to a law of order, which is in perceptions as well as in motions...the perceptions that are together in one and the same soul at the same time, including an infinite multitude of little and indistinguishable sentiments that are to be unfolded, we need not wonder at the infinite variety of what is to result from it in time. this is only a consequence of the representative nature of the soul, which is, to express what happens and what will happen in its body, by the connexion and correspondence of all the parts of the world_. i have but little to say in answer to this: i shall only observe that this supposition when sufficiently cleared is the right way of solving all the difficulties. m. leibniz, through the [ ] penetration of his great genius, has very well conceived the extent and strength of this objection, and what remedy ought to be applied to the main inconveniency. i do not doubt but that he will smooth the rough parts of his system, and teach us some excellent things about the nature of spirits. nobody can travel more usefully or more safely than he in the intellectual world. i hope that his curious explanations will remove all the impossibilities which i have hitherto found in his system, and that he will solidly remove my difficulties, as well as those of father lami. and these hopes made me say before, without designing to pass a compliment upon that learned man, that his system ought to be looked upon as an important conquest. 'he will not be much embarrassed by this, viz. that whereas according to the supposition of the cartesians there is but one general law for the union of spirits and bodies, he will have it that god gives a particular law to each spirit; from whence it seems to result that the primitive constitution of each spirit is specifically different from all others. do not the thomists say, that there are as many species as individuals in angelic nature?' leibniz acknowledged bayle's note in a further reply, which is written as though for publication. it was communicated to bayle, but it was not in fact published. it is dated . it may be found in the standard collections of leibniz's philosophical works. it reads almost like a sketch for the _theodicy_. the principal point developed by leibniz is the richness of content which, according to him, is to be found in each 'simple substance'. its simplicity is more like the infinitely rich simplicity of the divine being, than like the simplicity of the atom of epicurus, with which bayle had chosen to compare it. it contains a condensation in confused idea of the whole universe: and its essence is from the first defined by the part it is to play in the total harmony. as to the musical score ('tablature of notes') which the individual soul plays from, in order to perform its ordained part in the universal harmony, this 'score' is to be found in the confused or implicit ideas at any moment present, from which an omniscient observer could always deduce what is to happen next. to the objection 'but the created soul is not an omniscient observer, and if it cannot read the score, the score is useless to it',[ ] leibniz replies by affirming that much spontaneous action arises from subjective and yet unperceived reasons, as we are all perfectly aware, once we attend to the relevant facts. all he claims to be doing is to generalize this observation. all events whatsoever arise from the 'interpretation of the score' by monads, but very little of this 'interpretation' is in the least conscious. leibniz passes from the remarks about his own doctrine under the article 'rorarius' to other articles of bayle's dictionary, and touches the question of the origin of evil, and other matters which receive their fuller treatment in the _theodicy_. in the same year leibniz wrote a very friendly letter to bayle himself, offering further explanations of disputed points. he concluded it with a paragraph of some personal interest, comparing himself the historian-philosopher with bayle the philosophic lexicographer, and revealing by the way his attitude to philosophy, science and history: 'we have good reason to admire, sir, the way in which your striking reflexions on the deepest questions of philosophy remain unhindered by your boundless researches into matters of fact. i too am not always able to excuse myself from discussions of the sort, and have even been obliged to descend to questions of genealogy, which would be still more trifling, were it not that the interests of states frequently depend upon them. i have worked much on the history of germany in so far as it bears upon these countries, a study which has furnished me with some observations belonging to general history. so i have learnt not to neglect the knowledge of sheer facts. but if the choice were open to me, i should prefer natural history to political, and the customs and laws god has established in nature, to what is observed among mankind.' leibniz now conceived the idea of putting together all the passages in bayle's works which interested him, and writing a systematic answer to them. before he had leisure to finish the task, bayle died. the work nevertheless appeared in as the essays in _theodicy_. [ ] * * * * * preface * * * * * it has ever been seen that men in general have resorted to outward forms for the expression of their religion: sound piety, that is to say, light and virtue, has never been the portion of the many. one should not wonder at this, nothing is so much in accord with human weakness. we are impressed by what is outward, while the inner essence of things requires consideration of such a kind as few persons are fitted to give. as true piety consists in principles and practice, the outward forms of religion imitate these, and are of two kinds: the one kind consists in ceremonial practices, and the other in the formularies of belief. ceremonies resemble virtuous actions, and formularies are like shadows of the truth and approach, more or less, the true light. all these outward forms would be commendable if those who invented them had rendered them appropriate to maintain and to express that which they imitate--if religious ceremonies, ecclesiastical discipline, the rules of communities, human laws were always like a hedge round the divine law, to withdraw us from any approach to vice, to inure us to the good and to make us familiar with virtue. that was the aim of moses and of other good lawgivers, of the wise men who founded religious orders, and above all of jesus christ, divine founder of the purest and most enlightened religion. it is just the same with the formularies of belief: they would be valid provided there were nothing [ ] in them inconsistent with truth unto salvation, even though the full truth concerned were not there. but it happens only too often that religion is choked in ceremonial, and that the divine light is obscured by the opinions of men. the pagans, who inhabited the earth before christianity was founded, had only one kind of outward form: they had ceremonies in their worship, but they had no articles of faith and had never dreamed of drawing up formularies for their dogmatic theology. they knew not whether their gods were real persons or symbols of the forces of nature, as the sun, the planets, the elements. their mysteries consisted not in difficult dogmas but in certain secret observances, whence the profane, namely those who were not initiated, were excluded. these observances were very often ridiculous and absurd, and it was necessary to conceal them in order to guard them against contempt. the pagans had their superstitions: they boasted of miracles, everything with them was full of oracles, auguries, portents, divinations; the priests invented signs of the anger or of the goodness of the gods, whose interpreters they claimed to be. this tended to sway minds through fear and hope concerning human events; but the great future of another life was scarce envisaged; one did not trouble to impart to men true notions of god and of the soul. of all ancient peoples, it appears that the hebrews alone had public dogmas for their religion. abraham and moses established the belief in one god, source of all good, author of all things. the hebrews speak of him in a manner worthy of the supreme substance; and one wonders at seeing the inhabitants of one small region of the earth more enlightened than the rest of the human race. peradventure the wise men of other nations have sometimes said the same, but they have not had the good fortune to find a sufficient following and to convert the dogma into law. nevertheless moses had not inserted in his laws the doctrine of the immortality of souls: it was consistent with his ideas, it was taught by oral tradition; but it was not proclaimed for popular acceptance until jesus christ lifted the veil, and, without having force in his hand, taught with all the force of a lawgiver that immortal souls pass into another life, wherein they shall receive the wages of their deeds. moses had already expressed the beautiful conceptions of the greatness and the goodness of god, whereto many civilized peoples to-day assent; but jesus christ demonstrated fully [ ] the results of these ideas, proclaiming that divine goodness and justice are shown forth to perfection in god's designs for the souls of men. i refrain from considering here the other points of the christian doctrine, and i will show only how jesus christ brought about the conversion of natural religion into law, and gained for it the authority of a public dogma. he alone did that which so many philosophers had endeavoured in vain to do; and christians having at last gained the upper hand in the roman empire, the master of the greater part of the known earth, the religion of the wise men became that of the nations. later also mahomet showed no divergence from the great dogmas of natural theology: his followers spread them abroad even among the most remote races of asia and of africa, whither christianity had not been carried; and they abolished in many countries heathen superstitions which were contrary to the true doctrine of the unity of god and the immortality of souls. it is clear that jesus christ, completing what moses had begun, wished that the divinity should be the object not only of our fear and veneration but also of our love and devotion. thus he made men happy by anticipation, and gave them here on earth a foretaste of future felicity. for there is nothing so agreeable as loving that which is worthy of love. love is that mental state which makes us take pleasure in the perfections of the object of our love, and there is nothing more perfect than god, nor any greater delight than in him. to love him it suffices to contemplate his perfections, a thing easy indeed, because we find the ideas of these within ourselves. the perfections of god are those of our souls, but he possesses them in boundless measure; he is an ocean, whereof to us only drops have been granted; there is in us some power, some knowledge, some goodness, but in god they are all in their entirety. order, proportions, harmony delight us; painting and music are samples of these: god is all order; he always keeps truth of proportions, he makes universal harmony; all beauty is an effusion of his rays. it follows manifestly that true piety and even true felicity consist in the love of god, but a love so enlightened that its fervour is attended by insight. this kind of love begets that pleasure in good actions which gives relief to virtue, and, relating all to god as to the centre, transports the human to the divine. for in doing one's duty, in obeying reason, one [ ] carries out the orders of supreme reason. one directs all one's intentions to the common good, which is no other than the glory of god. thus one finds that there is no greater individual interest than to espouse that of the community, and one gains satisfaction for oneself by taking pleasure in the acquisition of true benefits for men. whether one succeeds therein or not, one is content with what comes to pass, being once resigned to the will of god and knowing that what he wills is best. but before he declares his will by the event one endeavours to find it out by doing that which appears most in accord with his commands. when we are in this state of mind, we are not disheartened by ill success, we regret only our faults; and the ungrateful ways of men cause no relaxation in the exercise of our kindly disposition. our charity is humble and full of moderation, it presumes not to domineer; attentive alike to our own faults and to the talents of others, we are inclined to criticize our own actions and to excuse and vindicate those of others. we must work out our own perfection and do wrong to no man. there is no piety where there is not charity; and without being kindly and beneficent one cannot show sincere religion. good disposition, favourable upbringing, association with pious and virtuous persons may contribute much towards such a propitious condition for our souls; but most securely are they grounded therein by good principles. i have already said that insight must be joined to fervour, that the perfecting of our understanding must accomplish the perfecting of our will. the practices of virtue, as well as those of vice, may be the effect of a mere habit, one may acquire a taste for them; but when virtue is reasonable, when it is related to god, who is the supreme reason of things, it is founded on knowledge. one cannot love god without knowing his perfections, and this knowledge contains the principles of true piety. the purpose of religion should be to imprint these principles upon our souls: but in some strange way it has happened all too often that men, that teachers of religion have strayed far from this purpose. contrary to the intention of our divine master, devotion has been reduced to ceremonies and doctrine has been cumbered with formulae. all too often these ceremonies have not been well fitted to maintain the exercise of virtue, and the formulae sometimes have not been lucid. can one believe it? some christians have imagined that they could be devout without loving their neighbour,[ ] and pious without loving god; or else people have thought that they could love their neighbour without serving him and could love god without knowing him. many centuries have passed without recognition of this defect by the people at large; and there are still great traces of the reign of darkness. there are divers persons who speak much of piety, of devotion, of religion, who are even busied with the teaching of such things, and who yet prove to be by no means versed in the divine perfections. they ill understand the goodness and the justice of the sovereign of the universe; they imagine a god who deserves neither to be imitated nor to be loved. this indeed seemed to me dangerous in its effect, since it is of serious moment that the very source of piety should be preserved from infection. the old errors of those who arraigned the divinity or who made thereof an evil principle have been renewed sometimes in our own days: people have pleaded the irresistible power of god when it was a question rather of presenting his supreme goodness; and they have assumed a despotic power when they should rather have conceived of a power ordered by the most perfect wisdom. i have observed that these opinions, apt to do harm, rested especially on confused notions which had been formed concerning freedom, necessity and destiny; and i have taken up my pen more than once on such an occasion to give explanations on these important matters. but finally i have been compelled to gather up my thoughts on all these connected questions, and to impart them to the public. it is this that i have undertaken in the essays which i offer here, on the goodness of god, the freedom of man, and the origin of evil. there are two famous labyrinths where our reason very often goes astray: one concerns the great question of the free and the necessary, above all in the production and the origin of evil; the other consists in the discussion of continuity and of the indivisibles which appear to be the elements thereof, and where the consideration of the infinite must enter in. the first perplexes almost all the human race, the other exercises philosophers only. i shall have perchance at another time an opportunity to declare myself on the second, and to point out that, for lack of a true conception of the nature of substance and matter, people have taken up false positions leading to insurmountable difficulties, difficulties which should properly be applied to the overthrow of these very positions. but if the [ ] knowledge of continuity is important for speculative enquiry, that of necessity is none the less so for practical application; and it, together with the questions therewith connected, to wit, the freedom of man and the justice of god, forms the object of this treatise. men have been perplexed in well-nigh every age by a sophism which the ancients called the 'lazy reason', because it tended towards doing nothing, or at least towards being careful for nothing and only following inclination for the pleasure of the moment. for, they said, if the future is necessary, that which must happen will happen, whatever i may do. now the future (so they said) is necessary, whether because the divinity foresees everything, and even pre-establishes it by the control of all things in the universe; or because everything happens of necessity, through the concatenation of causes; or finally, through the very nature of truth, which is determinate in the assertions that can be made on future events, as it is in all assertions, since the assertion must always be true or false in itself, even though we know not always which it is. and all these reasons for determination which appear different converge finally like lines upon one and the same centre; for there is a truth in the future event which is predetermined by the causes, and god pre-establishes it in establishing the causes. the false conception of necessity, being applied in practice, has given rise to what i call _fatum mahometanum_, fate after the turkish fashion, because it is said of the turks that they do not shun danger or even abandon places infected with plague, owing to their use of such reasoning as that just recorded. for what is called _fatum stoicum_ was not so black as it is painted: it did not divert men from the care of their affairs, but it tended to give them tranquillity in regard to events, through the consideration of necessity, which renders our anxieties and our vexations needless. in which respect these philosophers were not far removed from the teaching of our lord, who deprecates these anxieties in regard to the morrow, comparing them with the needless trouble a man would give himself in labouring to increase his stature. it is true that the teachings of the stoics (and perhaps also of some famous philosophers of our time), confining themselves to this alleged necessity, can only impart a forced patience; whereas our lord inspires thoughts more sublime, and even instructs us in the means of gaining contentment by assuring us that since god, being altogether good and [ ] wise, has care for everything, even so far as not to neglect one hair of our head, our confidence in him ought to be entire. and thus we should see, if we were capable of understanding him, that it is not even possible to wish for anything better (as much in general as for ourselves) than what he does. it is as if one said to men: do your duty and be content with that which shall come of it, not only because you cannot resist divine providence, or the nature of things (which may suffice for tranquillity, but not for contentment), but also because you have to do with a good master. and that is what may be called _fatum christianum_. nevertheless it happens that most men, and even christians, introduce into their dealings some mixture of fate after the turkish fashion, although they do not sufficiently acknowledge it. it is true that they are not inactive or negligent when obvious perils or great and manifest hopes present themselves; for they will not fail to abandon a house that is about to fall and to turn aside from a precipice they see in their path; and they will burrow in the earth to dig up a treasure half uncovered, without waiting for fate to finish dislodging it. but when the good or the evil is remote and uncertain and the remedy painful or little to our taste, the lazy reason seems to us to be valid. for example, when it is a question of preserving one's health and even one's life by good diet, people to whom one gives advice thereupon very often answer that our days are numbered and that it avails nothing to try to struggle against that which god destines for us. but these same persons run to even the most absurd remedies when the evil they had neglected draws near. one reasons in somewhat the same way when the question for consideration is somewhat thorny, as for instance when one asks oneself, _quod vitae sectabor iter_? what profession one must choose; when it is a question of a marriage being arranged, of a war being undertaken, of a battle being fought; for in these cases many will be inclined to evade the difficulty of consideration and abandon themselves to fate or to inclination, as if reason should not be employed except in easy cases. one will then all too often reason in the turkish fashion (although this way is wrongly termed trusting in providence, a thing that in reality occurs only when one has done one's duty) and one will employ the lazy reason, derived from the idea of inevitable fate, to relieve oneself of the need to reason properly. one will thus overlook the fact that if this [ ] argument contrary to the practice of reason were valid, it would always hold good, whether the consideration were easy or not. this laziness is to some extent the source of the superstitious practices of fortune-tellers, which meet with just such credulity as men show towards the philosopher's stone, because they would fain have short cuts to the attainment of happiness without trouble. i do not speak here of those who throw themselves upon fortune because they have been happy before, as if there were something permanent therein. their argument from the past to the future has just as slight a foundation as the principles of astrology and of other kinds of divination. they overlook the fact that there is usually an ebb and flow in fortune, _una marea_, as italians playing basset are wont to call it. with regard to this they make their own particular observations, which i would, nevertheless, counsel none to trust too much. yet this confidence that people have in their fortune serves often to give courage to men, and above all to soldiers, and causes them to have indeed that good fortune they ascribe to themselves. even so do predictions often cause that to happen which has been foretold, as it is supposed that the opinion the mahometans hold on fate makes them resolute. thus even errors have their use at times, but generally as providing a remedy for other errors: and truth is unquestionably better. but it is taking an unfair advantage of this alleged necessity of fate to employ it in excuse for our vices and our libertinism. i have often heard it said by smart young persons, who wished to play the freethinker, that it is useless to preach virtue, to censure vice, to create hopes of reward and fears of punishment, since it may be said of the book of destiny, that what is written is written, and that our behaviour can change nothing therein. thus, they would say, it were best to follow one's inclination, dwelling only upon such things as may content us in the present. they did not reflect upon the strange consequences of this argument, which would prove too much, since it would prove (for instance) that one should take a pleasant beverage even though one knows it is poisoned. for the same reason (if it were valid) i could say: if it is written in the records of the parcae that poison will kill me now or will do me harm, this will happen even though i were not to take this beverage; and if this is not written, it will not happen even though i should take this same beverage; consequently i shall be able to follow with impunity my inclination to [ ] take what is pleasing, however injurious it may be; the result of which reasoning is an obvious absurdity. this objection disconcerted them a little, but they always reverted to their argument, phrased in different ways, until they were brought to understand where the fault of the sophism lies. it is untrue that the event happens whatever one may do: it will happen because one does what leads thereto; and if the event is written beforehand, the cause that will make it happen is written also. thus the connexion of effects and causes, so far from establishing the doctrine of a necessity detrimental to conduct, serves to overthrow it. yet, without having evil intentions inclined towards libertinism, one may envisage differently the strange consequences of an inevitable necessity, considering that it would destroy the freedom of the will, so essential to the morality of action: for justice and injustice, praise and blame, punishment and reward cannot attach to necessary actions, and nobody will be under obligation to do the impossible or to abstain from doing what is absolutely necessary. without any intention of abusing this consideration in order to favour irregularity, one will nevertheless not escape embarrassment sometimes, when it comes to a question of judging the actions of others, or rather of answering objections, amongst which there are some even concerned with the actions of god, whereof i will speak presently. and as an insuperable necessity would open the door to impiety, whether through the impunity one could thence infer or the hopelessness of any attempt to resist a torrent that sweeps everything along with it, it is important to note the different degrees of necessity, and to show that there are some which cannot do harm, as there are others which cannot be admitted without giving rise to evil consequences. some go even further: not content with using the pretext of necessity to prove that virtue and vice do neither good nor ill, they have the hardihood to make the divinity accessary to their licentious way of life, and they imitate the pagans of old, who ascribed to the gods the cause of their crimes, as if a divinity drove them to do evil. the philosophy of christians, which recognizes better than that of the ancients the dependence of things upon the first author and his co-operation with all the actions of creatures, appears to have increased this difficulty. some able men in our own time have gone so far as to deny all action to [ ] creatures, and m. bayle, who tended a little towards this extraordinary opinion, made use of it to restore the lapsed dogma of the two principles, or two gods, the one good, the other evil, as if this dogma were a better solution to the difficulties over the origin of evil. yet again he acknowledges that it is an indefensible opinion and that the oneness of the principle is incontestably founded on _a priori_ reasons; but he wishes to infer that our reason is confounded and cannot meet her own objections, and that one should disregard them and hold fast the revealed dogmas, which teach us the existence of one god altogether good, altogether powerful and altogether wise. but many readers, convinced of the irrefutable nature of his objections and believing them to be at least as strong as the proofs for the truth of religion, would draw dangerous conclusions. even though there were no co-operation by god in evil actions, one could not help finding difficulty in the fact that he foresees them and that, being able to prevent them through his omnipotence, he yet permits them. this is why some philosophers and even some theologians have rather chosen to deny to god any knowledge of the detail of things and, above all, of future events, than to admit what they believed repellent to his goodness. the socinians and conrad vorstius lean towards that side; and thomas bonartes, an english jesuit disguised under a pseudonym but exceedingly learned, who wrote a book _de concordia scientiae cum fide_, of which i will speak later, appears to hint at this also. they are doubtless much mistaken; but others are not less so who, convinced that nothing comes to pass save by the will and the power of god, ascribe to him intentions and actions so unworthy of the greatest and the best of all beings that one would say these authors have indeed renounced the dogma which recognizes god's justice and goodness. they thought that, being supreme master of the universe, he could without any detriment to his holiness cause sins to be committed, simply at his will and pleasure, or in order that he might have the pleasure of punishing; and even that he could take pleasure in eternally afflicting innocent people without doing any injustice, because no one has the right or the power to control his actions. some even have gone so far as to say that god acts thus indeed; and on the plea that we are as nothing in comparison with him, they liken us to earthworms which men crush without heeding as they walk, or in general to animals that are not of our species and which we do not [ ] scruple to ill-treat. i believe that many persons otherwise of good intentions are misled by these ideas, because they have not sufficient knowledge of their consequences. they do not see that, properly speaking, god's justice is thus overthrown. for what idea shall we form of such a justice as has only will for its rule, that is to say, where the will is not guided by the rules of good and even tends directly towards evil? unless it be the idea contained in that tyrannical definition by thrasymachus in plato, which designated as _just_ that which pleases the stronger. such indeed is the position taken up, albeit unwittingly, by those who rest all obligation upon constraint, and in consequence take power as the gauge of right. but one will soon abandon maxims so strange and so unfit to make men good and charitable through the imitation of god. for one will reflect that a god who would take pleasure in the misfortune of others cannot be distinguished from the evil principle of the manichaeans, assuming that this principle had become sole master of the universe; and that in consequence one must attribute to the true god sentiments that render him worthy to be called the good principle. happily these extravagant dogmas scarce obtain any longer among theologians. nevertheless some astute persons, who are pleased to make difficulties, revive them: they seek to increase our perplexity by uniting the controversies aroused by christian theology to the disputes of philosophy. philosophers have considered the questions of necessity, of freedom and of the origin of evil; theologians have added thereto those of original sin, of grace and of predestination. the original corruption of the human race, coming from the first sin, appears to us to have imposed a natural necessity to sin without the succour of divine grace: but necessity being incompatible with punishment, it will be inferred that a sufficient grace ought to have been given to all men; which does not seem to be in conformity with experience. but the difficulty is great, above all, in relation to god's dispositions for the salvation of men. there are few saved or chosen; therefore the choice of many is not god's decreed will. and since it is admitted that those whom he has chosen deserve it no more than the rest, and are not even fundamentally less evil, the goodness which they have coming only from the gift of god, the difficulty is increased. where is, then, his justice [ ] (people will say), or at the least, where is his goodness? partiality, or respect of persons, goes against justice, and he who without cause sets bounds to his goodness cannot have it in sufficient measure. it is true that those who are not chosen are lost by their own fault: they lack good will or living faith; but it rested with god alone to grant it them. we know that besides inward grace there are usually outward circumstances which distinguish men, and that training, conversation, example often correct or corrupt natural disposition. now that god should call forth circumstances favourable to some and abandon others to experiences which contribute to their misfortune, will not that give us cause for astonishment? and it is not enough (so it seems) to say with some that inward grace is universal and equal for all. for these same authors are obliged to resort to the exclamations of st. paul, and to say: 'o the depth!' when they consider how men are distinguished by what we may call outward graces, that is, by graces appearing in the diversity of circumstances which god calls forth, whereof men are not the masters, and which have nevertheless so great an influence upon all that concerns their salvation. nor will it help us to say with st. augustine that, all men being involved in the damnation caused by the sin of adam, god might have left them all in their misery; and that thus his goodness alone induces him to deliver some of them. for not only is it strange that the sin of another should condemn anyone, but there still remains the question why god does not deliver all--why he delivers the lesser number and why some in preference to others. he is in truth their master, but he is a good and just master; his power is absolute, but his wisdom permits not that he exercise that power in an arbitrary and despotic way, which would be tyrannous indeed. moreover, the fall of the first man having happened only with god's permission, and god having resolved to permit it only when once he had considered its consequences, which are the corruption of the mass of the human race and the choice of a small number of elect, with the abandonment of all the rest, it is useless to conceal the difficulty by limiting one's view to the mass already corrupt. one must, in spite of oneself, go back to the knowledge of the consequences of the first sin, preceding the decree whereby god permitted it, and whereby he permitted simultaneously that [ ] the damned should be involved in the mass of perdition and should not be delivered: for god and the sage make no resolve without considering its consequences. i hope to remove all these difficulties. i will point out that absolute necessity, which is called also logical and metaphysical and sometimes geometrical, and which would alone be formidable in this connexion, does not exist in free actions, and that thus freedom is exempt not only from constraint but also from real necessity. i will show that god himself, although he always chooses the best, does not act by an absolute necessity, and that the laws of nature laid down by god, founded upon the fitness of things, keep the mean between geometrical truths, absolutely necessary, and arbitrary decrees; which m. bayle and other modern philosophers have not sufficiently understood. further i will show that there is an indifference in freedom, because there is no absolute necessity for one course or the other; but yet that there is never an indifference of perfect equipoise. and i will demonstrate that there is in free actions a perfect spontaneity beyond all that has been conceived hitherto. finally i will make it plain that the hypothetical and the moral necessity which subsist in free actions are open to no objection, and that the 'lazy reason' is a pure sophism. likewise concerning the origin of evil in its relation to god, i offer a vindication of his perfections that shall extol not less his holiness, his justice and his goodness than his greatness, his power and his independence. i show how it is possible for everything to depend upon god, for him to co-operate in all the actions of creatures, even, if you will, to create these creatures continually, and nevertheless not to be the author of sin. here also it is demonstrated how the privative nature of evil should be understood. much more than that, i explain how evil has a source other than the will of god, and that one is right therefore to say of moral evil that god wills it not, but simply permits it. most important of all, however, i show that it has been possible for god to permit sin and misery, and even to co-operate therein and promote it, without detriment to his holiness and his supreme goodness: although, generally speaking, he could have avoided all these evils. concerning grace and predestination, i justify the most debatable assertions, as for instance: that we are converted only through the [ ] prevenient grace of god and that we cannot do good except with his aid; that god wills the salvation of all men and that he condemns only those whose will is evil; that he gives to all a sufficient grace provided they wish to use it; that, jesus christ being the source and the centre of election, god destined the elect for salvation, because he foresaw that they would cling with a lively faith to the doctrine of jesus christ. yet it is true that this reason for election is not the final reason, and that this very pre-vision is still a consequence of god's anterior decree. faith likewise is a gift of god, who has predestinated the faith of the elect, for reasons lying in a superior decree which dispenses grace and circumstance in accordance with god's supreme wisdom. now, as one of the most gifted men of our time, whose eloquence was as great as his acumen and who gave great proofs of his vast erudition, had applied himself with a strange predilection to call attention to all the difficulties on this subject which i have just touched in general, i found a fine field for exercise in considering the question with him in detail. i acknowledge that m. bayle (for it is easy to see that i speak of him) has on his side all the advantages except that of the root of the matter, but i hope that truth (which he acknowledges himself to be on our side) by its very plainness, and provided it be fittingly set forth, will prevail over all the ornaments of eloquence and erudition. my hope for success therein is all the greater because it is the cause of god i plead, and because one of the maxims here upheld states that god's help is never lacking for those that lack not good will. the author of this discourse believes that he has given proof of this good will in the attention he has brought to bear upon this subject. he has meditated upon it since his youth; he has conferred with some of the foremost men of the time; and he has schooled himself by the reading of good authors. and the success which god has given him (according to the opinion of sundry competent judges) in certain other profound meditations, of which some have much influence on this subject, gives him peradventure some right to claim the attention of readers who love truth and are fitted to search after it. the author had, moreover, particular and weighty reasons inducing him to take pen in hand for discussion of this subject. conversations which he had concerning the same with literary and court personages, in germany and in france, and especially with one of the greatest and most accomplished [ ] of princesses, have repeatedly prompted him to this course. he had had the honour of expressing his opinions to this princess upon divers passages of the admirable _dictionary_ of m. bayle, wherein religion and reason appear as adversaries, and where m. bayle wishes to silence reason after having made it speak too loud: which he calls the triumph of faith. the present author declared there and then that he was of a different opinion, but that he was nevertheless well pleased that a man of such great genius had brought about an occasion for going deeply into these subjects, subjects as important as they are difficult. he admitted having examined them also for some long time already, and having sometimes been minded to publish upon this matter some reflexions whose chief aim should be such knowledge of god as is needed to awaken piety and to foster virtue. this princess exhorted and urged him to carry out his long-cherished intention, and some friends added their persuasions. he was all the more tempted to accede to their requests since he had reason to hope that in the sequel to his investigation m. bayle's genius would greatly aid him to give the subject such illumination as it might receive with his support. but divers obstacles intervened, and the death of the incomparable queen was not the least. it happened, however, that m. bayle was attacked by excellent men who set themselves to examine the same subject; he answered them fully and always ingeniously. i followed their dispute, and was even on the point of being involved therein. this is how it came about. i had published a new system, which seemed well adapted to explain the union of the soul and the body: it met with considerable applause even from those who were not in agreement with it, and certain competent persons testified that they had already been of my opinion, without having reached so distinct an explanation, before they saw what i had written on the matter. m. bayle examined it in his _historical and critical dictionary_, article 'rorarius'. he thought that my expositions were worthy of further development; he drew attention to their usefulness in various connexions, and he laid stress upon what might still cause difficulty. i could not but reply in a suitable way to expressions so civil and to reflexions so instructive as his. in order to turn them to greater account, i published some elucidations in the _histoire des ouvrages des savants_, july . m. bayle replied to them in the second edition of his _dictionary_. i sent[ ] him a rejoinder which has not yet been published; i know not whether he ever made a further reply. meanwhile it happened that m. le clerc had inserted in his _select library_ an extract from the _intellectual system_ of the late mr. cudworth, and had explained therein certain 'plastic natures' which this admirable author applied to the formation of animals. m. bayle believed (see the continuation of _divers thoughts on the comet_, ch. , art. ) that, these natures being without cognition, in establishing them one weakened the argument which proves, through the marvellous formation of things, that the universe must have an intelligent cause. m. le clerc replied ( th art. of the th vol. of his _select library_) that these natures required to be directed by divine wisdom. m. bayle insisted ( th article of the _histoire des ouvrages des savants_, august ) that direction alone was not sufficient for a cause devoid of cognition, unless one took the cause to be a mere instrument of god, in which case direction would be needless. my system was touched upon in passing; and that gave me an opportunity to send a short essay to the illustrious author of the _histoire des ouvrages des savants_, which he inserted in the month of may , art. . in this i endeavoured to make clear that in reality mechanism is sufficient to produce the organic bodies of animals, without any need of other plastic natures, provided there be added thereto the _preformation_ already completely organic in the seeds of the bodies that come into existence, contained in those of the bodies whence they spring, right back to the primary seeds. this could only proceed from the author of things, infinitely powerful and infinitely wise, who, creating all in the beginning in due order, had _pre-established_ there all order and artifice that was to be. there is no chaos in the inward nature of things, and there is organism everywhere in a matter whose disposition proceeds from god. more and more of it would come to light if we pressed closer our examination of the anatomy of bodies; and we should continue to observe it even if we could go on to infinity, like nature, and make subdivision as continuous in our knowledge as nature has made it in fact. in order to explain this marvel of the formation of animals, i made use of a pre-established harmony, that is to say, of the same means i had used to explain another marvel, namely the correspondence of soul with body, [ ] wherein i proved the uniformity and the fecundity of the principles i had employed. it seems that this reminded m. bayle of my system of accounting for this correspondence, which he had examined formerly. he declared (in chapter of his _reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, p. ) that he did not believe god could give to matter or to any other cause the faculty of becoming organic without communicating to it the idea and the knowledge of organic nature. also he was not yet disposed to believe that god, with all his power over nature and with all the foreknowledge which he has of the contingencies that may arrive, could have so disposed things that by the laws of mechanics alone a vessel (for instance) should go to its port of destination without being steered during its passage by some intelligent guide. i was surprised to see that limits were placed on the power of god, without the adduction of any proof and without indication that there was any contradiction to be feared on the side of the object or any imperfection on god's side. whereas i had shown before in my rejoinder that even men often produce through automata something like the movements that come from reason, and that even a finite mind (but one far above ours) could accomplish what m. bayle thinks impossible to the divinity. moreover, as god orders all things at once beforehand, the accuracy of the path of this vessel would be no more strange than that of a fuse passing along a cord in fireworks, since the whole disposition of things preserves a perfect harmony between them by means of their influence one upon the other. this declaration of m. bayle pledged me to an answer. i therefore purposed to point out to him, that unless it be said that god forms organic bodies himself by a perpetual miracle, or that he has entrusted this care to intelligences whose power and knowledge are almost divine, we must hold the opinion that god _preformed_ things in such sort that new organisms are only a mechanical consequence of a preceding organic constitution. even so do butterflies come out of silkworms, an instance where m. swammerdam has shown that there is nothing but development. and i would have added that nothing is better qualified than the preformation of plants and of animals to confirm my system of pre-established harmony between the soul and the body. for in this the body is prompted by its original constitution to carry out with the help of external things all that it does in accordance with the will of the soul. so the seeds by their original constitution [ ] carry out naturally the intentions of god, by an artifice greater still than that which causes our body to perform everything in conformity with our will. and since m. bayle himself deems with reason that there is more artifice in the organism of animals than in the most beautiful poem in the world or in the most admirable invention whereof the human mind is capable, it follows that my system of the connexion between the body and the soul is as intelligible as the general opinion on the formation of animals. for this opinion (which appears to me true) states in effect that the wisdom of god has so made nature that it is competent in virtue of its laws to form animals; i explain this opinion and throw more light upon the possibility of it through the system of preformation. whereafter there will be no cause for surprise that god has so made the body that by virtue of its own laws it can carry out the intentions of the reasoning soul: for all that the reasoning soul can demand of the body is less difficult than the organization which god has demanded of the seeds. m. bayle says (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, ch. , p. ) that it is only very recently there have been people who have understood that the formation of living bodies cannot be a natural process. this he could say also (in accordance with his principles) of the communication between the soul and the body, since god effects this whole communication in the system of occasional causes to which this author subscribes. but i admit the supernatural here only in the beginning of things, in respect of the first formation of animals or in respect of the original constitution of pre-established harmony between the soul and the body. once that has come to pass, i hold that the formation of animals and the relation between the soul and the body are something as natural now as the other most ordinary operations of nature. a close parallel is afforded by people's ordinary thinking about the instinct and the marvellous behaviour of brutes. one recognizes reason there not in the brutes but in him who created them. i am, then, of the general opinion in this respect; but i hope that my explanation will have added clearness and lucidity, and even a more ample range, to that opinion. now when preparing to justify my system in face of the new difficulties of m. bayle, i purposed at the same time to communicate to him the ideas which i had had for some time already, on the difficulties put forward by him[ ] in opposition to those who endeavour to reconcile reason with faith in regard to the existence of evil. indeed, there are perhaps few persons who have toiled more than i in this matter. hardly had i gained some tolerable understanding of latin writings when i had an opportunity of turning over books in a library. i flitted from book to book, and since subjects for meditation pleased me as much as histories and fables, i was charmed by the work of laurentius valla against boethius and by that of luther against erasmus, although i was well aware that they had need of some mitigation. i did not omit books of controversy, and amongst other writings of this nature the records of the montbéliard conversation, which had revived the dispute, appeared to me instructive. nor did i neglect the teachings of our theologians: and the study of their opponents, far from disturbing me, served to strengthen me in the moderate opinions of the churches of the augsburg confession. i had opportunity on my journeys to confer with some excellent men of different parties, for instance with bishop peter von wallenburg, suffragan of mainz, with herr johann ludwig fabricius, premier theologian of heidelberg, and finally with the celebrated m. arnauld. to him i even tendered a latin dialogue of my own composition upon this subject, about the year , wherein already i laid it down that god, having chosen the most perfect of all possible worlds, had been prompted by his wisdom to permit the evil which was bound up with it, but which still did not prevent this world from being, all things considered, the best that could be chosen. i have also since read many and various good authors on these subjects, and i have endeavoured to make progress in the knowledge that seems to me proper for banishing all that could have obscured the idea of supreme perfection which must be acknowledged in god. i have not neglected to examine the most rigorous authors, who have extended furthest the doctrine of the necessity of things, as for instance hobbes and spinoza, of whom the former advocated this absolute necessity not only in his _physical elements_ and elsewhere, but also in a special book against bishop bramhall. and spinoza insists more or less (like an ancient peripatetic philosopher named strato) that all has come from the first cause or from primitive nature by a blind and geometrical necessity, with complete absence of capacity for choice, for goodness and for understanding in this first source of things. [ ] i have found the means, so it seems to me, of demonstrating the contrary in a way that gives one a clear insight into the inward essence of the matter. for having made new discoveries on the nature of active force and the laws of motion, i have shown that they have no geometrical necessity, as spinoza appears to have believed they had. neither, as i have made plain, are they purely arbitrary, even though this be the opinion of m. bayle and of some modern philosophers: but they are dependent upon the fitness of things as i have already pointed out above, or upon that which i call the 'principle of the best'. moreover one recognizes therein, as in every other thing, the marks of the first substance, whose productions bear the stamp of a supreme wisdom and make the most perfect of harmonies. i have shown also that this harmony connects both the future with the past and the present with the absent. the first kind of connexion unites times, and the other places. this second connexion is displayed in the union of the soul with the body, and in general in the communication of true substances with one another and with material phenomena. but the first takes place in the preformation of organic bodies, or rather of all bodies, since there is organism everywhere, although all masses do not compose organic bodies. so a pond may very well be full of fish or of other organic bodies, although it is not itself an animal or organic body, but only a mass that contains them. thus i had endeavoured to build upon such foundations, established in a conclusive manner, a complete body of the main articles of knowledge that reason pure and simple can impart to us, a body whereof all the parts were properly connected and capable of meeting the most important difficulties of the ancients and the moderns. i had also in consequence formed for myself a certain system concerning the freedom of man and the cooperation of god. this system appeared to me to be such as would in no wise offend reason and faith; and i desired to submit it to the scrutiny of m. bayle, as well as of those who are in controversy with him. now he has departed from us, and such a loss is no small one, a writer whose learning and acumen few have equalled. but since the subject is under consideration and men of talent are still occupied with it, while the public also follows it attentively, i take this to be a fitting moment for the publication of certain of my ideas. it will perhaps be well to add the observation, before finishing this preface, that in denying the physical influence of the soul upon the [ ] body or of the body upon the soul, that is, an influence causing the one to disturb the laws of the other, i by no means deny the union of the one with the other which forms of them a suppositum; but this union is something metaphysical, which changes nothing in the phenomena. this is what i have already said in reply to the objection raised against me, in the _mémoires de trévoux_, by the reverend father de tournemine, whose wit and learning are of no ordinary mould. and for this reason one may say also in a metaphysical sense that the soul acts upon the body and the body upon the soul. moreover, it is true that the soul is the entelechy or the active principle, whereas the corporeal alone or the mere material contains only the passive. consequently the principle of action is in the soul, as i have explained more than once in the _leipzig journal_. more especially does this appear in my answer to the late herr sturm, philosopher and mathematician of altorf, where i have even demonstrated that, if bodies contained only the passive, their different conditions would be indistinguishable. also i take this opportunity to say that, having heard of some objections made by the gifted author of the book on _self-knowledge_, in that same book, to my system of pre-established harmony, i sent a reply to paris, showing that he has attributed to me opinions i am far from holding. on another matter recently i met with like treatment at the hands of an anonymous doctor of the sorbonne. and these misconceptions would have become plain to the reader at the outset if my own words, which were being taken in evidence, had been quoted. this tendency of men to make mistakes in presenting the opinions of others leads me to observe also, that when i said somewhere that man helps himself in conversion through the succour of grace, i mean only that he derives advantage from it through the cessation of the resistance overcome, but without any cooperation on his part: just as there is no co-operation in ice when it is broken. for conversion is purely the work of god's grace, wherein man co-operates only by resisting it; but human resistance is more or less great according to the persons and the occasions. circumstances also contribute more or less to our attention and to the motions that arise in the soul; and the co-operation of all these things, together with the strength of the impression and the condition of the will, determines the operation of grace, although not rendering it necessary. i have expounded sufficiently elsewhere that in relation to matters of salvation [ ] unregenerate man is to be considered as dead; and i greatly approve the manner wherein the theologians of the augsburg confession declare themselves on this subject. yet this corruption of unregenerate man is, it must be added, no hindrance to his possession of true moral virtues and his performance of good actions in his civic life, actions which spring from a good principle, without any evil intention and without mixture of actual sin. wherein i hope i shall be forgiven, if i have dared to diverge from the opinion of st. augustine: he was doubtless a great man, of admirable intelligence, but inclined sometimes, as it seems, to exaggerate things, above all in the heat of his controversies. i greatly esteem some persons who profess to be disciples of st. augustine, amongst others the reverend father quênel, a worthy successor of the great arnauld in the pursuit of controversies that have embroiled them with the most famous of societies. but i have found that usually in disputes between people of conspicuous merit (of whom there are doubtless some here in both parties) there is right on both sides, although in different points, and it is rather in the matter of defence than attack, although the natural malevolence of the human heart generally renders attack more agreeable to the reader than defence. i hope that the reverend father ptolemei, who does his society credit and is occupied in filling the gaps left by the famous bellarmine, will give us, concerning all of that, some explanations worthy of his acumen and his knowledge, and i even dare to add, his moderation. and one must believe that among the theologians of the augsburg confession there will arise some new chemnitz or some new callixtus; even as one is justified in thinking that men like usserius or daillé will again appear among the reformed, and that all will work more and more to remove the misconceptions wherewith this matter is charged. for the rest i shall be well pleased that those who shall wish to examine it closely read the objections with the answers i have given thereto, formulated in the small treatise i have placed at the end of the work by way of summary. i have endeavoured to forestall some new objections. i have explained, for instance, why i have taken the antecedent and consequent will as preliminary and final, after the example of thomas, of scotus and others; how it is possible that there be incomparably more good in the glory of all the saved than there is evil in the misery of all the damned, despite [ ] that there are more of the latter; how, in saying that evil has been permitted as a _conditio sine qua non_ of good, i mean not according to the principle of necessity, but according to the principle of the fitness of things. furthermore i show that the predetermination i admit is such as always to predispose, but never to necessitate, and that god will not refuse the requisite new light to those who have made a good use of that which they had. other elucidations besides i have endeavoured to give on some difficulties which have been put before me of late. i have, moreover, followed the advice of some friends who thought it fitting that i should add two appendices: the one treats of the controversy carried on between mr. hobbes and bishop bramhall touching freedom and necessity, the other of the learned work on _the origin of evil_, published a short time ago in england. finally i have endeavoured in all things to consider edification: and if i have conceded something to curiosity, it is because i thought it necessary to relieve a subject whose seriousness may cause discouragement. it is with that in view that i have introduced into this dissertation the pleasing chimera of a certain astronomical theology, having no ground for apprehension that it will ensnare anyone and deeming that to tell it and refute it is the same thing. fiction for fiction, instead of imagining that the planets were suns, one might conceive that they were masses melted in the sun and thrown out, and that would destroy the foundation of this hypothetical theology. the ancient error of the two principles, which the orientals distinguished by the names oromasdes and arimanius, caused me to explain a conjecture on the primitive history of peoples. it appears indeed probable that these were the names of two great contemporary princes, the one monarch of a part of upper asia, where there have since been others of this name, the other king of the scythian celts who made incursions into the states of the former, and who was also named amongst the divinities of germania. it seems, indeed, that zoroaster used the names of these princes as symbols of the invisible powers which their exploits made them resemble in the ideas of asiatics. yet elsewhere, according to the accounts of arab authors, who in this might well be better informed than the greeks, it appears from detailed records of ancient oriental history, that this zerdust or zoroaster, whom they make contemporary with the great darius, did not look upon these two principles as completely primitive and [ ] independent, but as dependent upon one supreme and single principle. they relate that he believed, in conformity with the cosmogony of moses, that god, who is without an equal, created all and separated the light from the darkness; that the light conformed with his original design, but that the darkness came as a consequence, even as the shadow follows the body, and that this is nothing but privation. such a thesis would clear this ancient author of the errors the greeks imputed to him. his great learning caused the orientals to compare him with the mercury or hermes of the egyptians and greeks; just as the northern peoples compared their wodan or odin to this same mercury. that is why mercredi (wednesday), or the day of mercury, was called wodansdag by the northern peoples, but day of zerdust by the asiatics, since it is named zarschamba or dsearschambe by the turks and the persians, zerda by the hungarians from the north-east, and sreda by the slavs from the heart of great russia, as far as the wends of the luneburg region, the slavs having learnt the name also from the orientals. these observations will perhaps not be displeasing to the curious. and i flatter myself that the small dialogue ending the essays written to oppose m. bayle will give some satisfaction to those who are well pleased to see difficult but important truths set forth in an easy and familiar way. i have written in a foreign language at the risk of making many errors in it, because that language has been recently used by others in treating of my subject, and because it is more generally read by those whom one would wish to benefit by this small work. it is to be hoped that the language errors will be pardoned: they are to be attributed not only to the printer and the copyist, but also to the haste of the author, who has been much distracted from his task. if, moreover, any error has crept into the ideas expressed, the author will be the first to correct it, once he has been better informed: he has given elsewhere such indications of his love of truth that he hopes this declaration will not be regarded as merely an empty phrase. [ ] * * * * * preliminary dissertation on the conformity of faith with reason * * * * * . i begin with the preliminary question of the _conformity of faith with reason_, and the use of philosophy in theology, because it has much influence on the main subject of my treatise, and because m. bayle introduces it everywhere. i assume that two truths cannot contradict each other; that the object of faith is the truth god has revealed in an extraordinary way; and that reason is the linking together of truths, but especially (when it is compared with faith) of those whereto the human mind can attain naturally without being aided by the light of faith. this definition of reason (that is to say of strict and true reason) has surprised some persons accustomed to inveigh against reason taken in a vague sense. they gave me the answer that they had never heard of any such explanation of it: the truth is that they have never conferred with people who expressed themselves clearly on these subjects. they have confessed to me, nevertheless, that one could not find fault with reason, understood in the sense which i gave to it. it is in the same sense that sometimes reason is contrasted with experience. reason, since it consists in the linking together of truths, is entitled to connect also those wherewith experience has furnished it, in order thence to draw mixed conclusions; but reason pure and simple, as distinct from experience, only has to do with truths independent of the senses. and one may compare faith with experience, since faith (in respect of the motives that give it justification) depends [ ] upon the experience of those who have seen the miracles whereon revelation is founded, and upon the trustworthy tradition which has handed them down to us, whether through the scriptures or by the account of those who have preserved them. it is rather as we rely upon the experience of those who have seen china and on the credibility of their account when we give credence to the wonders that are told us of that distant country. yet i would also take into account the inward motion of the holy spirit, who takes possession of souls and persuades them and prompts them to good, that is, to faith and to charity, without always having need of motives. . now the truths of reason are of two kinds: the one kind is of those called the 'eternal verities', which are altogether necessary, so that the opposite implies contradiction. such are the truths whose necessity is logical, metaphysical or geometrical, which one cannot deny without being led into absurdities. there are others which may be called _positive_, because they are the laws which it has pleased god to give to nature, or because they depend upon those. we learn them either by experience, that is, _a posteriori_, or by reason and _a priori_, that is, by considerations of the fitness of things which have caused their choice. this fitness of things has also its rules and reasons, but it is the free choice of god, and not a geometrical necessity, which causes preference for what is fitting and brings it into existence. thus one may say that physical necessity is founded on moral necessity, that is, on the wise one's choice which is worthy of his wisdom; and that both of these ought to be distinguished from geometrical necessity. it is this physical necessity that makes order in nature and lies in the rules of motion and in some other general laws which it pleased god to lay down for things when he gave them being. it is therefore true that god gave such laws not without reason, for he chooses nothing from caprice and as though by chance or in pure indifference; but the general reasons of good and of order, which have prompted him to the choice, may be overcome in some cases by stronger reasons of a superior order. . thus it is made clear that god can exempt creatures from the laws he has prescribed for them, and produce in them that which their nature does not bear by performing a miracle. when they have risen to perfections and faculties nobler than those whereto they can by their nature attain, the schoolmen call this faculty an 'obediential power', that is to say, a [ ] power which the thing acquires by obeying the command of him who can give that which the thing has not. the schoolmen, however, usually give instances of this power which to me appear impossible: they maintain, for example, that god can give the creature the faculty to create. it may be that there are miracles which god performs through the ministry of angels, where the laws of nature are not violated, any more than when men assist nature by art, the skill of angels differing from ours only by degree of perfection. nevertheless it still remains true that the laws of nature are subject to be dispensed from by the law-giver; whereas the eternal verities, as for instance those of geometry, admit no dispensation, and faith cannot contradict them. thus it is that there cannot be any invincible objection to truth. for if it is a question of proof which is founded upon principles or incontestable facts and formed by a linking together of eternal verities, the conclusion is certain and essential, and that which is contrary to it must be false; otherwise two contradictories might be true at the same time. if the objection is not conclusive, it can only form a probable argument, which has no force against faith, since it is agreed that the mysteries of religion are contrary to appearances. now m. bayle declares, in his posthumous reply to m. le clerc, that he does not claim that there are demonstrations contrary to the truths of faith: and as a result all these insuperable difficulties, these so-called wars between reason and faith, vanish away. _hi motus animorum atque haec discrimina tanta,_ _pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescunt._ . protestant theologians as well as those of the roman confession admit the maxims which i have just laid down, when they handle the matter with attention; and all that is said against reason has no force save against a kind of counterfeit reason, corrupted and deluded by false appearances. it is the same with our notions of the justice and the goodness of god, which are spoken of sometimes as if we had neither any idea nor any definition of their nature. but in that case we should have no ground for ascribing these attributes to him, or lauding him for them. his goodness and his justice as well as his wisdom differ from ours only because they are infinitely more perfect. thus the simple notions, the necessary truths and the conclusive results of philosophy cannot be contrary to revelation. and when some [ ] philosophical maxims are rejected in theology, the reason is that they are considered to have only a physical or moral necessity, which speaks only of that which takes place usually, and is consequently founded on appearances, but which may be withheld if god so pleases. . it seems, according to what i have just said, that there is often some confusion in the expressions of those who set at variance philosophy and theology, or faith and reason: they confuse the terms 'explain', 'comprehend', 'prove', 'uphold'. and i find that m. bayle, shrewd as he is, is not always free from this confusion. mysteries may be _explained_ sufficiently to justify belief in them; but one cannot _comprehend_ them, nor give understanding of how they come to pass. thus even in natural philosophy we explain up to a certain point sundry perceptible qualities, but in an imperfect manner, for we do not comprehend them. nor is it possible for us, either, to prove mysteries by reason; for all that which can be proved _a priori_, or by pure reason, can be comprehended. all that remains for us then, after having believed in the mysteries by reason of the proofs of the truth of religion (which are called 'motives of credibility') is to be able to _uphold_ them against objections. without that our belief in them would have no firm foundation; for all that which can be refuted in a sound and conclusive manner cannot but be false. and such proofs of the truth of religion as can give only a _moral certainty_ would be balanced and even outweighed by such objections as would give an _absolute certainty_, provided they were convincing and altogether conclusive. this little might suffice me to remove the difficulties concerning the use of reason and philosophy in relation to religion if one had not to deal all too often with prejudiced persons. but as the subject is important and it has fallen into a state of confusion, it will be well to take it in greater detail. . the question of the _conformity of faith with reason_ has always been a great problem. in the primitive church the ablest christian authors adapted themselves to the ideas of the platonists, which were the most acceptable to them, and were at that time most generally in favour. little by little aristotle took the place of plato, when the taste for systems began to prevail, and when theology itself became more systematic, owing to the decisions of the general councils, which provided precise and positive formularies. st. augustine, boethius and cassiodorus in the west, and [ ] st. john of damascus in the east contributed most towards reducing theology to scientific form, not to mention bede, alcuin, st. anselm and some other theologians versed in philosophy. finally came the schoolmen. the leisure of the cloisters giving full scope for speculation, which was assisted by aristotle's philosophy translated from the arabic, there was formed at last a compound of theology and philosophy wherein most of the questions arose from the trouble that was taken to reconcile faith with reason. but this had not met with the full success hoped for, because theology had been much corrupted by the unhappiness of the times, by ignorance and obstinacy. moreover, philosophy, in addition to its own faults, which were very great, found itself burdened with those of theology, which in its turn was suffering from association with a philosophy that was very obscure and very imperfect. one must confess, notwithstanding, with the incomparable grotius, that there is sometimes gold hidden under the rubbish of the monks' barbarous latin. i have therefore oft-times wished that a man of talent, whose office had necessitated his learning the language of the schoolmen, had chosen to extract thence whatever is of worth, and that another petau or thomasius had done in respect of the schoolmen what these two learned men have done in respect of the fathers. it would be a very curious work, and very important for ecclesiastical history, and it would continue the history of dogmas up to the time of the revival of letters (owing to which the aspect of things has changed) and even beyond that point. for sundry dogmas, such as those of physical predetermination, of mediate knowledge, philosophical sin, objective precisions, and many other dogmas in speculative theology and even in the practical theology of cases of conscience, came into currency even after the council of trent. . a little before these changes, and before the great schism in the west that still endures, there was in italy a sect of philosophers which disputed this conformity of faith with reason which i maintain. they were dubbed 'averroists' because they were adherents of a famous arab author, who was called the commentator by pre-eminence, and who appeared to be the one of all his race that penetrated furthest into aristotle's meaning. this commentator, extending what greek expositors had already taught, maintained that according to aristotle, and even according to reason (and at that time the two were considered almost identical) there was no case for the [ ] immortality of the soul. here is his reasoning. the human kind is eternal, according to aristotle, therefore if individual souls die not, one must resort to the metempsychosis rejected by that philosopher. or, if there are always new souls, one must admit the infinity of these souls existing from all eternity; but actual infinity is impossible, according to the doctrine of the same aristotle. therefore it is a necessary conclusion that the souls, that is, the forms of organic bodies, must perish with the bodies, or at least this must happen to the passive understanding that belongs to each one individually. thus there will only remain the active understanding common to all men, which according to aristotle comes from outside, and which must work wheresoever the organs are suitably disposed; even as the wind produces a kind of music when it is blown into properly adjusted organ pipes. . nothing could have been weaker than this would-be proof. it is not true that aristotle refuted metempsychosis, or that he proved the eternity of the human kind; and after all, it is quite untrue that an actual infinity is impossible. yet this proof passed as irresistible amongst aristotelians, and induced in them the belief that there was a certain sublunary intelligence and that our active intellect was produced by participation in it. but others who adhered less to aristotle went so far as to advocate a universal soul forming the ocean of all individual souls, and believed this universal soul alone capable of subsisting, whilst individual souls are born and die. according to this opinion the souls of animals are born by being separated like drops from their ocean, when they find a body which they can animate; and they die by being reunited to the ocean of souls when the body is destroyed, as streams are lost in the sea. many even went so far as to believe that god is that universal soul, although others thought that this soul was subordinate and created. this bad doctrine is very ancient and apt to dazzle the common herd. it is expressed in these beautiful lines of vergil (_aen._, vi, v. ): _principio coelum ac terram camposque liquentes,_ _lucentemque globum lunae titaniaque astra,_ _spiritus intus alit, totamque infusa per artus_ _mens agitat molem, et magno se corpore miscet._ _inde hominum pecudumque genus vitaeque volantum._ [ ] and again elsewhere (_georg._, iv, v. ): _deum namque ire per omnes_ _terrasque tractusque maris caelumque profundum:_ _hinc pecudes, armenta, viros, genus omne ferarum,_ _quemque sibi tenues nascentem arcessere vitas._ _scilicet huc reddi deinde ac resoluta referri._ . plato's soul of the world has been taken in this sense by some, but there is more indication that the stoics succumbed to that universal soul which swallows all the rest. those who are of this opinion might be called 'monopsychites', since according to them there is in reality only one soul that subsists. m. bernier observes that this is an opinion almost universally accepted amongst scholars in persia and in the states of the grand mogul; it appears even that it has gained a footing with the cabalists and with the mystics. a certain german of swabian birth, converted to judaism some years ago, who taught under the name moses germanus, having adopted the dogmas of spinoza, believed that spinoza revived the ancient cabala of the hebrews. and a learned man who confuted this proselyte jew appears to be of the same opinion. it is known that spinoza recognizes only substance in the world, whereof individual souls are but transient modifications. valentin weigel, pastor of zschopau in saxony, a man of wit, even of excessive wit, although people would have it that he was a visionary, was perhaps to some extent of that opinion; as was also a man known as johann angelus silesius, author of certain quite pleasing little devotional verses in german, in the form of epigrams, which have just been reprinted. in general, the mystics' doctrine of deification was liable to such a sinister interpretation. gerson already has written opposing ruysbroek, a mystical writer, whose intention was evidently good and whose expressions are excusable. but it would be better to write in a manner that has no need of excuses: although i confess that oft-times expressions which are extravagant, and as it were poetical, have greater force to move and to persuade than correct forms of statement. . the annihilation of all that belongs to us in our own right, carried to great lengths by the quietists, might equally well be veiled irreligion in certain minds, as is related, for example, concerning the quietism of foë, originator of a great chinese sect. after having preached his religion [ ] for forty years, when he felt death was approaching, he declared to his disciples that he had hidden the truth from them under the veil of metaphors, and that all reduced itself to nothingness, which he said was the first source of all things. that was still worse, so it would seem, than the opinion of the averroists. both of these doctrines are indefensible and even extravagant; nevertheless some moderns have made no difficulty about adopting this one and universal soul that engulfs the rest. it has met with only too much applause amongst the so-called freethinkers, and m. de preissac, a soldier and man of wit, who dabbled in philosophy, at one time aired it publicly in his discourses. the system of pre-established harmony is the one best qualified to cure this evil. for it shows that there are of necessity substances which are simple and without extension, scattered throughout all nature; that these substances must subsist independently of every other except god; and that they are never wholly separated from organic body. those who believe that souls capable of feeling but incapable of reason are mortal, or who maintain that none but reasoning souls can have feeling, offer a handle to the monopsychites. for it will ever be difficult to persuade men that beasts feel nothing; and once the admission has been made that that which is capable of feeling can die, it is difficult to found upon reason a proof of the immortality of our souls. . i have made this short digression because it appeared to me seasonable at a time when there is only too much tendency to overthrow natural religion to its very foundations. i return then to the averroists, who were persuaded that their dogma was proved conclusively in accordance with reason. as a result they declared that man's soul is, according to philosophy, mortal, while they protested their acquiescence in christian theology, which declares the soul's immortality. but this distinction was held suspect, and this divorce between faith and reason was vehemently rejected by the prelates and the doctors of that time, and condemned in the last lateran council under leo x. on that occasion also, scholars were urged to work for the removal of the difficulties that appeared to set theology and philosophy at variance. the doctrine of their incompatibility continued to hold its ground _incognito_. pomponazzi was suspected of it, although he declared himself otherwise; and that very sect of the averroists survived as a school. it is thought that caesar cremoninus, [ ] a philosopher famous in his time, was one of its mainstays. andreas cisalpinus, a physician (and an author of merit who came nearest after michael servetus to the discovery of the circulation of the blood), was accused by nicolas taurel (in a book entitled _alpes caesae_) of belonging to these anti-religious peripatetics. traces of this doctrine are found also in the _circulus pisanus claudii berigardi_, an author of french nationality who migrated to italy and taught philosophy at pisa: but especially the writings and the letters of gabriel naudé, as well as the _naudaeana_, show that averroism still lived on when this learned physician was in italy. corpuscular philosophy, introduced shortly after, appears to have extinguished this excessively peripatetic sect, or perhaps to have been intermixed with its teaching. it may be indeed that there have been atomists who would be inclined to teach dogmas like those of the averroists, if circumstances so permitted: but this abuse cannot harm such good as there is in corpuscular philosophy, which can very well be combined with all that is sound in plato and in aristotle, and bring them both into harmony with true theology. . the reformers, and especially luther, as i have already observed, spoke sometimes as if they rejected philosophy, and deemed it inimical to faith. but, properly speaking, luther understood by philosophy only that which is in conformity with the ordinary course of nature, or perhaps even philosophy as it was taught in the schools. thus for example he says that it is impossible in philosophy, that is, in the order of nature, that the word be made flesh; and he goes so far as to maintain that what is true in natural philosophy might be false in ethics. aristotle was the object of his anger; and so far back as the year he contemplated the purging of philosophy, when he perhaps had as yet no thoughts of reforming the church. but at last he curbed his vehemence and in the _apology for the augsburg confession_ allowed a favourable mention of aristotle and his _ethics_. melanchthon, a man of sound and moderate ideas, made little systems from the several parts of philosophy, adapted to the truths of revelation and useful in civic life, which deserve to be read even now. after him, pierre de la ramée entered the lists. his philosophy was much in favour: the sect of the ramists was powerful in germany, gaining many adherents among the protestants, and even concerning itself with theology, until the revival of corpuscular philosophy, which caused that of ramée to fall into [ ] oblivion and weakened the authority of the peripatetics. . meanwhile sundry protestant theologians, deviating as far as they could from scholastic philosophy, which prevailed in the opposite party, went so far as to despise philosophy itself, which to them was suspect. the controversy blazed up finally owing to the rancour of daniel hoffmann. he was an able theologian, who had previously gained a reputation at the conference of quedlinburg, when tilemann heshusius and he had supported duke julius of brunswick in his refusal to accept the formula of concord. for some reason or other dr. hoffmann flew into a passion with philosophy, instead of being content to find fault with the wrong uses made thereof by philosophers. he was, however, aiming at the famous caselius, a man esteemed by the princes and scholars of his time; and henry julius, duke of brunswick (son of julius, founder of the university), having taken the trouble himself to investigate the matter, condemned the theologian. there have been some small disputes of the kind since, but it has always been found that they were misunderstandings. paul slevogt, a famous professor at jena in thuringia, whose still extant treatises prove how well versed he was in scholastic philosophy, as also in hebrew literature, had published in his youth under the title of _pervigilium_ a little book 'de dissidio theologi et philosophi in utriusque principiis fundato', bearing on the question whether god is accidentally the cause of sin. but it was easy to see that his aim was to demonstrate that theologians sometimes misuse philosophical terms. . to come now to the events of my own time, i remember that when in louis meyer, a physician of amsterdam, published anonymously the book entitled _philosophia scripturae interpres_ (by many persons wrongly attributed to spinoza, his friend) the theologians of holland bestirred themselves, and their written attacks upon this book gave rise to great disputes among them. divers of them held the opinion that the cartesians, in confuting the anonymous philosopher, had conceded too much to philosophy. jean de labadie (before he had seceded from the reformed church, his pretext being some abuses which he said had crept into public observance and which he considered intolerable) attacked the book by herr von wollzogen, and called it pernicious. on the other hand herr vogelsang, herr van der weye and some other anti-cocceïans also assailed the same [ ] book with much acrimony. but the accused won his case in a synod. afterwards in holland people spoke of 'rational' and 'non-rational' theologians, a party distinction often mentioned by m. bayle, who finally declared himself against the former. but there is no indication that any precise rules have yet been defined which the rival parties accept or reject with regard to the use of reason in the interpretation of holy scripture. . a like dispute has threatened of late to disturb the peace in the churches of the augsburg confession. some masters of arts in the university of leipzig gave private lessons at their homes, to students who sought them out in order to learn what is called 'sacra philologia', according to the practice of this university and of some others where this kind of study is not restricted to the faculty of theology. these masters pressed the study of the holy scriptures and the practice of piety further than their fellows had been wont to do. it is alleged that they had carried certain things to excess, and aroused suspicions of certain doctrinal innovations. this caused them to be dubbed 'pietists', as though they were a new sect; and this name is one which has since caused a great stir in germany. it has been applied somehow or other to those whom one suspected, or pretended to suspect, of fanaticism, or even of hypocrisy, concealed under some semblance of reform. now some of the students attending these masters had become conspicuous for behaviour which gave general offence, and amongst other things for their scorn of philosophy, even, so it was said, burning their notebooks. in consequence the belief arose that their masters rejected philosophy: but they justified themselves very well; nor could they be convicted either of this error or of the heresies that were being imputed to them. . the question of the use of philosophy in theology was debated much amongst christians, and difficulty was experienced over settling the limits of its use when it came to detailed consideration. the mysteries of the trinity, of the incarnation and of the holy communion gave most occasion for dispute. the new photinians, disputing the first two mysteries, made use of certain philosophic maxims which andreas kessler, a theologian of the augsburg confession, summarized in the various treatises that he published on the parts of the socinian philosophy. but as to their metaphysics, one might instruct oneself better therein by reading the [ ] work of christopher stegmann the socinian. it is not yet in print; but i saw it in my youth and it has been recently again in my hands. . calovius and scherzer, authors well versed in scholastic philosophy, and sundry other able theologians answered the socinians at great length, and often with success: for they would not content themselves with the general and somewhat cavalier answers that were commonly used against that sect. the drift of such answers was: that their maxims were good in philosophy and not in theology; that it was the fault of heterogeneousness called [greek: metábasis eis állo génos] to apply those maxims to a matter transcending reason; and that philosophy should be treated as a servant and not a mistress in relation to theology, according to the title of the book by a scot named robert baronius, _philosophia theologiae ancillans_. in fine, philosophy was a hagar beside sara and must be driven from the house with her ishmael when she was refractory. there is something good in these answers: but one might abuse them, and set natural truths and truths of revelation at variance. scholars therefore applied themselves to distinguishing between what is necessary and indispensable in natural or philosophic truths and that which is not so. . the two protestant parties are tolerably in agreement when it is a question of making war on the socinians; and as the philosophy of these sectaries is not of the most exact, in most cases the attack succeeded in reducing it. but the protestants themselves had dissensions on the matter of the eucharistic sacrament. a section of those who are called reformed (namely those who on that point follow rather zwingli than calvin) seemed to reduce the participation in the body of jesus christ in the holy communion to a mere figurative representation, employing the maxim of the philosophers which states that a body can only be in one place at a time. contrariwise the evangelicals (who name themselves thus in a particular sense to distinguish themselves from the reformed), being more attached to the literal sense of scripture, opined with luther that this participation was real, and that here there lay a supernatural mystery. they reject, in truth, the dogma of transubstantiation, which they believe to be without foundation in the text; neither do they approve that of consubstantiation or of impanation, which one could only impute to them if one were ill-informed on their opinion. for they admit no inclusion of the body [ ] of jesus christ in the bread, nor do they even require any union of the one with the other: but they demand at least a concomitance, so that these two substances be received both at the same time. they believe that the ordinary sense of the words of jesus christ on an occasion so important as that which concerned the expression of his last wishes ought to be preserved. thus in order to show that this sense is free from all absurdity which could make it repugnant to us, they maintain that the philosophic maxim restricting the existence of, and partaking in, bodies to one place alone is simply a consequence of the ordinary course of nature. they make that no obstacle to the presence, in the ordinary sense of the word, of the body of our saviour in such form as may be in keeping with the most glorified body. they do not resort to a vague diffusion of ubiquity, which would disperse the body and leave it nowhere in particular; nor do they admit the multiple-reduplication theory of some schoolmen, as if to say one and the same body could be at the same time seated here and standing elsewhere. in fine, they so express themselves that many consider the opinion of calvin, authorized by sundry confessions of faith from the churches that have accepted his teaching, to be not so far removed from the augsburg confession as one might think: for he affirmed a partaking in the substance. the divergence rests perhaps only upon the fact that calvin demands true faith in addition to the oral reception of the symbols, and consequently excludes the unworthy. . thence we see that the dogma of real and substantial participation can be supported (without resorting to the strange opinions of some schoolmen) by a properly understood analogy between _immediate operation_ and _presence_. many philosophers have deemed that, even in the order of nature, a body may operate from a distance immediately on many remote bodies at the same time. so do they believe, all the more, that nothing can prevent divine omnipotence from causing one body to be present in many bodies together, since the transition from immediate operation to presence is but slight, the one perhaps depending upon the other. it is true that modern philosophers for some time now have denied the immediate natural operation of one body upon another remote from it, and i confess that i am of their opinion. meanwhile remote operation has just been revived in england by the admirable mr. newton, who maintains that it is the nature of bodies to be attracted and gravitate one towards another, in proportion[ ] to the mass of each one, and the rays of attraction it receives. accordingly the famous mr. locke, in his answer to bishop stillingfleet, declares that having seen mr. newton's book he retracts what he himself said, following the opinion of the moderns, in his _essay concerning human understanding_, to wit, that a body cannot operate immediately upon another except by touching it upon its surface and driving it by its motion. he acknowledges that god can put properties into matter which cause it to operate from a distance. thus the theologians of the augsburg confession claim that god may ordain not only that a body operate immediately on divers bodies remote from one another, but that it even exist in their neighbourhood and be received by them in a way with which distances of place and dimensions of space have nothing to do. although this effect transcends the forces of nature, they do not think it possible to show that it surpasses the power of the author of nature. for him it is easy to annul the laws that he has given or to dispense with them as seems good to him, in the same way as he was able to make iron float upon water and to stay the operation of fire upon the human body. . i found in comparing the _rationale theologicum_ of nicolaus vedelius with the refutation by johann musaeus that these two authors, of whom one died while a professor at franecker after having taught at geneva and the other finally became the foremost theologian at jena, are more or less in agreement on the principal rules for the use of reason, but that it is in the application of these rules they disagree. for they both agree that revelation cannot be contrary to the truths whose necessity is called by philosophers 'logical' or 'metaphysical', that is to say, whose opposite implies contradiction. they both admit also that revelation will be able to combat maxims whose necessity is called 'physical' and is founded only upon the laws that the will of god has prescribed for nature. thus the question whether the presence of one and the same body in divers places is possible in the supernatural order only touches the application of the rule; and in order to decide this question conclusively by reason, one must needs explain exactly wherein the essence of body consists. even the reformed disagree thereon amongst themselves; the cartesians confine it to extension, but their adversaries oppose that; and i think i have even observed that gisbertus voëtius, a famous theologian of utrecht, [ ] doubted the alleged impossibility of plurality of locations. . furthermore, although the two protestant parties agree that one must distinguish these two necessities which i have just indicated, namely metaphysical necessity and physical necessity, and that the first excludes exceptions even in the case of mysteries, they are not yet sufficiently agreed upon the rules of interpretation, which serve to determine in what cases it is permitted to desert the letter of scripture when one is not certain that it is contrary to strictly universal truths. it is agreed that there are cases where one must reject a literal interpretation that is not absolutely impossible, when it is otherwise unsuitable. for instance, all commentators agree that when our lord said that herod was a fox he meant it metaphorically; and one must accept that, unless one imagine with some fanatics that for the time the words of our lord lasted herod was actually changed into a fox. but it is not the same with the texts on which mysteries are founded, where the theologians of the augsburg confession deem that one must keep to the literal sense. since, moreover, this discussion belongs to the art of interpretation and not to that which is the proper sphere of logic, we will not here enter thereon, especially as it has nothing in common with the disputes that have arisen recently upon the conformity of faith with reason. . theologians of all parties, i believe (fanatics alone excepted), agree at least that no article of faith must imply contradiction or contravene proofs as exact as those of mathematics, where the opposite of the conclusion can be reduced _ad absurdum_, that is, to contradiction. st. athanasius with good reason made sport of the preposterous ideas of some writers of his time, who maintained that god had suffered without any suffering. _'passus est impassibiliter. o ludicram doctrinam aedificantem simul et demolientem!'_ it follows thence that certain writers have been too ready to grant that the holy trinity is contrary to that great principle which states that two things which are the same as a third are also the same as each other: that is to say, if a is the same as b, and if c is the same as b, then a and c must also be the same as each other. for this principle is a direct consequence of that of contradiction, and forms the basis of all logic; and if it ceases, we can no longer reason with certainty. thus when one says that the father is god, that the son is god and that the holy spirit is god, and that nevertheless there is only [ ] one god, although these three persons differ from one another, one must consider that this word _god_ has not the same sense at the beginning as at the end of this statement. indeed it signifies now the divine substance and now a person of the godhead. in general, one must take care never to abandon the necessary and eternal truths for the sake of upholding mysteries, lest the enemies of religion seize upon such an occasion for decrying both religion and mysteries. . the distinction which is generally drawn between that which is _above_ reason and that which is _against_ reason is tolerably in accord with the distinction which has just been made between the two kinds of necessity. for what is contrary to reason is contrary to the absolutely certain and inevitable truths; and what is above reason is in opposition only to what one is wont to experience or to understand. that is why i am surprised that there are people of intelligence who dispute this distinction, and that m. bayle should be of this number. the distinction is assuredly very well founded. a truth is above reason when our mind (or even every created mind) cannot comprehend it. such is, as it seems to me, the holy trinity; such are the miracles reserved for god alone, as for instance creation; such is the choice of the order of the universe, which depends upon universal harmony, and upon the clear knowledge of an infinity of things at once. but a truth can never be contrary to reason, and once a dogma has been disputed and refuted by reason, instead of its being incomprehensible, one may say that nothing is easier to understand, nor more obvious, than its absurdity. for i observed at the beginning that by reason here i do not mean the opinions and discourses of men, nor even the habit they have formed of judging things according to the usual course of nature, but rather the inviolable linking together of truths. . i must come now to the great question which m. bayle brought up recently, to wit, whether a truth, and especially a truth of faith, can prove to be subject to irrefutable objections. this excellent author appears to answer with a bold affirmative: he quotes theologians of repute in his party, and even in the church of rome, who appear to say the same as he affirms; and he cites philosophers who have believed that there are even philosophical truths whose champions cannot answer the objections that are brought up against them. he believes that the theological doctrine of [ ] predestination is of this nature, and in philosophy that of the composition of the _continuum_. these are, indeed, the two labyrinths which have ever exercised theologians and philosophers. libertus fromondus, a theologian of louvain (a great friend of jansenius, whose posthumous book entitled _augustinus_ he in fact published), who also wrote a book entitled explicitly _labyrinthus de compositione continui_, experienced in full measure the difficulties inherent in both doctrines; and the renowned ochino admirably presented what he calls 'the labyrinths of predestination'. . but these writers have not denied the possibility of finding thread in the labyrinth; they have recognized the difficulty, but they have surely not turned difficulty into sheer impossibility. as for me, i confess that i cannot agree with those who maintain that a truth can admit of irrefutable objections: for is an _objection_ anything but an argument whose conclusion contradicts our thesis? and is not an irrefutable argument a _demonstration_? and how can one know the certainty of demonstrations except by examining the argument in detail, the form and the matter, in order to see if the form is good, and then if each premiss is either admitted or proved by another argument of like force, until one is able to make do with admitted premisses alone? now if there is such an objection against our thesis we must say that the falsity of this thesis is demonstrated, and that it is impossible for us to have reasons sufficient to prove it; otherwise two contradictories would be true at once. one must always yield to proofs, whether they be proposed in positive form or advanced in the shape of objections. and it is wrong and fruitless to try to weaken opponents' proofs, under the pretext that they are only objections, since the opponent can play the same game and can reverse the denominations, exalting his arguments by naming them 'proofs' and sinking ours under the blighting title of 'objections'. . it is another question whether we are always obliged to examine the objections we may have to face, and to retain some doubt in respect of our own opinion, or what is called _formido oppositi_, until this examination has been made. i would venture to say no, for otherwise one would never attain to certainty and our conclusion would be always provisional. i believe that able geometricians will scarce be troubled by the objections of joseph scaliger against archimedes, or by those of mr. hobbes [ ] against euclid; but that is because they have fully understood and are sure of the proofs. nevertheless it is sometimes well to show oneself ready to examine certain objections. on the one hand it may serve to rescue people from their error, while on the other we ourselves may profit by it; for specious fallacies often contain some useful solution and bring about the removal of considerable difficulties. that is why i have always liked ingenious objections made against my own opinions, and i have never examined them without profit: witness those which m. bayle formerly made against my system of pre-established harmony, not to mention those which m. arnauld, m. l'abbé foucher and father lami, o.s.b., made to me on the same subject. but to return to the principal question, i conclude from reasons i have just set forth that when an objection is put forward against some truth, it is always possible to answer it satisfactorily. . it may be also that m. bayle does not mean 'insoluble objections' in the sense that i have just explained. i observe that he varies, at least in his expressions: for in his posthumous reply to m. le clerc he does not admit that one can bring demonstrations against the truths of faith. it appears therefore that he takes the objections to be insoluble only in respect of our present degree of enlightenment; and in this reply, p. , he even does not despair of the possibility that one day a solution hitherto unknown may be found by someone. concerning that more will be said later. i hold an opinion, however, that will perchance cause surprise, namely that this solution has been discovered entire, and is not even particularly difficult. indeed a mediocre intelligence capable of sufficient care, and using correctly the rules of common logic, is in a position to answer the most embarrassing objection made against truth, when the objection is only taken from reason, and when it is claimed to be a 'demonstration'. whatever scorn the generality of moderns have to-day for the logic of aristotle, one must acknowledge that it teaches infallible ways of resisting error in these conjunctures. for one has only to examine the argument according to the rules and it will always be possible to see whether it is lacking in form or whether there are premisses such as are not yet proved by a good argument. . it is quite another matter when there is only a question of _probabilities_, for the art of judging from probable reasons is not yet well established; so that our logic in this connexion is still very [ ] imperfect, and to this very day we have little beyond the art of judging from demonstrations. but this art is sufficient here: for when it is a question of opposing reason to an article of our faith, one is not disturbed by objections that only attain probability. everyone agrees that appearances are against mysteries, and that they are by no means probable when regarded only from the standpoint of reason; but it suffices that they have in them nothing of absurdity. thus demonstrations are required if they are to be refuted. . and doubtless we are so to understand it when holy scripture warns us that the wisdom of god is foolishness before men, and when st. paul observed that the gospel of jesus christ is foolishness unto the greeks, as well as unto the jews a stumbling-block. for, after all, one truth cannot contradict another, and the light of reason is no less a gift of god than that of revelation. also it is a matter of no difficulty among theologians who are expert in their profession, that the motives of credibility justify, once for all, the authority of holy scripture before the tribunal of reason, so that reason in consequence gives way before it, as before a new light, and sacrifices thereto all its probabilities. it is more or less as if a new president sent by the prince must show his letters patent in the assembly where he is afterwards to preside. that is the tendency of sundry good books that we have on the truth of religion, such as those of augustinus steuchus, of du plessis-mornay or of grotius: for the true religion must needs have marks that the false religions have not, else would zoroaster, brahma, somonacodom and mahomet be as worthy of belief as moses and jesus christ. nevertheless divine faith itself, when it is kindled in the soul, is something more than an opinion, and depends not upon the occasions or the motives that have given it birth; it advances beyond the intellect, and takes possession of the will and of the heart, to make us act with zeal and joyfully as the law of god commands. then we have no further need to think of reasons or to pause over the difficulties of argument which the mind may anticipate. . thus what we have just said of human reason, which is extolled and decried by turns, and often without rule or measure, may show our lack of exactitude and how much we are accessary to our own errors. nothing would be so easy to terminate as these disputes on the rights of faith and of reason if men would make use of the commonest rules of logic and reason[ ] with even a modicum of attention. instead of that, they become involved in oblique and ambiguous phrases, which give them a fine field for declamation, to make the most of their wit and their learning. it would seem, indeed, that they have no wish to see the naked truth, peradventure because they fear that it may be more disagreeable than error: for they know not the beauty of the author of all things, who is the source of truth. . this negligence is a general defect of humanity, and one not to be laid to the charge of any particular person. _abundamus dulcibus vitiis_, as quintilian said of the style of seneca, and we take pleasure in going astray. exactitude incommodes us and rules we regard as puerilities. thus it is that common logic (although it is more or less sufficient for the examination of arguments that tend towards certainty) is relegated to schoolboys; and there is not even a thought for a kind of logic which should determine the balance between probabilities, and would be so necessary in deliberations of importance. so true is it that our mistakes for the most part come from scorn or lack of the art of thinking: for nothing is more imperfect than our logic when we pass beyond necessary arguments. the most excellent philosophers of our time, such as the authors of _the art of thinking_, of _the search for truth_ and of the _essay concerning human understanding_, have been very far from indicating to us the true means fitted to assist the faculty whose business it is to make us weigh the probabilities of the true and the false: not to mention the art of discovery, in which success is still more difficult of attainment, and whereof we have nothing beyond very imperfect samples in mathematics. . one thing which might have contributed most towards m. bayle's belief that the difficulties of reason in opposition to faith cannot be obviated is that he seems to demand that god be justified in some such manner as that commonly used for pleading the cause of a man accused before his judge. but he has not remembered that in the tribunals of men, which cannot always penetrate to the truth, one is often compelled to be guided by signs and probabilities, and above all by presumptions or prejudices; whereas it is agreed, as we have already observed, that mysteries are not probable. for instance, m. bayle will not have it that one can justify the goodness of god in the permission of sin, because probability would be against a man that should happen to be in circumstances comparable in our eyes to [ ] this permission. god foresees that eve will be deceived by the serpent if he places her in the circumstances wherein she later found herself; and nevertheless he placed her there. now if a father or a guardian did the same in regard to his child or his ward, if a friend did so in regard to a young person whose behaviour was his concern, the judge would not be satisfied by the excuses of an advocate who said that the man only permitted the evil, without doing it or willing it: he would rather take this permission as a sign of ill intention, and would regard it as a sin of omission, which would render the one convicted thereof accessary in another's sin of commission. . but it must be borne in mind that when one has foreseen the evil and has not prevented it although it seems as if one could have done so with ease, and one has even done things that have facilitated it, it does not follow on that account _necessarily_ that one is accessary thereto. it is only a very strong presumption, such as commonly replaces truth in human affairs, but which would be destroyed by an exact consideration of the facts, supposing we were capable of that in relation to god. for amongst lawyers that is called 'presumption' which must provisionally pass for truth in case the contrary is not proved; and it says more than 'conjecture', although the _dictionary_ of the academy has not sifted the difference. now there is every reason to conclude unquestionably that one would find through this consideration, if only it were attainable, that reasons most just, and stronger than those which appear contrary to them, have compelled the all-wise to permit the evil, and even to do things which have facilitated it. of this some instances will be given later. . it is none too easy, i confess, for a father, a guardian, a friend to have such reasons in the case under consideration. yet the thing is not absolutely impossible, and a skilled writer of fiction might perchance find an extraordinary case that would even justify a man in the circumstances i have just indicated. but in reference to god there is no need to suppose or to establish particular reasons such as may have induced him to permit the evil; general reasons suffice. one knows that he takes care of the whole universe, whereof all the parts are connected; and one must thence infer that he has had innumerable considerations whose result made him deem it inadvisable to prevent certain evils. . it should even be concluded that there must have been great or [ ] rather invincible reasons which prompted the divine wisdom to the permission of the evil that surprises us, from the mere fact that this permission has occurred: for nothing can come from god that is not altogether consistent with goodness, justice and holiness. thus we can judge by the event (or _a posteriori_) that the permission was indispensable, although it be not possible for us to show this (_a priori_) by the detailed reasons that god can have had therefor; as it is not necessary either that we show this to justify him. m. bayle himself aptly says concerning that (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ): sin made its way into the world; god therefore was able to permit it without detriment to his perfections; _ab actu ad potentiam valet consequentia._ in god this conclusion holds good: he did this, therefore he did it well. it is not, then, that we have no notion of justice in general fit to be applied also to god's justice; nor is it that god's justice has other rules than the justice known of men, but that the case in question is quite different from those which are common among men. universal right is the same for god and for men; but the question of fact is quite different in their case and his. . we may even assume or pretend (as i have already observed) that there is something similar among men to this circumstance in god's actions. a man might give such great and strong proofs of his virtue and his holiness that all the most apparent reasons one could put forward against him to charge him with an alleged crime, for instance a larceny or murder, would deserve to be rejected as the calumnies of false witnesses or as an extraordinary play of chance which sometimes throws suspicion on the most innocent. thus in a case where every other would run the risk of being condemned or put to the torture (according to the laws of the country), this man would be absolved by his judges unanimously. now in this case, which indeed is rare, but which is not impossible, one might say in a sense (_sano sensu_) that there is a conflict between reason and faith, and that the rules of law are other in respect of this person than they are in respect of the remainder of mankind. but that, when explained, will signify only that appearances of reason here give way before the faith that is due to the word and the integrity of this great and holy man, and that he is privileged above other men; not indeed as if there were one law for others and another for him, nor as if one had no understanding of what justice is in relation to him. it is rather because the rules of universal justice do not find here [ ] the application that they receive elsewhere, or because they favour him instead of accusing him, since there are in this personage qualities so admirable, that by virtue of a good logic of probabilities one should place more faith in his word than in that of many others. . since it is permitted here to imagine possible cases, may one not suppose this incomparable man to be the adept or the possessor of _'that blessed stone_ _able to enrich all earthly kings alone'_ and that he spends every day prodigious sums in order to feed and to rescue from distress countless numbers of poor men? be there never so many witnesses or appearances of every kind tending to prove that this great benefactor of the human race has just committed some larceny, is it not true that the whole earth would make mock of the accusation, however specious it might be? now god is infinitely above the goodness and the power of this man, and consequently there are no reasons at all, however apparent they be, that can hold good against faith, that is, against the assurance or the confidence in god wherewith we can and ought to say that god has done all things well. the objections are therefore not insoluble. they only involve prejudices and probabilities, which are, however, overthrown by reasons incomparably stronger. one must not say either that what we call _justice_ is nothing in relation to god, that he is the absolute master of all things even to the point of being able to condemn the innocent without violating his justice, or finally that justice is something arbitrary where he is concerned. those are rash and dangerous expressions, whereunto some have been led astray to the discredit of the attributes of god. for if such were the case there would be no reason for praising his goodness and his justice: rather would it be as if the most wicked spirit, the prince of evil genii, the evil principle of the manichaeans, were the sole master of the universe, just as i observed before. what means would there be of distinguishing the true god from the false god of zoroaster if all things depended upon the caprice of an arbitrary power and there were neither rule nor consideration for anything whatever? . it is therefore more than evident that nothing compels us to commit ourselves to a doctrine so strange, since it suffices to say that we [ ] have not enough knowledge of the facts when there is a question of answering probabilities which appear to throw doubt upon the justice and the goodness of god, and which would vanish away if the facts were well known to us. we need neither renounce reason in order to listen to faith nor blind ourselves in order to see clearly, as queen christine used to say: it is enough to reject ordinary appearances when they are contrary to mysteries; and this is not contrary to reason, since even in natural things we are very often undeceived about appearances either by experience or by superior reasons. all that has been set down here in advance, only with the object of showing more plainly wherein the fault of the objections and the abuse of reason consists in the present case, where the claim is made that reason has greatest force against faith: we shall come afterwards to a more exact discussion of that which concerns the origin of evil and the permission of sin with its consequences. . for now, it will be well to continue our examination of the important question of the use of reason in theology, and to make reflexions upon what m. bayle has said thereon in divers passages of his works. as he paid particular attention in his _historical and critical dictionary_ to expounding the objections of the manichaeans and those of the pyrrhonians, and as this procedure had been criticized by some persons zealous for religion, he placed a dissertation at the end of the second edition of this _dictionary_, which aimed at showing, by examples, by authorities and by reasons, the innocence and usefulness of his course of action. i am persuaded (as i have said above) that the specious objections one can urge against truth are very useful, and that they serve to confirm and to illumine it, giving opportunity to intelligent persons to find new openings or to turn the old to better account. but m. bayle seeks therein a usefulness quite the reverse of this: it would be that of displaying the power of faith by showing that the truths it teaches cannot sustain the attacks of reason and that it nevertheless holds its own in the heart of the faithful. m. nicole seems to call that 'the triumph of god's authority over human reason', in the words of his quoted by m. bayle in the third volume of his _reply to the questions of a provincial_ (ch. , p. ). but since reason is a gift of god, even as faith is, contention between them would cause god to contend against god; and if the objections of reason against any article of faith are insoluble, then it must be said that this alleged article will be false and not revealed: this will be [ ] a chimera of the human mind, and the triumph of this faith will be capable of comparison with bonfires lighted after a defeat. such is the doctrine of the damnation of unbaptized children, which m. nicole would have us assume to be a consequence of original sin; such would be the eternal damnation of adults lacking the light that is necessary for the attainment of salvation. . yet everyone need not enter into theological discussions; and persons whose condition allows not of exact researches should be content with instruction on faith, without being disturbed by the objections; and if some exceeding great difficulty should happen to strike them, it is permitted to them to avert the mind from it, offering to god a sacrifice of their curiosity: for when one is assured of a truth one has no need to listen to the objections. as there are many people whose faith is rather small and shallow to withstand such dangerous tests, i think one must not present them with that which might be poisonous for them; or, if one cannot hide from them what is only too public, the antidote must be added to it; that is to say, one must try to add the answer to the objection, certainly not withhold it as unobtainable. . the passages from the excellent theologians who speak of this triumph of faith can and should receive a meaning appropriate to the principles i have just affirmed. there appear in some objects of faith two great qualities capable of making it triumph over reason, the one is _incomprehensibility_, the other is _the lack of probability_. but one must beware of adding thereto the third quality whereof m. bayle speaks, and of saying that what one believes is _indefensible_: for that would be to cause reason in its turn to triumph in a manner that would destroy faith. incomprehensibility does not prevent us from believing even natural truths. for instance (as i have already pointed out) we do not comprehend the nature of odours and savours, and yet we are persuaded, by a kind of faith which we owe to the evidence of the senses, that these perceptible qualities are founded upon the nature of things and that they are not illusions. . there are also things contrary to appearances, which we admit when they are sufficiently verified. there is a little romance of spanish origin, whose title states that one must not always believe what one sees. what was there more specious than the lie of the false martin guerre, who was acknowledged as the true martin by the true martin's wife and [ ] relatives, and caused the judges and the relatives to waver for a long time even after the arrival of the other? nevertheless the truth was known in the end. it is the same with faith. i have already observed that all one can oppose to the goodness and the justice of god is nothing but appearances, which would be strong against a man, but which are nullified when they are applied to god and when they are weighed against the proofs that assure us of the infinite perfection of his attributes. thus faith triumphs over false reasons by means of sound and superior reasons that have made us embrace it; but it would not triumph if the contrary opinion had for it reasons as strong as or even stronger than those which form the foundation of faith, that is, if there were invincible and conclusive objections against faith. . it is well also to observe here that what m. bayle calls a 'triumph of faith' is in part a triumph of demonstrative reason against apparent and deceptive reasons which are improperly set against the demonstrations. for it must be taken into consideration that the objections of the manichaeans are hardly less contrary to natural theology than to revealed theology. and supposing one surrendered to them holy scripture, original sin, the grace of god in jesus christ, the pains of hell and the other articles of our religion, one would not even so be delivered from their objections: for one cannot deny that there is in the world physical evil (that is, suffering) and moral evil (that is, crime) and even that physical evil is not always distributed here on earth according to the proportion of moral evil, as it seems that justice demands. there remains, then, this question of natural theology, how a sole principle, all-good, all-wise and all-powerful, has been able to admit evil, and especially to permit sin, and how it could resolve to make the wicked often happy and the good unhappy? . now we have no need of revealed faith to know that there is such a sole principle of all things, entirely good and wise. reason teaches us this by infallible proofs; and in consequence all the objections taken from the course of things, in which we observe imperfections, are only based on false appearances. for, if we were capable of understanding the universal harmony, we should see that what we are tempted to find fault with is connected with the plan most worthy of being chosen; in a word, we _should see_, and should not _believe_ only, that what god has done is the best. i call 'seeing' here what one knows _a priori_ by the causes; and [ ] 'believing' what one only judges by the effects, even though the one be as certainly known as the other. and one can apply here too the saying of st. paul ( cor. v. ), that we walk by _faith_ and not by _sight_. for the infinite wisdom of god being known to us, we conclude that the evils we experience had to be permitted, and this we conclude from the effect or _a posteriori_, that is to say, because they exist. it is what m. bayle acknowledges; and he ought to content himself with that, and not claim that one must put an end to the false appearances which are contrary thereto. it is as if one asked that there should be no more dreams or optical illusions. . and it is not to be doubted that this faith and this confidence in god, who gives us insight into his infinite goodness and prepares us for his love, in spite of the appearances of harshness that may repel us, are an admirable exercise for the virtues of christian theology, when the divine grace in jesus christ arouses these motions within us. that is what luther aptly observed in opposition to erasmus, saying that it is love in the highest degree to love him who to flesh and blood appears so unlovable, so harsh toward the unfortunate and so ready to condemn, and to condemn for evils in which he appears to be the cause or accessary, at least in the eyes of those who allow themselves to be dazzled by false reasons. one may therefore say that the triumph of true reason illumined by divine grace is at the same time the triumph of faith and love. . m. bayle appears to have taken the matter quite otherwise: he declares himself against reason, when he might have been content to censure its abuse. he quotes the words of cotta in cicero, where he goes so far as to say that if reason were a gift of the gods providence would be to blame for having given it, since it tends to our harm. m. bayle also thinks that human reason is a source of destruction and not of edification (_historical and critical dictionary_, p. , col. ), that it is a runner who knows not where to stop, and who, like another penelope, herself destroys her own work. _destruit, aedificat, mutat quadrata rotundis._ (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, p. ). but he takes pains especially to pile up many authorities one upon the other, in order to show that theologians of all parties reject the use of reason just as he does, and that they call attention to such gleams of reason as oppose religion only that they may sacrifice them to faith by a mere [ ] repudiation, answering nothing but the conclusion of the argument that is brought against them. he begins with the new testament. jesus christ was content to say: 'follow me' (luke v. ; ix. ). the apostles said: 'believe, and thou shalt be saved' (acts xvi. ). st. paul acknowledges that his 'doctrine is obscure' ( cor. xiii. ), that 'one can comprehend nothing therein' unless god impart a spiritual discernment, and without that it only passes for foolishness ( cor. ii. ). he exhorts the faithful 'to beware of philosophy' (col. ii. ) and to avoid disputations in that science, which had caused many persons to lose faith. . as for the fathers of the church, m. bayle refers us to the collection of passages from them against the use of philosophy and of reason which m. de launoy made (_de varia aristotelis fortuna,_ cap. ) and especially to the passages from st. augustine collected by m. arnauld (against mallet), which state: that the judgements of god are inscrutable; that they are not any the less just for that they are unknown to us; that it is a deep abyss, which one cannot fathom without running the risk of falling down the precipice; that one cannot without temerity try to elucidate that which god willed to keep hidden; that his will cannot but be just; that many men, having tried to explain this incomprehensible depth, have fallen into vain imaginations and opinions full of error and bewilderment. . the schoolmen have spoken in like manner. m. bayle quotes a beautiful passage from cardinal cajetan (part i, _summ._, qu. , art. ) to this effect: 'our mind', he says, 'rests not upon the evidence of known truth but upon the impenetrable depth of hidden truth. and as st. gregory says: he who believes touching the divinity only that which he can gauge with his mind belittles the idea of god. yet i do not surmise that it is necessary to deny any of the things which we know, or which we see as appertaining to the immutability, the actuality, the certainty, the universality, etc., of god: but i think that there is here some secret, either in regard to the relation which exists between god and the event, or in respect of what connects the event itself with his prevision. thus, reflecting that the understanding of our soul is the eye of the owl, i find the soul's repose only in ignorance. for it is better both for the catholic faith and for philosophic faith to confess our blindness, than to affirm as evident what does not afford our mind the contentment which self-evidence gives. i do not accuse of presumption, on that account, all the learned men who [ ] stammeringly have endeavoured to suggest, as far as in them lay, the immobility and the sovereign and eternal efficacy of the understanding, of the will and of the power of god, through the infallibility of divine election and divine relation to all events. nothing of all that interferes with my surmise that there is some depth which is hidden from us.' this passage of cajetan is all the more notable since he was an author competent to reach the heart of the matter. . luther's book against erasmus is full of vigorous comments hostile to those who desire to submit revealed truths to the tribunal of our reason. calvin often speaks in the same tone, against the inquisitive daring of those who seek to penetrate into the counsels of god. he declares in his treatise on predestination that god had just causes for damning some men, but causes unknown to us. finally m. bayle quotes sundry modern writers who have spoken to the same effect (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, ch. et seq.). . but all these expressions and innumerable others like them do not prove that the objections opposed to faith are so insoluble as m. bayle supposes. it is true that the counsels of god are inscrutable, but there is no invincible objection which tends to the conclusion that they are unjust. what appears injustice on the part of god, and foolishness in our faith, only appears so. the famous passage of tertullian (_de carne christi_), 'mortuus est dei filius, credibile est, quia ineptum est; et sepultus revixit, certum est, quia impossibile', is a sally that can only be meant to concern appearances of absurdity. there are others like them in luther's book on _freewill in bondage_, as when he says (ch. ): 'si placet tibi deus indignos coronans, non debet displicere immeritos damnans.' which being reduced to more temperate phrasing, means: if you approve that god give eternal glory to those who are not better than the rest, you should not disapprove that he abandon those who are not worse than the rest. and to judge that he speaks only of appearances of injustice, one only has to weigh these words of the same author taken from the same book: 'in all the rest', he says, 'we recognize in god a supreme majesty; there is only justice that we dare to question: and we will not believe provisionally [tantisper] that he is just, albeit he has promised us that the time shall come when his glory being revealed all men shall see clearly that he has been and that he is just.' [ ] . it will be found also that when the fathers entered into a discussion they did not simply reject reason. and, in disputations with the pagans, they endeavour usually to show how paganism is contrary to reason, and how the christian religion has the better of it on that side also. origen showed celsus how reasonable christianity is and why, notwithstanding, the majority of christians should believe without examination. celsus had jeered at the behaviour of christians, 'who, willing', he said, 'neither to listen to your reasons nor to give you any for what they believe, are content to say to you: examine not, only believe, or: your faith will save you; and they hold this as a maxim, that the wisdom of the world is an evil.' . origen gives the answer of a wise man, and in conformity with the principles we have established in the matter. for reason, far from being contrary to christianity, serves as a foundation for this religion, and will bring about its acceptance by those who can achieve the examination of it. but, as few people are capable of this, the heavenly gift of plain faith tending towards good suffices for men in general. 'if it were possible', he says, 'for all men, neglecting the affairs of life, to apply themselves to study and meditation, one need seek no other way to make them accept the christian religion. for, to say nothing likely to offend anyone' (he insinuates that the pagan religion is absurd, but he will not say so explicitly), 'there will be found therein no less exactitude than elsewhere, whether in the discussion of its dogmas, or in the elucidation of the enigmatical expressions of its prophets, or in the interpretation of the parables of its gospels and of countless other things happening or ordained symbolically. but since neither the necessities of life nor the infirmities of men permit of this application to study, save for a very small number of persons, what means could one find more qualified to benefit everyone else in the world than those jesus christ wished to be used for the conversion of the nations? and i would fain ask with regard to the great number of those who believe, and who thereby have withdrawn themselves from the quagmire of vices wherein before they were plunged, which would be the better: to have thus changed one's morals and reformed one's life, believing without examination that there are punishments for sin and rewards for good actions; or to have waited for one's conversion until one not only believed but had examined with care the foundations of these dogmas? it is certain that, were this method to be followed, few[ ] indeed would reach that point whither they are led by their plain and simple faith, but the majority would remain in their corruption.' . m. bayle (in his explanation concerning the objections of the manichaeans, placed at the end of the second edition of the _dictionary_) takes those words where origen points out that religion can stand the test of having her dogmas discussed, as if it were not meant in relation to philosophy, but only in relation to the accuracy wherewith the authority and the true meaning of holy scripture is established. but there is nothing to indicate this restriction. origen wrote against a philosopher whom such a restriction would not have suited. and it appears that this father wished to point out that among christians there was no less exactitude than among the stoics and some other philosophers, who established their doctrine as much by reason as by authorities, as, for example, chrysippus did, who found his philosophy even in the symbols of pagan antiquity. . celsus brings up still another objection to the christians, in the same place. 'if they withdraw', he says, 'regularly into their "examine not, only believe", they must tell me at least what are the things they wish me to believe.' therein he is doubtless right, and that tells against those who would say that god is good and just, and who yet would maintain that we have no notion of goodness and of justice when we attribute these perfections to him. but one must not always demand what i call 'adequate notions', involving nothing that is not explained, since even perceptible qualities, like heat, light, sweetness, cannot give us such notions. thus we agreed that mysteries should receive an explanation, but this explanation is imperfect. it suffices for us to have some analogical understanding of a mystery such as the trinity and the incarnation, to the end that in accepting them we pronounce not words altogether devoid of meaning: but it is not necessary that the explanation go as far as we would wish, that is, to the extent of comprehension and to the _how_. . it appears strange therefore that m. bayle rejects the tribunal of _common notions_ (in the third volume of his _reply to the questions of a provincial_, pp. and ) as if one should not consult the idea of goodness in answering the manichaeans; whereas he had declared himself quite differently in his _dictionary_. of necessity there must be agreement upon the meaning of _good_ and _bad_, amongst those who are in dispute[ ] over the question whether there is only one principle, altogether good, or whether there are two, the one good and the other bad. we understand something by union when we are told of the union of one body with another or of a substance with its accident, of a subject with its adjunct, of the place with the moving body, of the act with the potency; we also mean something when we speak of the union of the soul with the body to make thereof one single person. for albeit i do not hold that the soul changes the laws of the body, or that the body changes the laws of the soul, and i have introduced the pre-established harmony to avoid this derangement, i nevertheless admit a true union between the soul and the body, which makes thereof a suppositum. this union belongs to the metaphysical, whereas a union of influence would belong to the physical. but when we speak of the union of the word of god with human nature we should be content with an analogical knowledge, such as the comparison of the union of the soul with the body is capable of giving us. we should, moreover, be content to say that the incarnation is the closest union that can exist between the creator and the creature; and further we should not want to go. . it is the same with the other mysteries, where moderate minds will ever find an explanation sufficient for belief, but never such as would be necessary for understanding. a certain _what it is_ ([greek: ti esti]) is enough for us, but the _how_ ([greek: pôs]) is beyond us, and is not necessary for us. one may say concerning the explanations of mysteries which are given out here and there, what the queen of sweden inscribed upon a medal concerning the crown she had abandoned, 'non mi bisogna, e non mi basta.' nor have we any need either (as i have already observed) to prove the mysteries _a priori_, or to give a reason for them; it suffices us _that the thing is thus_ ([greek: to hoti]) even though we know not the _why_ ([greek: to dioti]), which god has reserved for himself. these lines, written on that theme by joseph scaliger, are beautiful and renowned: _ne curiosus quaere causas omnium,_ _quaecumque libris vis prophetarum indidit_ _afflata caelo, plena veraci deo:_ _nec operta sacri supparo silentii_ _irrumpere aude, sed pudenter praeteri._ [page ] _nescire velle, quae magister optimus_ _docere non vult, erudita inscitia est._ m. bayle, who quotes them (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, p. ), holds the likely opinion that scaliger made them upon the disputes between arminius and gomarus. i think m. bayle repeated them from memory, for he put _sacrata_ instead of _afflata_. but it is apparently the printer's fault that _prudenter_ stands in place of _pudenter_ (that is, modestly) which the metre requires. . nothing can be more judicious than the warning these lines contain; and m. bayle is right in saying (p. ) that those who claim that the behaviour of god with respect to sin and the consequences of sin contains nothing but what they can account for, deliver themselves up to the mercy of their adversary. but he is not right in combining here two very different things, 'to account for a thing', and 'to uphold it against objections'; as he does when he presently adds: 'they are obliged to follow him [their adversary] everywhere whither he shall wish to lead them, and it would be to retire ignominiously and ask for quarter, if they were to admit that our intelligence is too weak to remove completely all the objections advanced by a philosopher.' . it seems here that, according to m. bayle, 'accounting for' comes short of 'answering objections', since he threatens one who should undertake the first with the resulting obligation to pass on to the second. but it is quite the opposite: he who maintains a thesis (the _respondens_) is not bound to account for it, but he is bound to meet the objections of an opponent. a defendant in law is not bound (as a general rule) to prove his right or to produce his title to possession; but he is obliged to reply to the arguments of the plaintiff. i have marvelled many times that a writer so precise and so shrewd as m. bayle so often here confuses things where so much difference exists as between these three acts of reason: to comprehend, to prove, and to answer objections; as if when it is a question of the use of reason in theology one term were as good as another. thus he says in his posthumous conversations, p. : 'there is no principle which m. bayle has more often inculcated than this, that the incomprehensibility of a dogma and the insolubility of the objections that oppose it provide no legitimate reason for rejecting it.' this is true as regards the incomprehensibility, but it is not the same with the insolubility. and it is indeed just as if one said that an invincible reason against a [ ] thesis was not a legitimate reason for rejecting it. for what other legitimate reason for rejecting an opinion can one find, if an invincible opposing argument is not such an one? and what means shall one have thereafter of demonstrating the falsity, and even the absurdity, of any opinion? . it is well to observe also that he who proves a thing _a priori_ accounts for it through the efficient cause; and whosoever can thus account for it in a precise and adequate manner is also in a position to comprehend the thing. therefore it was that the scholastic theologians had already censured raymond lully for having undertaken to demonstrate the trinity by philosophy. this so-called demonstration is to be found in his _works_; and bartholomaeus keckermann, a writer renowned in the reformed party, having made an attempt of just the same kind upon the same mystery, has been no less censured for it by some modern theologians. therefore censure will fall upon those who shall wish to account for this mystery and make it comprehensible, but praise will be given to those who shall toil to uphold it against the objections of adversaries. . i have said already that theologians usually distinguish between what is above reason and what is against reason. they place _above_ reason that which one cannot comprehend and which one cannot account for. but _against_ reason will be all opinion that is opposed by invincible reasons, or the contrary of which can be proved in a precise and sound manner. they avow, therefore, that the mysteries are above reason, but they do not admit that they are contrary to it. the english author of a book which is ingenious, but has met with disapproval, entitled _christianity not mysterious_, wished to combat this distinction; but it does not seem to me that he has at all weakened it. m. bayle also is not quite satisfied with this accepted distinction. this is what he says on the matter (vol. iii of the _reply to the questions of a provincial_, ch. ). firstly (p. ) he distinguishes, together with m. saurin, between these two theses: the one, _all the dogmas of christianity are in conformity with reason_; the other, _human reason knows that they are in conformity with reason_. he affirms the first and denies the second. i am of the same opinion, if in saying 'that a dogma conforms to reason' one means that it is possible to account for it or to explain its _how_ by reason; for god could doubtless do so, and we cannot. but i think that one must affirm both theses if by [ ] 'knowing that a dogma conforms to reason' one means that we can demonstrate, if need be, that there is no contradiction between this dogma and reason, repudiating the objections of those who maintain that this dogma is an absurdity. . m. bayle explains himself here in a manner not at all convincing. he acknowledges fully that our mysteries are in accordance with the supreme and universal reason that is in the divine understanding, or with reason in general; yet he denies that they are in accordance with that part of reason which man employs to judge things. but this portion of reason which we possess is a gift of god, and consists in the natural light that has remained with us in the midst of corruption; thus it is in accordance with the whole, and it differs from that which is in god only as a drop of water differs from the ocean or rather as the finite from the infinite. therefore mysteries may transcend it, but they cannot be contrary to it. one cannot be contrary to one part without being contrary to the whole. that which contradicts a proposition of euclid is contrary to the _elements_ of euclid. that which in us is contrary to the mysteries is not reason nor is it the natural light or the linking together of truths; it is corruption, or error, or prejudice, or darkness. . m. bayle (p. ) is not satisfied with the opinion of josua stegman and of m. turretin, protestant theologians who teach that the mysteries are contrary only to corrupt reason. he asks, mockingly, whether by right reason is meant perchance that of an orthodox theologian and by corrupt reason that of an heretic; and he urges the objection that the evidence of the mystery of the trinity was no greater in the soul of luther than in the soul of socinius. but as m. descartes has well observed, good sense is distributed to all: thus one must believe that both the orthodox and heretics are endowed therewith. right reason is a linking together of truths, corrupt reason is mixed with prejudices and passions. and in order to discriminate between the two, one need but proceed in good order, admit no thesis without proof, and admit no proof unless it be in proper form, according to the commonest rules of logic. one needs neither any other criterion nor other arbitrator in questions of reason. it is only through lack of this consideration that a handle has been given to the sceptics, and that even in theology françois véron and some others, who [ ] exacerbated the dispute with the protestants, even to the point of dishonesty, plunged headlong into scepticism in order to prove the necessity of accepting an infallible external judge. their course meets with no approval from the most expert, even in their own party: calixtus and daillé derided it as it deserved, and bellarmine argued quite otherwise. . now let us come to what m. bayle says (p. ) on the distinction we are concerned with. 'it seems to me', he says, 'that an ambiguity has crept into the celebrated distinction drawn between things that are above reason and things that are against reason. the mysteries of the gospel are above reason, so it is usually said, but they are not contrary to reason. i think that the same sense is not given to the word reason in the first part of this axiom as in the second: by the first is understood rather the reason of man, or reason _in concreto_ and by the second reason in general, or reason _in abstracto_. for supposing that it is understood always as reason in general or the supreme reason, the universal reason that is in god, it is equally true that the mysteries of the gospels are not above reason and that they are not against reason. but if in both parts of the axiom human reason is meant, i do not clearly see the soundness of the distinction: for the most orthodox confess that we know not how our mysteries can conform to the maxims of philosophy. it seems to us, therefore, that they are not in conformity with our reason. now that which appears to us not to be in conformity with our reason appears contrary to our reason, just as that which appears to us not in conformity with truth appears contrary to truth. thus why should not one say, equally, that the mysteries are against our feeble reason, and that they are above our feeble reason?' i answer, as i have done already, that 'reason' here is the linking together of the truths that we know by the light of nature, and in this sense the axiom is true and without any ambiguity. the mysteries transcend our reason, since they contain truths that are not comprised in this sequence; but they are not contrary to our reason, and they do not contradict any of the truths whereto this sequence can lead us. accordingly there is no question here of the universal reason that is in god, but of our reason. as for the question whether we know the mysteries to conform with our reason, i answer that at least we never know of any non-conformity or any opposition between the mysteries and reason. moreover, we can always abolish such alleged [ ] opposition, and so, if this can be called reconciling or harmonizing faith with reason, or recognizing the conformity between them, it must be said that we can recognize this conformity and this harmony. but if the conformity consists in a reasonable explanation of the _how_, we cannot recognize it. . m. bayle makes one more ingenious objection, which he draws from the example of the sense of sight. 'when a square tower', he says, 'from a distance appears to us round, our eyes testify very clearly not only that they perceive nothing square in this tower, but also that they discover there a round shape, incompatible with the square shape. one may therefore say that the truth which is the square shape is not only above, but even against, the witness of our feeble sight.' it must be admitted that this observation is correct, and although it be true that the appearance of roundness comes simply from the effacement of the angles, which distance causes to disappear, it is true, notwithstanding, that the round and the square are opposites. therefore my answer to this objection is that the representation of the senses, even when they do all that in them lies, is often contrary to the truth; but it is not the same with the faculty of reasoning, when it does its duty, since a strictly reasoned argument is nothing but a linking together of truths. and as for the sense of sight in particular, it is well to consider that there are yet other false appearances which come not from the 'feebleness of our eyes' nor from the loss of visibility brought about by distance, but from the very _nature of vision_, however perfect it be. it is thus, for instance, that the circle seen sideways is changed into that kind of oval which among geometricians is known as an ellipse, and sometimes even into a parabola or a hyperbola, or actually into a straight line, witness the ring of saturn. . the _external_ senses, properly speaking, do not deceive us. it is our inner sense which often makes us go too fast. that occurs also in brute beasts, as when a dog barks at his reflexion in the mirror: for beasts have _consecutions_ of perception which resemble reasoning, and which occur also in the inner sense of men, when their actions have only an empirical quality. but beasts do nothing which compels us to believe that they have what deserves to be properly called a _reasoning_ sense, as i have shown elsewhere. now when the understanding uses and follows the false decision of the inner sense (as when the famous galileo thought that saturn had[ ] two handles) it is deceived by the judgement it makes upon the effect of appearances, and it infers from them more than they imply. for the appearances of the senses do not promise us absolutely the truth of things, any more than dreams do. it is we who deceive ourselves by the use we make of them, that is, by our consecutions. indeed we allow ourselves to be deluded by probable arguments, and we are inclined to think that phenomena such as we have found linked together often are so always. thus, as it happens usually that that which appears without angles has none, we readily believe it to be always thus. such an error is pardonable, and sometimes inevitable, when it is necessary to act promptly and choose that which appearances recommend; but when we have the leisure and the time to collect our thoughts, we are in fault if we take for certain that which is not so. it is therefore true that appearances are often contrary to truth, but our reasoning never is when it proceeds strictly in accordance with the rules of the art of reasoning. if by _reason_ one meant generally the faculty of reasoning whether well or ill, i confess that it might deceive us, and does indeed deceive us, and the appearances of our understanding are often as deceptive as those of the senses: but here it is a question of the linking together of truths and of objections in due form, and in this sense it is impossible for reason to deceive us. . thus it may be seen from all i have just said that m. bayle carries too far _the being above reason_, as if it included the insoluble nature of objections: for according to him (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ) 'once a dogma is above reason, philosophy can neither explain it nor comprehend it, nor meet the difficulties that are urged against it'. i agree with regard to comprehension, but i have already shown that the mysteries receive a necessary verbal explanation, to the end that the terms employed be not _sine mente soni_, words signifying nothing. i have shown also that it is necessary for one to be capable of answering the objections, and that otherwise one must needs reject the thesis. . he adduces the authority of theologians, who appear to recognize the insoluble nature of the objections against the mysteries. luther is one of the chief of these; but i have already replied, in § , to the passage where he seems to say that philosophy contradicts theology. there is another passage (_de servo arbitrio_, ch. ) where he says that the apparent injustice of god is proved by arguments taken from the [ ] adversity of good people and the prosperity of the wicked, an argument irresistible both for all reason and for natural intelligence ('argumentis talibus traducta, quibus nulla ratio aut lumen naturae potest resistere'). but soon afterwards he shows that he means it only of those who know nothing of the life to come, since he adds that an expression in the gospel dissipates this difficulty, teaching us that there is another life, where that which has not been punished and rewarded in this life shall receive its due. the objection is then far from being insuperable, and even without the aid of the gospel one could bethink oneself of this answer. there is also quoted (_reply_, vol. iii, p. ) a passage from martin chemnitz, criticized by vedelius and defended by johann musaeus, where this famous theologian seems to say clearly that there are truths in the word of god which are not only above reason but also against reason. but this passage must be taken as referring only to the principles of reason that are in accordance with the order of nature, as musaeus also interprets it. . it is true nevertheless that m. bayle finds some authorities who are more favourable to him, m. descartes being one of the chief. this great man says positively (part i of his _principles_, art. ) 'that we shall have not the slightest trouble in ridding ourselves of the difficulty' (which one may have in harmonizing the freedom of our will with the order of the eternal providence of god) 'if we observe that our thought is finite, and that the knowledge and the omnipotence of god, whereby he has not only known from all eternity all that which is or which can be, but also has willed it, is infinite. we have therefore quite enough intelligence to recognize clearly and distinctly that this knowledge and this power are in god; but we have not enough so to comprehend their scope that we can know how they leave the actions of men entirely free and undetermined. yet the power and the knowledge of god must not prevent us from believing that we have a free will; for we should be wrong to doubt of that whereof we are inwardly conscious, and which we know by experience to be within us, simply because we do not comprehend some other thing which we know to be incomprehensible in its nature.' . this passage from m. descartes, followed by his adherents (who rarely think of doubting what he asserts), has always appeared strange to me. not content with saying that, as for him, he sees no way of reconciling [ ] the two dogmas, he puts the whole human race, and even all rational creatures, in the same case. yet could he have been unaware that there is no possibility of an insuperable objection against truth? for such an objection could only be a necessary linking together of other truths whose result would be contrary to the truth that one maintains; and consequently there would be contradiction between the truths, which would be an utter absurdity. moreover, albeit our mind is finite and cannot comprehend the infinite, of the infinite nevertheless it has proofs whose strength or weakness it comprehends; why then should it not have the same comprehension in regard to the objections? and since the power and the wisdom of god are infinite and comprehend everything, there is no pretext for doubting their scope. further, m. descartes demands a freedom which is not needed, by his insistence that the actions of the will of man are altogether undetermined, a thing which never happens. finally, m. bayle himself maintains that this experience or this inward sense of our independence, upon which m. descartes founds the proof of our freedom, does not prove it: for from the fact that we are not conscious of the causes whereon we depend, it does not follow, according to m. bayle, that we are independent. but that is something we will speak of in its proper place. . it seems that m. descartes confesses also, in a passage of his _principles_, that it is impossible to find an answer to the difficulties on the division of matter to infinity, which he nevertheless recognizes as actual. arriaga and other schoolmen make well-nigh the same confession: but if they took the trouble to give to the objections the form these ought to have, they would see that there are faults in the reasoning, and sometimes false assumptions which cause confusion. here is an example. a man of parts one day brought up to me an objection in the following form: let the straight line ba be cut in two equal parts at the point c, and the part ca at the point d, and the part da at the point e, and so on to infinity; all the halves, bc, cd, de, etc., together make the whole ba; therefore there must be a last half, since the straight line ba finishes at a. but this last half is absurd: for since it is a line, it will be possible again to cut it in two. therefore division to infinity cannot be admitted. but i pointed out to him that one is not justified in the inference that there must be a last half, although there be a last point a, for this last point belongs to all the halves of its side. and my friend acknowledged it [ ] himself when he endeavoured to prove this deduction by a formal argument; on the contrary, just because the division goes on to infinity, there is no last half. and although the straight line ab be finite, it does not follow that the process of dividing it has any final end. the same confusion arises with the series of numbers going on to infinity. one imagines a final end, a number that is infinite, or infinitely small; but that is all simple fiction. every number is finite and specific; every line is so likewise, and the infinite or infinitely small signify only magnitudes that one may take as great or as small as one wishes, to show that an error is smaller than that which has been specified, that is to say, that there is no error; or else by the infinitely small is meant the state of a magnitude at its vanishing point or its beginning, conceived after the pattern of magnitudes already actualized. . it will, however, be well to consider the argument that m. bayle puts forward to show that one cannot refute the objections which reason opposes to the mysteries. it is in his comment on the manichaeans (p. of the second edition of his _dictionary_). 'it is enough for me', he says, 'that it be unanimously acknowledged that the mysteries of the gospel are above reason. for thence comes the necessary conclusion that it is impossible to settle the difficulties raised by the philosophers, and in consequence that a dispute where only the light of nature is followed will always end unfavourably for the theologians, and that they will see themselves forced to give way and to take refuge in the canon of the supernatural light.' i am surprised that m. bayle speaks in such general terms, since he has acknowledged himself that the light of nature is against the manichaeans, and for the oneness of the principle, and that the goodness of god is proved incontrovertibly by reason. yet this is how he continues: . 'it is evident that reason can never attain to that which is above it. now if it could supply answers to the objections which are opposed to the dogma of the trinity and that of hypostatic union, it would attain to those two mysteries, it would have them in subjection and submit them to the strictest examination by comparison with its first principles, or with the aphorisms that spring from common notions, and proceed until finally it had drawn the conclusion that they are in accordance with natural light. it would therefore do what exceeds its powers, it would soar above its [ ] confines, and that is a formal contradiction. one must therefore say that it cannot provide answers to its own objections, and that thus they remain victorious, so long as one does not have recourse to the authority of god and to the necessity of subjugating one's understanding to the obedience of faith.' i do not find that there is any force in this reasoning. we can attain to that which is above us not by penetrating it but by maintaining it; as we can attain to the sky by sight, and not by touch. nor is it necessary that, in order to answer the objections which are made against the mysteries, one should have them in subjection to oneself, and submit them to examination by comparison with the first principles that spring from common notions. for if he who answers the objections had to go so far, he who proposes the objections needs must do it first. it is the part of the objection to open up the subject, and it is enough for him who answers to say yes or no. he is not obliged to counter with a distinction: it will do, in case of need, if he denies the universality of some proposition in the objection or criticizes its form, and one may do both these things without penetrating beyond the objection. when someone offers me a proof which he maintains is invincible, i can keep silence while i compel him merely to prove in due form all the enunciations that he brings forward, and such as appear to me in the slightest degree doubtful. for the purpose of doubting only, i need not at all probe to the heart of the matter; on the contrary, the more ignorant i am the more shall i be justified in doubting. m. bayle continues thus: . 'let us endeavour to clarify that. if some doctrines are above reason they are beyond its reach, it cannot attain to them; if it cannot attain to them, it cannot comprehend them.' (he could have begun here with the 'comprehend', saying that reason cannot comprehend that which is above it.) 'if it cannot comprehend them, it can find in them no idea' (_non valet consequentia_: for, to 'comprehend' something, it is not enough that one have some ideas thereof; one must have all the ideas of everything that goes to make it up, and all these ideas must be clear, distinct, _adequate_. there are a thousand objects in nature in which we understand something, but which we do not therefore necessarily comprehend. we have some ideas on the rays of light, we demonstrate upon them up to a certain point; but there ever remains something which makes us confess that we do not yet comprehend the whole nature of light.) 'nor any principle such[ ] as may give rise to a solution;' (why should not evident principles be found mingled with obscure and confused knowledge?) 'and consequently the objections that reason has made will remain unanswered;' (by no means; the difficulty is rather on the side of the opposer. it is for him to seek an evident principle such as may give rise to some objection; and the more obscure the subject, the more trouble he will have in finding such a principle. moreover, when he has found it he will have still more trouble in demonstrating an opposition between the principle and the mystery: for, if it happened that the mystery was evidently contrary to an evident principle, it would not be an obscure mystery, it would be a manifest absurdity.) 'or what is the same thing, answer will be made with some distinction as obscure as the very thesis that will have been attacked.' (one can do without distinctions, if need be, by denying either some premiss or some conclusion; and when one is doubtful of the meaning of some term used by the opposer one may demand of him its definition. thus the defender has no need to incommode himself when it is a question of answering an adversary who claims that he is offering us an invincible proof. but even supposing that the defender, perchance being kindly disposed, or for the sake of brevity, or because he feels himself strong enough, should himself vouchsafe to show the ambiguity concealed in the objection, and to remove it by making some distinction, this distinction need not of necessity lead to anything clearer than the first thesis, since the defender is not obliged to elucidate the mystery itself.) . 'now it is certain', so m. bayle continues, 'that an objection which is founded on distinct notions remains equally victorious, whether you give to it no answer, or you make an answer where none can comprehend anything. can the contest be equal between a man who alleges in objection to you that which you and he very clearly conceive, and you, who can only defend yourself by answers wherein neither of you understands anything?' (it is not enough that the objection be founded on quite distinct notions, it is necessary also that one apply it in contradiction of the thesis. and when i answer someone by denying some premiss, in order to compel him to prove it, or some conclusion, to compel him to put it in good form, it cannot be said that i answer nothing or that i answer nothing intelligible. for as it is the doubtful premiss of the adversary that i deny, my denial will be [ ] as intelligible as his affirmation. finally, when i am so obliging as to explain myself by means of some distinction, it suffices that the terms i employ have some meaning, as in the mystery itself. thus something in my answer will be comprehended: but one need not of necessity comprehend all that it involves; otherwise one would comprehend the mystery also.) . m. bayle continues thus: 'every philosophical dispute assumes that the disputant parties agree on certain definitions' (this would be desirable, but usually it is only in the dispute itself that one reaches such a point, if the necessity arises.) 'and that they admit the rules of syllogisms, and the signs for the recognition of bad arguments. after that everything lies in the investigation as to whether a thesis conforms mediately or immediately to the principles one is agreed upon' (which is done by means of the syllogisms of him who makes objections); 'whether the premisses of a proof (advanced by the opposer) 'are true; whether the conclusion is properly drawn; whether a four-term syllogism has been employed; whether some aphorism of the chapter _de oppositis_ or _de sophisticis elenchis_, etc., has not been violated.' (it is enough, putting it briefly, to deny some premiss or some conclusion, or finally to explain or get explained some ambiguous term.) 'one comes off victorious either by showing that the subject of dispute has no connexion with the principles which had been agreed upon' (that is to say, by showing that the objection proves nothing, and then the defender wins the case), 'or by reducing the defender to absurdity' (when all the premisses and all the conclusions are well proved). 'now one can reduce him to that point either by showing him that the conclusions of his thesis are "yes" and "no" at once, or by constraining him to say only intelligible things in answer.' (this last embarrassment he can always avoid, because he has no need to advance new theses.) 'the aim in disputes of this kind is to throw light upon obscurities and to arrive at self-evidence.' (it is the aim of the opposer, for he wishes to demonstrate that the mystery is false; but this cannot here be the aim of the defender, for in admitting mystery he agrees that one cannot demonstrate it.) 'this leads to the opinion that during the course of the proceedings victory sides more or less with the defender or with the opposer, according to whether there is more or less clarity in the propositions of the one than in the propositions of the other.' (that [ ] is speaking as if the defender and the opposer were equally unprotected; but the defender is like a besieged commander, covered by his defence works, and it is for the attacker to destroy them. the defender has no need here of self-evidence, and he seeks it not: but it is for the opposer to find it against him, and to break through with his batteries in order that the defender may be no longer protected.) . 'finally, it is judged that victory goes against him whose answers are such that one comprehends nothing in them,' (it is a very equivocal sign of victory: for then one must needs ask the audience if they comprehend anything in what has been said, and often their opinions would be divided. the order of formal disputes is to proceed by arguments in due form and to answer them by denying or making a distinction.) 'and who confesses that they are incomprehensible.' (it is permitted to him who maintains the truth of a mystery to confess that this mystery is incomprehensible; and if this confession were sufficient for declaring him vanquished there would be no need of objection. it will be possible for a truth to be incomprehensible, but never so far as to justify the statement that one comprehends nothing at all therein. it would be in that case what the ancient schools called _scindapsus_ or _blityri_ (clem. alex., _stromateis_, ), that is, words devoid of meaning.) 'he is condemned thenceforth by the rules for awarding victory; and even when he cannot be pursued in the mist wherewith he has covered himself, and which forms a kind of abyss between him and his antagonists, he is believed to be utterly defeated, and is compared to an army which, having lost the battle, steals away from the pursuit of the victor only under cover of night.' (matching allegory with allegory, i will say that the defender is not vanquished so long as he remains protected by his entrenchments; and if he risks some sortie beyond his need, it is permitted to him to withdraw within his fort, without being open to blame for that.) . i was especially at pains to analyse this long passage where m. bayle has put down his strongest and most skilfully reasoned statements in support of his opinion: and i hope that i have shown clearly how this excellent man has been misled. that happens all too easily to the ablest and shrewdest persons when they give free rein to their wit without exercising the patience necessary for delving down to the very foundations of their systems. the details we have entered into here will serve as [ ] answer to some other arguments upon the subject which are dispersed through the works of m. bayle, as for instance when he says in his _reply to the questions of a provincial_ (vol. iii, ch. , p. ): 'to prove that one has brought reason and religion into harmony one must show not only that one has philosophic maxims favourable to our faith, but also that the particular maxims cast up against us as not being consistent with our catechism are in reality consistent with it in a clearly conceived way.' i do not see that one has need of all that, unless one aspire to press reasoning as far as the _how_ of the mystery. when one is content to uphold its truth, without attempting to render it comprehensible, one has no need to resort to philosophic maxims, general or particular, for the proof; and when another brings up some philosophic maxims against us, it is not for us to prove clearly and distinctly that these maxims are consistent with our dogma, but it is for our opponent to prove that they are contrary thereto. . m. bayle continues thus in the same passage: 'for this result we need an answer as clearly evident as the objection.' i have already shown that it is obtained when one denies the premisses, but that for the rest it is not necessary for him who maintains the truth of the mystery always to advance evident propositions, since the principal thesis concerning the mystery itself is not evident. he adds further: 'if we must make reply and rejoinder, we must never rest in our positions, nor claim that we have accomplished our design, so long as our opponent shall make answer with things as evident as our reasons can be.' but it is not for the defender to adduce reasons; it is enough for him to answer those of his opponent. . finally the author draws the conclusion: 'if it were claimed that, on making an evident objection, a man has to be satisfied with an answer which we can only state as a thing possible though incomprehensible to us, that would be unfair.' he repeats this in the posthumous dialogues, against m. jacquelot, p. . i am not of this opinion. if the objection were completely evident, it would triumph, and the thesis would be overthrown. but when the objection is only founded on appearances or on instances of the most frequent occurrence, and when he who makes it desires to draw from it a universal and certain conclusion, he who upholds the mystery may answer with the instance of a bare possibility. for such an instance [ ] suffices to show that what one wished to infer from the premisses, is neither certain nor general; and it suffices for him who upholds the mystery to maintain that it is possible, without having to maintain that it is probable. for, as i have often said, it is agreed that the mysteries are against appearances. he who upholds the mystery need not even adduce such an instance; and should he adduce it, it were indeed a work of supererogation, or else an instrument of greater confusion to the adversary. . there are passages of m. bayle in the posthumous reply that he made to m. jacquelot which seem to me still worthy of scrutiny. 'm. bayle' (according to pp. , ) 'constantly asserts in his _dictionary_, whenever the subject allows, that our reason is more capable of refuting and destroying than of proving and building; that there is scarcely any philosophical or theological matter in respect of which it does not create great difficulties. thus', he says, 'if one desired to follow it in a disputatious spirit, as far as it can go, one would often be reduced to a state of troublesome perplexity; and in fine, there are doctrines certainly true, which it disputes with insoluble objections.' i think that what is said here in reproach of reason is to its advantage. when it overthrows some thesis, it builds up the opposing thesis. and when it seems to be overthrowing the two opposing theses at the same time, it is then that it promises us something profound, provided that we follow it _as far as it can go_, not in a disputatious spirit but with an ardent desire to search out and discover the truth, which will always be recompensed with a great measure of success. . m. bayle continues: 'that one must then ridicule these objections, recognizing the narrow bounds of the human mind.' and i think, on the other hand, that one must recognize the signs of the force of the human mind, which causes it to penetrate into the heart of things. these are new openings and, as it were, rays of the dawn which promises us a greater light: i mean in philosophical subjects or those of natural theology. but when these objections are made against revealed faith it is enough that one be able to repel them, provided that one do so in a submissive and zealous spirit, with intent to sustain and exalt the glory of god. and when we succeed in respect of his justice, we shall likewise be impressed by his greatness and charmed by his goodness, which will show themselves through the clouds of a seeming reason that is deceived by outward [ ] appearances, in proportion as the mind is elevated by true reason to that which to us is invisible, but none the less sure. . 'thus' (to continue with m. bayle) 'reason will be compelled to lay down its arms, and to subjugate itself to the obedience of the faith, which it can and ought to do, in virtue of some of its most incontestable maxims. thus also in renouncing some of its other maxims it acts nevertheless in accordance with that which it is, that is to say, in reason.' but one must know 'that such maxims of reason as must be renounced in this case are only those which make us judge by appearances or according to the ordinary course of things.' this reason enjoins upon us even in philosophical subjects, when there are invincible proofs to the contrary. it is thus that, being made confident by demonstrations of the goodness and the justice of god, we disregard the appearances of harshness and injustice which we see in this small portion of his kingdom that is exposed to our gaze. hitherto we have been illumined by the _light of nature_ and by that of _grace_, but not yet by that of _glory_. here on earth we see apparent injustice, and we believe and even know the truth of the hidden justice of god; but we shall see that justice when at last the sun of justice shall show himself as he is. . it is certain that m. bayle can only be understood as meaning those ostensible maxims which must give way before the eternal verities; for he acknowledges that reason is not in reality contrary to faith. in these posthumous dialogues he complains (p. , against m. jacquelot) of being accused of the belief that our mysteries are in reality against reason, and (p. , against m. le clerc) of the assertion made that he who acknowledges that a doctrine is exposed to irrefutable objections acknowledges also by a necessary consequence the falsity of this doctrine. nevertheless one would be justified in the assertion if the irrefutability were more than an outward appearance. . it may be, therefore, that having long contended thus against m. bayle on the matter of the use of reason i shall find after all that his opinions were not fundamentally so remote from mine as his expressions, which have provided matter for our considerations, have led one to believe. it is true that frequently he appears to deny absolutely that one can ever answer the objections of reason against faith, and that he asserts the necessity of comprehending, in order to achieve such an end, how the mystery comes [ ] to be or exists. yet there are passages where he becomes milder, and contents himself with saying that the answers to these objections are unknown to him. here is a very precise passage, taken from the excursus on the manichaeans, which is found at the end of the second edition of his _dictionary_: 'for the greater satisfaction of the most punctilious readers, i desire to declare here' (he says, p. ) 'that wherever the statement is to be met with in my _dictionary_ that such and such arguments are irrefutable i do not wish it to be taken that they are so in actuality. i mean naught else than that they appear to me irrefutable. that is of no consequence: each one will be able to imagine, if he pleases, that if i deem thus of a matter it is owing to my lack of acumen.' i do not imagine such a thing; his great acumen is too well known to me: but i think that, after having applied his whole mind to magnifying the objections, he had not enough attention left over for the purpose of answering them. . m. bayle confesses, moreover, in his posthumous work against m. le clerc, that the objections against faith have not the force of proofs. it is therefore _ad hominem_ only, or rather _ad homines_, that is, in relation to the existing state of the human race, that he deems these objections irrefutable and the subject unexplainable. there is even a passage where he implies that he despairs not of the possibility that the answer or the explanation may be found, and even in our time. for here is what he says in his posthumous reply to m. le clerc (p. ): 'm. bayle dared to hope that his toil would put on their mettle some of those great men of genius who create new systems, and that they could discover a solution hitherto unknown.' it seems that by this 'solution' he means such an explanation of mystery as would penetrate to the _how_: but that is not necessary for replying to the objections. . many have undertaken to render this _how_ comprehensible, and to prove the possibility of mysteries. a certain writer named thomas bonartes nordtanus anglus, in his _concordia scientiae cum fide,_ claimed to do so. this work seemed to me ingenious and learned, but crabbed and involved, and it even contains indefensible opinions. i learned from the _apologia cyriacorum_ of the dominican father vincent baron that that book was censured in rome, that the author was a jesuit, and that he suffered for having published it. the reverend father des bosses, who now teaches theology in the jesuit college of hildesheim, and who has combined [ ] rare erudition with great acumen, which he displays in philosophy and theology, has informed me that the real name of bonartes was thomas barton, and that after leaving the society he retired to ireland, where the manner of his death brought about a favourable verdict on his last opinions. i pity the men of talent who bring trouble upon themselves by their toil and their zeal. something of like nature happened in time past to pierre abelard, to gilbert de la porree, to john wyclif, and in our day to the englishman thomas albius, as well as to some others who plunged too far into the explanation of the mysteries. . st. augustine, however (as well as m. bayle), does not despair of the possibility that the desired solution may be found upon earth; but this father believes it to be reserved for some holy man illumined by a peculiar grace: 'est aliqua causa fortassis occultior, quae melioribus sanctioribusque reservatur, illius gratia potius quam meritis illorum' (in _de genesi ad literam_, lib. , c. ). luther reserves the knowledge of the mystery of election for the academy of heaven (lib. _de servo arbitrio_, c. ): 'illic [deus] gratiam et misericordiam spargit in indignos, his iram et severitatem spargit in immeritos; utrobique nimius et iniquus apud homines, sed justus et verax apud se ipsum. nam quomodo hoc justum sit ut indignos coronet, incomprehensibile est modo, videbimus autem, cum illuc venerimus, ubi jam non credetur, sed revelata facie videbitur. ita quomodo hoc justum sit, ut immeritos damnet, incomprehensibile est modo, creditur tamen, donec revelabitur filius hominis.' it is to be hoped that m. bayle now finds himself surrounded by that light which is lacking to us here below, since there is reason to suppose that he was not lacking in good will. virgil _candidus insueti miratur limen olympi,_ _sub pedibusque videt nubes et sidera daphnis._ lucan _...illic postquam se lumine vero_ _implevit, stellasque vagas miratur et astra_ _fixa polis, vidit quanta sub nocte jaceret_ _nostra dies._ [ ] * * * * * essays on the justice of god and the freedom of man in the origin of evil * * * * * part one . having so settled the rights of faith and of reason as rather to place reason at the service of faith than in opposition to it, we shall see how they exercise these rights to support and harmonize what the light of nature and the light of revelation teach us of god and of man in relation to evil. the _difficulties_ are distinguishable into two classes. the one kind springs from man's freedom, which appears incompatible with the divine nature; and nevertheless freedom is deemed necessary, in order that man may be deemed guilty and open to punishment. the other kind concerns the conduct of god, and seems to make him participate too much in the existence of evil, even though man be free and participate also therein. and this conduct appears contrary to the goodness, the holiness and the justice of god, since god co-operates in evil as well physical as moral, and co-operates in each of them both morally and physically; and since it seems that these evils are manifested in the order of nature as well as in that of grace, and in the future and eternal life as well as, nay, more than, in this transitory life. . to present these difficulties in brief, it must be observed that freedom is opposed, to all appearance, by determination or certainty of any kind whatever; and nevertheless the common dogma of our philosophers states that the truth of contingent futurities is determined. the foreknowledge of[ ] god renders all the future certain and determined, but his providence and his foreordinance, whereon foreknowledge itself appears founded, do much more: for god is not as a man, able to look upon events with unconcern and to suspend his judgement, since nothing exists save as a result of the decrees of his will and through the action of his power. and even though one leave out of account the co-operation of god, all is perfectly connected in the order of things, since nothing can come to pass unless there be a cause so disposed as to produce the effect, this taking place no less in voluntary than in all other actions. according to which it appears that man is compelled to do the good and evil that he does, and in consequence that he deserves therefor neither recompense nor chastisement: thus is the morality of actions destroyed and all justice, divine and human, shaken. . but even though one should grant to man this freedom wherewith he arrays himself to his own hurt, the conduct of god could not but provide matter for a criticism supported by the presumptuous ignorance of men, who would wish to exculpate themselves wholly or in part at the expense of god. it is objected that all the reality and what is termed the substance of the act in sin itself is a production of god, since all creatures and all their actions derive from him that reality they have. whence one could infer not only that he is the physical cause of sin, but also that he is its moral cause, since he acts with perfect freedom and does nothing without a complete knowledge of the thing and the consequences that it may have. nor is it enough to say that god has made for himself a law to co-operate with the wills or resolutions of man, whether we express ourselves in terms of the common opinion or in terms of the system of occasional causes. not only will it be found strange that he should have made such a law for himself, of whose results he was not ignorant, but the principal difficulty is that it seems the evil will itself cannot exist without co-operation, and even without some predetermination, on his part, which contributes towards begetting this will in man or in some other rational creature. for an action is not, for being evil, the less dependent on god. whence one will come at last to the conclusion that god does all, the good and the evil, indifferently; unless one pretend with the manichaeans that there are two principles, the one good and the other evil. moreover, according to the general opinion of theologians and philosophers, conservation being a [ ] perpetual creation, it will be said that man is perpetually created corrupt and erring. there are, furthermore, modern cartesians who claim that god is the sole agent, of whom created beings are only the purely passive organs; and m. bayle builds not a little upon that idea. . but even granting that god should co-operate in actions only with a general co-operation, or even not at all, at least in those that are bad, it suffices, so it is said, to inculpate him and to render him the moral cause that nothing comes to pass without his permission. to say nothing of the fall of the angels, he knows all that which will come to pass, if, having created man, he places him in such and such circumstances; and he places him there notwithstanding. man is exposed to a temptation to which it is known that he will succumb, thereby causing an infinitude of frightful evils, by which the whole human race will be infected and brought as it were into a necessity of sinning, a state which is named 'original sin'. thus the world will be brought into a strange confusion, by this means death and diseases being introduced, with a thousand other misfortunes and miseries that in general afflict the good and the bad; wickedness will even hold sway and virtue will be oppressed on earth, so that it will scarce appear that a providence governs affairs. but it is much worse when one considers the life to come, since but a small number of men will be saved and since all the rest will perish eternally. furthermore these men destined for salvation will have been withdrawn from the corrupt mass through an unreasoning election, whether it be said that god in choosing them has had regard to their future actions, to their faith or to their works, or one claim that he has been pleased to give them these good qualities and these actions because he has predestined them to salvation. for though it be said in the most lenient system that god wished to save all men, and though in the other systems commonly accepted it be granted, that he has made his son take human nature upon him to expiate their sins, so that all they who shall believe in him with a lively and final faith shall be saved, it still remains true that this lively faith is a gift of god; that we are dead to all good works; that even our will itself must be aroused by a prevenient grace, and that god gives us the power to will and to do. and whether that be done through a grace efficacious of itself, that is to say, through a divine inward motion which wholly determines our [ ] will to the good that it does; or whether there be only a sufficient grace, but such as does not fail to attain its end, and to become efficacious in the inward and outward circumstances wherein the man is and has been placed by god: one must return to the same conclusion that god is the final reason of salvation, of grace, of faith and of election in jesus christ. and be the election the cause or the result of god's design to give faith, it still remains true that he gives faith or salvation to whom he pleases, without any discernible reason for his choice, which falls upon but few men. . so it is a terrible judgement that god, giving his only son for the whole human race and being the sole author and master of the salvation of men, yet saves so few of them and abandons all others to the devil his enemy, who torments them eternally and makes them curse their creator, though they have all been created to diffuse and show forth his goodness, his justice and his other perfections. and this outcome inspires all the more horror, as the sole cause why all these men are wretched to all eternity is god's having exposed their parents to a temptation that he knew they would not resist; as this sin is inherent and imputed to men before their will has participated in it; as this hereditary vice impels their will to commit actual sins; and as countless men, in childhood or maturity, that have never heard or have not heard enough of jesus christ, saviour of the human race, die before receiving the necessary succour for their withdrawal from this abyss of sin. these men too are condemned to be for ever rebellious against god and plunged in the most horrible miseries, with the wickedest of all creatures, though in essence they have not been more wicked than others, and several among them have perchance been less guilty than some of that little number of elect, who were saved by a grace without reason, and who thereby enjoy an eternal felicity which they had not deserved. such in brief are the difficulties touched upon by sundry persons; but m. bayle was one who insisted on them the most, as will appear subsequently when we examine his passages. i think that now i have recorded the main essence of these difficulties: but i have deemed it fitting to refrain from some expressions and exaggerations which might have caused offence, while not rendering the objections any stronger. . let us now turn the medal and let us also point out what can be said in answer to those objections; and here a course of explanation through [ ] fuller dissertation will be necessary: for many difficulties can be opened up in few words, but for their discussion one must dilate upon them. our end is to banish from men the false ideas that represent god to them as an absolute prince employing a despotic power, unfitted to be loved and unworthy of being loved. these notions are the more evil in relation to god inasmuch as the essence of piety is not only to fear him but also to love him above all things: and that cannot come about unless there be knowledge of his perfections capable of arousing the love which he deserves, and which makes the felicity of those that love him. feeling ourselves animated by a zeal such as cannot fail to please him, we have cause to hope that he will enlighten us, and that he will himself aid us in the execution of a project undertaken for his glory and for the good of men. a cause so good gives confidence: if there are plausible appearances against us there are proofs on our side, and i would dare to say to an adversary: _aspice, quam mage sit nostrum penetrabile telum._ . _god is the first reason of things_: for such things as are bounded, as all that which we see and experience, are contingent and have nothing in them to render their existence necessary, it being plain that time, space and matter, united and uniform in themselves and indifferent to everything, might have received entirely other motions and shapes, and in another order. therefore one must seek the reason for the existence of the world, which is the whole assemblage of _contingent_ things, and seek it in the substance which carries with it the reason for its existence, and which in consequence is _necessary_ and eternal. moreover, this cause must be intelligent: for this existing world being contingent and an infinity of other worlds being equally possible, and holding, so to say, equal claim to existence with it, the cause of the world must needs have had regard or reference to all these possible worlds in order to fix upon one of them. this regard or relation of an existent substance to simple possibilities can be nothing other than the _understanding_ which has the ideas of them, while to fix upon one of them can be nothing other than the act of the _will_ which chooses. it is the _power_ of this substance that renders its will efficacious. power relates to _being_, wisdom or understanding to _truth_, and will to _good_. and this intelligent cause ought to be infinite in all ways, and absolutely perfect in _power_, in _wisdom_ and in _goodness_, since it relates to all that which is possible. [ ] furthermore, since all is connected together, there is no ground for admitting more than _one_. its understanding is the source of _essences_, and its will is the origin of _existences_. there in few words is the proof of one only god with his perfections, and through him of the origin of things. . now this supreme wisdom, united to a goodness that is no less infinite, cannot but have chosen the best. for as a lesser evil is a kind of good, even so a lesser good is a kind of evil if it stands in the way of a greater good; and there would be something to correct in the actions of god if it were possible to do better. as in mathematics, when there is no maximum nor minimum, in short nothing distinguished, everything is done equally, or when that is not possible nothing at all is done: so it may be said likewise in respect of perfect wisdom, which is no less orderly than mathematics, that if there were not the best (_optimum_) among all possible worlds, god would not have produced any. i call 'world' the whole succession and the whole agglomeration of all existent things, lest it be said that several worlds could have existed in different times and different places. for they must needs be reckoned all together as one world or, if you will, as one universe. and even though one should fill all times and all places, it still remains true that one might have filled them in innumerable ways, and that there is an infinitude of possible worlds among which god must needs have chosen the best, since he does nothing without acting in accordance with supreme reason. . some adversary not being able to answer this argument will perchance answer the conclusion by a counter-argument, saying that the world could have been without sin and without sufferings; but i deny that then it would have been _better_. for it must be known that all things are _connected_ in each one of the possible worlds: the universe, whatever it may be, is all of one piece, like an ocean: the least movement extends its effect there to any distance whatsoever, even though this effect become less perceptible in proportion to the distance. therein god has ordered all things beforehand once for all, having foreseen prayers, good and bad actions, and all the rest; and each thing _as an idea_ has contributed, before its existence, to the resolution that has been made upon the existence of all things; so that nothing can be changed in the universe (any more than in a number) save its essence or, if you will, save its _numerical individuality_. thus, if the smallest evil that comes to pass in the world were missing in it, it [ ] would no longer be this world; which, with nothing omitted and all allowance made, was found the best by the creator who chose it. . it is true that one may imagine possible worlds without sin and without unhappiness, and one could make some like utopian or sevarambian romances: but these same worlds again would be very inferior to ours in goodness. i cannot show you this in detail. for can i know and can i present infinities to you and compare them together? but you must judge with me _ab effectu_, since god has chosen this world as it is. we know, moreover, that often an evil brings forth a good whereto one would not have attained without that evil. often indeed two evils have made one great good: _et si fata volunt, bina venena juvant_. even so two liquids sometimes produce a solid, witness the spirit of wine and spirit of urine mixed by van helmont; or so do two cold and dark bodies produce a great fire, witness an acid solution and an aromatic oil combined by herr hoffmann. a general makes sometimes a fortunate mistake which brings about the winning of a great battle; and do they not sing on the eve of easter, in the churches of the roman rite: _o certe necessarium adae peccatum, quod christi morte deletum est!_ _o felix culpa, quae talem ac tantum meruit habere redemptorem!_ . the illustrious prelates of the gallican church who wrote to pope innocent xii against cardinal sfondrati's book on predestination, being of the principles of st. augustine, have said things well fitted to elucidate this great point. the cardinal appears to prefer even to the kingdom of heaven the state of children dying without baptism, because sin is the greatest of evils, and they have died innocent of all actual sin. more will be said of that below. the prelates have observed that this opinion is ill founded. the apostle, they say (rom. iii. ), is right to disapprove of the doing of evil that good may come, but one cannot disapprove that god, through his exceeding power, derive from the permitting of sins greater goods than such as occurred before the sins. it is not that we ought to take pleasure in sin, god forbid! but that we believe the same apostle when he says (rom. v. ) that where sin abounded, grace did much more [ ] abound; and we remember that we have gained jesus christ himself by reason of sin. thus we see that the opinion of these prelates tends to maintain that a sequence of things where sin enters in may have been and has been, in effect, better than another sequence without sin. . use has ever been made of comparisons taken from the pleasures of the senses when these are mingled with that which borders on pain, to prove that there is something of like nature in intellectual pleasures. a little acid, sharpness or bitterness is often more pleasing than sugar; shadows enhance colours; and even a dissonance in the right place gives relief to harmony. we wish to be terrified by rope-dancers on the point of falling and we wish that tragedies shall well-nigh cause us to weep. do men relish health enough, or thank god enough for it, without having ever been sick? and is it not most often necessary that a little evil render the good more discernible, that is to say, greater? . but it will be said that evils are great and many in number in comparison with the good: that is erroneous. it is only want of attention that diminishes our good, and this attention must be given to us through some admixture of evils. if we were usually sick and seldom in good health, we should be wonderfully sensible of that great good and we should be less sensible of our evils. but is it not better, notwithstanding, that health should be usual and sickness the exception? let us then by our reflexion supply what is lacking in our perception, in order to make the good of health more discernible. had we not the knowledge of the life to come, i believe there would be few persons who, being at the point of death, were not content to take up life again, on condition of passing through the same amount of good and evil, provided always that it were not the same kind: one would be content with variety, without requiring a better condition than that wherein one had been. . when one considers also the fragility of the human body, one looks in wonder at the wisdom and the goodness of the author of nature, who has made the body so enduring and its condition so tolerable. that has often made me say that i am not astonished men are sometimes sick, but that i am astonished they are sick so little and not always. this also ought to make us the more esteem the divine contrivance of the mechanism of animals, whose author has made machines so fragile and so subject to corruption[ ] and yet so capable of maintaining themselves: for it is nature which cures us rather than medicine. now this very fragility is a consequence of the nature of things, unless we are to will that this kind of creature, reasoning and clothed in flesh and bones, be not in the world. but that, to all appearance, would be a defect which some philosophers of old would have called _vacuum formarum_, a gap in the order of species. . those whose humour it is to be well satisfied with nature and with fortune and not to complain about them, even though they should not be the best endowed, appear to me preferable to the other sort; for besides that these complaints are ill founded, it is in effect murmuring against the orders of providence. one must not readily be among the malcontents in the state where one is, and one must not be so at all in the city of god, wherein one can only wrongfully be of their number. the books of human misery, such as that of pope innocent iii, to me seem not of the most serviceable: evils are doubled by being given an attention that ought to be averted from them, to be turned towards the good which by far preponderates. even less do i approve books such as that of abbé esprit, _on the falsity of human virtues_, of which we have lately been given a summary: for such a book serves to turn everything wrong side out, and cause men to be such as it represents them. . it must be confessed, however, that there are disorders in this life, which appear especially in the prosperity of sundry evil men and in the misfortune of many good people. there is a german proverb which even grants the advantage to the evil ones, as if they were commonly the most fortunate: _je krümmer holz, je bessre krücke:_ _je ärger schalck, je grösser glücke._ and it were to be desired that this saying of horace should be true in our eyes: _raro antecedentem scelestum_ _deseruit pede poena claudo._ yet it often comes to pass also, though this perchance not the most often, [ ] _that in the world's eyes heaven is justified,_ and that one may say with claudian: _abstulit hunc tandem rufini poena tumultum,_ _absolvitque deos..._ . but even though that should not happen here, the remedy is all prepared in the other life: religion and reason itself teach us that, and we must not murmur against a respite which the supreme wisdom has thought fit to grant to men for repentance. yet there objections multiply on another side, when one considers salvation and damnation: for it appears strange that, even in the great future of eternity, evil should have the advantage over good, under the supreme authority of him who is the sovereign good, since there will be many that are called and few that are chosen or are saved. it is true that one sees from some lines of prudentius (hymn. ante somnum), _idem tamen benignus_ _ultor retundit iram,_ _paucosque non piorum_ _patitur perire in aevum,_ that divers men believed in his time that the number of those wicked enough to be damned would be very small. to some indeed it seems that men believed at that time in a sphere between hell and paradise; that this same prudentius speaks as if he were satisfied with this sphere; that st. gregory of nyssa also inclines in that direction, and that st. jerome leans towards the opinion according whereunto all christians would finally be taken into grace. a saying of st. paul which he himself gives out as mysterious, stating that all israel will be saved, has provided much food for reflexion. sundry pious persons, learned also, but daring, have revived the opinion of origen, who maintains that good will predominate in due time, in all and everywhere, and that all rational creatures, even the bad angels, will become at last holy and blessed. the book of the eternal gospel, published lately in german and supported by a great and learned work entitled [greek: 'apokatástasis pántôn], has caused much stir over this great paradox. m. le clerc also has ingeniously pleaded the cause of the origenists, but without declaring himself for them. [ ] . there is a man of wit who, pushing my principle of harmony even to arbitrary suppositions that i in no wise approve, has created for himself a theology well-nigh astronomical. he believes that the present confusion in this world below began when the presiding angel of the globe of the earth, which was still a sun (that is, a star that was fixed and luminous of itself) committed a sin with some lesser angels of his department, perhaps rising inopportunely against an angel of a greater sun; that simultaneously, by the pre-established harmony of the realms of nature and of grace, and consequently by natural causes occurring at the appointed time, our globe was covered with stains, rendered opaque and driven from its place; which has made it become a wandering star or planet, that is, a satellite of another sun, and even perhaps of that one whose superiority its angel refused to recognize; and that therein consists the fall of lucifer. now the chief of the bad angels, who in holy scripture is named the prince, and even the god of this world, being, with the angels of his train, envious of that rational animal which walks on the surface of this globe, and which god has set up there perhaps to compensate himself for their fall, strives to render it accessary in their crimes and a participator in their misfortunes. whereupon jesus christ came to save men. he is the eternal son of god, even as he is his only son; but (according to some ancient christians, and according to the author of this hypothesis) having taken upon him at first, from the beginning of things, the most excellent nature among created beings, to bring them all to perfection, he set himself amongst them: and this is the second filiation, whereby he is the first-born of all creatures. this is he whom the cabalists called adam kadmon. haply he had planted his tabernacle in that great sun which illumines us; but he came at last into this globe where we are, he was born of the virgin, and took human nature upon him to save mankind from the hands of their enemy and his. and when the time of judgement shall draw near, when the present face of our globe shall be about to perish, he will return to it in visible form, thence to withdraw the good, transplanting them, it may be, into the sun, and to punish here the wicked with the demons that have allured them; then the globe of the earth will begin to burn and will be perhaps a comet. this fire will last for aeons upon aeons. the tail of the comet is intended by the smoke which will rise incessantly, according to the apocalypse, and this fire will be hell, or the second[ ] death whereof holy scripture speaks. but at last hell will render up its dead, death itself will be destroyed; reason and peace will begin to hold sway again in the spirits that had been perverted; they will be sensible of their error, they will adore their creator, and will even begin to love him all the more for seeing the greatness of the abyss whence they emerge. simultaneously (by virtue of the _harmonic parallelism_ of the realms of nature and of grace) this long and great conflagration will have purged the earth's globe of its stains. it will become again a sun; its presiding angel will resume his place with the angels of his train; humans that were damned shall be with them numbered amongst the good angels; this chief of our globe shall render homage to the messiah, chief of created beings. the glory of this angel reconciled shall be greater than it was before his fall. _inque deos iterum factorum lege receptus_ _aureus aeternum noster regnabit apollo._ the vision seemed to me pleasing, and worthy of a follower of origen: but we have no need of such hypothesis or fictions, where wit plays a greater part than revelation, and which even reason cannot turn to account. for it does not appear that there is one principal place in the known universe deserving in preference to the rest to be the seat of the eldest of created beings; and the sun of our system at least is not it. . holding then to the established doctrine that the number of men damned eternally will be incomparably greater than that of the saved, we must say that the evil could not but seem to be almost as nothing in comparison with the good, when one contemplates the true vastness of the city of god. coelius secundus curio wrote a little book, _de amplitudine regni coelestis_, which was reprinted not long since; but he is indeed far from having apprehended the compass of the kingdom of heaven. the ancients had puny ideas on the works of god, and st. augustine, for want of knowing modern discoveries, was at a loss when there was question of explaining the prevalence of evil. it seemed to the ancients that there was only one earth inhabited, and even of that men held the antipodes in dread: the remainder of the world was, according to them, a few shining globes and a few crystalline spheres. to-day, whatever bounds are given or not given to the universe, it must be acknowledged that there is an infinite number of globes, as great as and greater than ours, which have as much right as[ ] it to hold rational inhabitants, though it follows not at all that they are human. it is only one planet, that is to say one of the six principal satellites of our sun; and as all fixed stars are suns also, we see how small a thing our earth is in relation to visible things, since it is only an appendix of one amongst them. it may be that all suns are peopled only by blessed creatures, and nothing constrains us to think that many are damned, for few instances or few samples suffice to show the advantage which good extracts from evil. moreover, since there is no reason for the belief that there are stars everywhere, is it not possible that there may be a great space beyond the region of the stars? whether it be the empyrean heaven, or not, this immense space encircling all this region may in any case be filled with happiness and glory. it can be imagined as like the ocean, whither flow the rivers of all blessed creatures, when they shall have reached their perfection in the system of the stars. what will become of the consideration of our globe and its inhabitants? will it not be something incomparably less than a physical point, since our earth is as a point in comparison with the distance of some fixed stars? thus since the proportion of that part of the universe which we know is almost lost in nothingness compared with that which is unknown, and which we yet have cause to assume, and since all the evils that may be raised in objection before us are in this near nothingness, haply it may be that all evils are almost nothingness in comparison with the good things which are in the universe. . but it is necessary also to meet the more speculative and metaphysical difficulties which have been mentioned, and which concern the cause of evil. the question is asked first of all, whence does evil come? _si deus est, unde malum? si non est, unde bonum?_ the ancients attributed the cause of evil to _matter_, which they believed uncreate and independent of god: but we, who derive all being from god, where shall we find the source of evil? the answer is, that it must be sought in the ideal nature of the creature, in so far as this nature is contained in the eternal verities which are in the understanding of god, independently of his will. for we must consider that there is an _original imperfection in the creature_ before sin, because the creature is limited in its essence; whence ensues that it cannot know all, and that it can deceive itself and commit other errors. plato said in _timaeus_ that the world originated in [ ] understanding united to necessity. others have united god and nature. this can be given a reasonable meaning. god will be the understanding; and the necessity, that is, the essential nature of things, will be the object of the understanding, in so far as this object consists in the eternal verities. but this object is inward and abides in the divine understanding. and therein is found not only the primitive form of good, but also the origin of evil: the region of the eternal verities must be substituted for matter when we are concerned with seeking out the source of things. this region is the ideal cause of evil (as it were) as well as of good: but, properly speaking, the formal character of evil has no _efficient_ cause, for it consists in privation, as we shall see, namely, in that which the efficient cause does not bring about. that is why the schoolmen are wont to call the cause of evil _deficient_. . evil may be taken metaphysically, physically and morally. _metaphysical evil_ consists in mere imperfection, _physical evil_ in suffering, and _moral evil_ in sin. now although physical evil and moral evil be not necessary, it is enough that by virtue of the eternal verities they be possible. and as this vast region of verities contains all possibilities it is necessary that there be an infinitude of possible worlds, that evil enter into divers of them, and that even the best of all contain a measure thereof. thus has god been induced to permit evil. . but someone will say to me: why speak you to us of 'permitting'? is it not god that doeth the evil and that willeth it? here it will be necessary to explain what 'permission' is, so that it may be seen how this term is not employed without reason. but before that one must explain the nature of will, which has its own degrees. taking it in the general sense, one may say that _will_ consists in the inclination to do something in proportion to the good it contains. this will is called _antecedent_ when it is detached, and considers each good separately in the capacity of a good. in this sense it may be said that god tends to all good, as good, _ad perfectionem simpliciter simplicem_, to speak like the schoolmen, and that by an antecedent will. he is earnestly disposed to sanctify and to save all men, to exclude sin, and to prevent damnation. it may even be said that this will is efficacious _of itself (per se)_, that is, in such sort that the effect would ensue if there were not some stronger reason to prevent it: for this will does not pass into final exercise (_ad summum conatum_), else it would never fail to produce its full effect, god being the [ ] master of all things. success entire and infallible belongs only to the _consequent will_, as it is called. this it is which is complete; and in regard to it this rule obtains, that one never fails to do what one wills, when one has the power. now this consequent will, final and decisive, results from the conflict of all the antecedent wills, of those which tend towards good, even as of those which repel evil; and from the concurrence of all these particular wills comes the total will. so in mechanics compound movement results from all the tendencies that concur in one and the same moving body, and satisfies each one equally, in so far as it is possible to do all at one time. it is as if the moving body took equal account of these tendencies, as i once showed in one of the paris journals ( sept. ), when giving the general law of the compositions of movement. in this sense also it may be said that the antecedent will is efficacious in a sense and even effective with success. . thence it follows that god wills _antecedently_ the good and _consequently_ the best. and as for evil, god wills moral evil not at all, and physical evil or suffering he does not will absolutely. thus it is that there is no absolute predestination to damnation; and one may say of physical evil, that god wills it often as a penalty owing to guilt, and often also as a means to an end, that is, to prevent greater evils or to obtain greater good. the penalty serves also for amendment and example. evil often serves to make us savour good the more; sometimes too it contributes to a greater perfection in him who suffers it, as the seed that one sows is subject to a kind of corruption before it can germinate: this is a beautiful similitude, which jesus christ himself used. . concerning sin or moral evil, although it happens very often that it may serve as a means of obtaining good or of preventing another evil, it is not this that renders it a sufficient object of the divine will or a legitimate object of a created will. it must only be admitted or _permitted_ in so far as it is considered to be a certain consequence of an indispensable duty: as for instance if a man who was determined not to permit another's sin were to fail of his own duty, or as if an officer on guard at an important post were to leave it, especially in time of danger, in order to prevent a quarrel in the town between two soldiers of the garrison who wanted to kill each other. . the rule which states, _non esse facienda mala, ut eveniant bona_, and which even forbids the permission of a moral evil with the end of [ ] obtaining a physical good, far from being violated, is here proved, and its source and its reason are demonstrated. one will not approve the action of a queen who, under the pretext of saving the state, commits or even permits a crime. the crime is certain and the evil for the state is open to question. moreover, this manner of giving sanction to crimes, if it were accepted, would be worse than a disruption of some one country, which is liable enough to happen in any case, and would perchance happen all the more by reason of such means chosen to prevent it. but in relation to god nothing is open to question, nothing can be opposed to _the rule of the best_, which suffers neither exception nor dispensation. it is in this sense that god permits sin: for he would fail in what he owes to himself, in what he owes to his wisdom, his goodness, his perfection, if he followed not the grand result of all his tendencies to good, and if he chose not that which is absolutely the best, notwithstanding the evil of guilt, which is involved therein by the supreme necessity of the eternal verities. hence the conclusion that god wills all good _in himself antecedently_, that he wills the best _consequently_ as an _end_, that he wills what is indifferent, and physical evil, sometimes as a _means_, but that he will only permit moral evil as the _sine quo non_ or as a hypothetical necessity which connects it with the best. therefore the _consequent will_ of god, which has sin for its object, is only _permissive_. . it is again well to consider that moral evil is an evil so great only because it is a source of physical evils, a source existing in one of the most powerful of creatures, who is also most capable of causing those evils. for an evil will is in its department what the evil principle of the manichaeans would be in the universe; and reason, which is an image of the divinity, provides for evil souls great means of causing much evil. one single caligula, one nero, has caused more evil than an earthquake. an evil man takes pleasure in causing suffering and destruction, and for that there are only too many opportunities. but god being inclined to produce as much good as possible, and having all the knowledge and all the power necessary for that, it is impossible that in him there be fault, or guilt, or sin; and when he permits sin, it is wisdom, it is virtue. . it is indeed beyond question that we must refrain from preventing the sin of others when we cannot prevent their sin without sinning ourselves. but someone will perhaps bring up the objection that it is god himself[ ] who acts and who effects all that is real in the sin of the creature. this objection leads us to consider the _physical co-operation_ of god with the creature, after we have examined the _moral co-operation_, which was the more perplexing. some have believed, with the celebrated durand de saint-pourçain and cardinal aureolus, the famous schoolman, that the co-operation of god with the creature (i mean the physical cooperation) is only general and mediate, and that god creates substances and gives them the force they need; and that thereafter he leaves them to themselves, and does naught but conserve them, without aiding them in their actions. this opinion has been refuted by the greater number of scholastic theologians, and it appears that in the past it met with disapproval in the writings of pelagius. nevertheless a capuchin named louis pereir of dole, about the year , wrote a book expressly to revive it, at least in relation to free actions. some moderns incline thereto, and m. bernier supports it in a little book on freedom and freewill. but one cannot say in relation to god what 'to conserve' is, without reverting to the general opinion. also it must be taken into account that the action of god in conserving should have some reference to that which is conserved, according to what it is and to the state wherein it is; thus his action cannot be general or indeterminate. these generalities are abstractions not to be found in the truth of individual things, and the conservation of a man standing is different from the conservation of a man seated. this would not be so if conservation consisted only in the act of preventing and warding off some foreign cause which could destroy that which one wishes to conserve; as often happens when men conserve something. but apart from the fact that we are obliged ourselves sometimes to maintain that which we conserve, we must bear in mind that conservation by god consists in the perpetual immediate influence which the dependence of creatures demands. this dependence attaches not only to the substance but also to the action, and one can perhaps not explain it better than by saying, with theologians and philosophers in general, that it is a continued creation. . the objection will be made that god therefore now creates man a sinner, he that in the beginning created him innocent. but here it must be said, with regard to the moral aspect, that god being supremely wise cannot fail to observe certain laws, and to act according to the rules, as well [ ] physical as moral, that wisdom has made him choose. and the same reason that has made him create man innocent, but liable to fall, makes him re-create man when he falls; for god's knowledge causes the future to be for him as the present, and prevents him from rescinding the resolutions made. . as for physical co-operation, here one must consider the truth which has made already so much stir in the schools since st. augustine declared it, that evil is a privation of being, whereas the action of god tends to the positive. this answer is accounted a quibble, and even something chimerical in the minds of many people. but here is an instance somewhat similar, which will serve to disabuse them. . the celebrated kepler and m. descartes (in his letters) after him have spoken of the 'natural inertia of bodies'; and it is something which may be regarded as a perfect image and even as a sample of the original limitation of creatures, to show that privation constitutes the formal character of the imperfections and disadvantages that are in substance as well as in its actions. let us suppose that the current of one and the same river carried along with it various boats, which differ among themselves only in the cargo, some being laden with wood, others with stone, and some more, the others less. that being so, it will come about that the boats most heavily laden will go more slowly than the others, provided it be assumed that the wind or the oar, or some other similar means, assist them not at all. it is not, properly speaking, weight which is the cause of this retardation, since the boats are going down and not upwards; but it is the same cause which also increases the weight in bodies that have greater density, which are, that is to say, less porous and more charged with matter that is proper to them: for the matter which passes through the pores, not receiving the same movement, must not be taken into account. it is therefore matter itself which originally is inclined to slowness or privation of speed; not indeed of itself to lessen this speed, having once received it, since that would be action, but to moderate by its receptivity the effect of the impression when it is to receive it. consequently, since more matter is moved by the same force of the current when the boat is more laden, it is necessary that it go more slowly; and experiments on the impact of bodies, as well as reason, show that twice as much force [ ] must be employed to give equal speed to a body of the same matter but of twice the size. but that indeed would not be necessary if the matter were absolutely indifferent to repose and to movement, and if it had not this natural inertia whereof we have just spoken to give it a kind of repugnance to being moved. let us now compare the force which the current exercises on boats, and communicates to them, with the action of god, who produces and conserves whatever is positive in creatures, and gives them perfection, being and force: let us compare, i say, the inertia of matter with the natural imperfection of creatures, and the slowness of the laden boat with the defects to be found in the qualities and the action of the creature; and we shall find that there is nothing so just as this comparison. the current is the cause of the boat's movement, but not of its retardation; god is the cause of perfection in the nature and the actions of the creature, but the limitation of the receptivity of the creature is the cause of the defects there are in its action. thus the platonists, st. augustine and the schoolmen were right to say that god is the cause of the material element of evil which lies in the positive, and not of the formal element, which lies in privation. even so one may say that the current is the cause of the material element of the retardation, but not of the formal: that is, it is the cause of the boat's speed without being the cause of the limits to this speed. and god is no more the cause of sin than the river's current is the cause of the retardation of the boat. force also in relation to matter is as the spirit in relation to the flesh; the spirit is willing and the flesh is weak, and spirits act... _quantum non noxia corpora tardant._ . there is, then, a wholly similar relation between such and such an action of god, and such and such a passion or reception of the creature, which in the ordinary course of things is perfected only in proportion to its 'receptivity', such is the term used. and when it is said that the creature depends upon god in so far as it exists and in so far as it acts, and even that conservation is a continual creation, this is true in that god gives ever to the creature and produces continually all that in it is positive, good and perfect, every perfect gift coming from the father of lights. the imperfections, on the other hand, and the defects in operations spring from the original limitation that the creature could not but [ ] receive with the first beginning of its being, through the ideal reasons which restrict it. for god could not give the creature all without making of it a god; therefore there must needs be different degrees in the perfection of things, and limitations also of every kind. . this consideration will serve also to satisfy some modern philosophers who go so far as to say that god is the only agent. it is true that god is the only one whose action is pure and without admixture of what is termed 'to suffer': but that does not preclude the creature's participation in actions, since _the action of the creature_ is a modification of the substance, flowing naturally from it and containing a variation not only in the perfections that god has communicated to the creature, but also in the limitations that the creature, being what it is, brings with it. thus we see that there is an actual distinction between the substance and its modification or accidents, contrary to the opinion of some moderns and in particular of the late duke of buckingham, who spoke of that in a little _discourse on religion_ recently reprinted. evil is therefore like darkness, and not only ignorance but also error and malice consist formally in a certain kind of privation. here is an example of error which we have already employed. i see a tower which from a distance appears round although it is square. the thought that the tower is what it appears to be flows naturally from that which i see; and when i dwell on this thought it is an affirmation, it is a false judgement; but if i pursue the examination, if some reflexion causes me to perceive that appearances deceive me, lo and behold, i abandon my error. to abide in a certain place, or not to go further, not to espy some landmark, these are privations. . it is the same in respect of malice or ill will. the will tends towards good in general, it must strive after the perfection that befits us, and the supreme perfection is in god. all pleasures have within themselves some feeling of perfection. but when one is limited to the pleasures of the senses, or to other pleasures to the detriment of greater good, as of health, of virtue, of union with god, of felicity, it is in this privation of a further aspiration that the defect consists. in general perfection is positive, it is an absolute reality; defect is privative, it comes from limitation and tends towards new privations. this saying is therefore as true as it is ancient: _bonum ex causa integra, malum ex quolibet defectu_; as also that which states: _malum causam habet non efficientem, sed [ ] deficientem_. and i hope that the meaning of these axioms will be better apprehended after what i have just said. . the physical co-operation of god and of creatures with the will contributes also to the difficulties existing in regard to freedom. i am of opinion that our will is exempt not only from constraint but also from necessity. aristotle has already observed that there are two things in freedom, to wit, spontaneity and choice, and therein lies our mastery over our actions. when we act freely we are not being forced, as would happen if we were pushed on to a precipice and thrown from top to bottom; and we are not prevented from having the mind free when we deliberate, as would happen if we were given a draught to deprive us of discernment. there is _contingency_ in a thousand actions of nature; but when there is no judgement in him who acts there is no _freedom_. and if we had judgement not accompanied by any inclination to act, our soul would be an understanding without will. . it is not to be imagined, however, that our freedom consists in an indetermination or an indifference of equipoise, as if one must needs be inclined equally to the side of yes and of no and in the direction of different courses, when there are several of them to take. this equipoise in all directions is impossible: for if we were equally inclined towards the courses a, b and c, we could not be equally inclined towards a and towards not a. this equipoise is also absolutely contrary to experience, and in scrutinizing oneself one will find that there has always been some cause or reason inclining us towards the course taken, although very often we be not aware of that which prompts us: just in the same way one is hardly aware why, on issuing from a door, one has placed the right foot before the left or the left before the right. . but let us pass to the difficulties. philosophers agree to-day that the truth of contingent futurities is determinate, that is to say that contingent futurities are future, or that they will be, that they will happen: for it is as sure that the future will be, as it is sure that the past has been. it was true already a hundred years ago that i should write to-day, as it will be true after a hundred years that i have written. thus the contingent is not, because it is future, any the less contingent; and _determination_, which would be called certainty if it were known, is not incompatible with contingency. often the certain and the determinate are taken as one thing, because a determinate truth is capable of being [ ] known: thus it may be said that determination is an objective certainty. . this determination comes from the very nature of truth, and cannot injure freedom: but there are other determinations taken from elsewhere, and in the first place from the foreknowledge of god, which many have held to be contrary to freedom. they say that what is foreseen cannot fail to exist, and they say so truly; but it follows not that what is foreseen is necessary, for _necessary truth_ is that whereof the contrary is impossible or implies contradiction. now this truth which states that i shall write tomorrow is not of that nature, it is not necessary. yet supposing that god foresees it, it is necessary that it come to pass; that is, the consequence is necessary, namely, that it exist, since it has been foreseen; for god is infallible. this is what is termed a _hypothetical necessity_. but our concern is not this necessity: it is an _absolute necessity_ that is required, to be able to say that an action is necessary, that it is not contingent, that it is not the effect of a free choice. besides it is very easily seen that foreknowledge in itself adds nothing to the determination of the truth of contingent futurities, save that this determination is known: and this does not augment the determination or the 'futurition' (as it is termed) of these events, that whereon we agreed at the outset. . this answer is doubtless very correct. it is agreed that foreknowledge in itself does not make truth more determinate; truth is foreseen because it is determinate, because it is true; but it is not true because it is foreseen: and therein the knowledge of the future has nothing that is not also in the knowledge of the past or of the present. but here is what an opponent will be able to say: i grant you that foreknowledge in itself does not make truth more determinate, but it is the cause of the foreknowledge that makes it so. for it needs must be that the foreknowledge of god have its foundation in the nature of things, and this foundation, making the truth _predeterminate_, will prevent it from being contingent and free. . it is this difficulty that has caused two parties to spring up, one of the _predeterminators_, the other of the supporters of _mediate knowledge_. the dominicans and the augustinians are for predetermination, the franciscans and the modern jesuits on the other hand are for mediate knowledge. these two parties appeared towards the middle of the sixteenth century and a little later. molina himself, who is perhaps one of the [ ] first, with fonseca, to have systematized this point, and from whom the others derived their name of molinists, says in the book that he wrote on the reconciliation of freewill with grace, about the year , that the spanish doctors (he means principally the thomists), who had been writing then for twenty years, finding no other way to explain how god could have a certain knowledge of contingent futurities, had introduced predetermination as being necessary to free actions. . as for himself, he thought to have found another way. he considers that there are three objects of divine knowledge, the possibles, the actual events and the conditional events that would happen in consequence of a certain condition if it were translated into action. the knowledge of possibilities is what is called the 'knowledge of mere intelligence'; that of events occurring actually in the progress of the universe is called the 'knowledge of intuition'. and as there is a kind of mean between the merely possible and the pure and absolute event, to wit, the conditional event, it can be said also, according to molina, that there is a mediate knowledge between that of intuition and that of intelligence. instance is given of the famous example of david asking the divine oracle whether the inhabitants of the town of keilah, where he designed to shut himself in, would deliver him to saul, supposing that saul should besiege the town. god answered yes; whereupon david took a different course. now some advocates of this mediate knowledge are of opinion that god, foreseeing what men would do of their own accord, supposing they were placed in such and such circumstances, and knowing that they would make ill use of their free will, decrees to refuse them grace and favourable circumstances. and he may justly so decree, since in any case these circumstances and these aids would not have served them aught. but molina contents himself with finding therein generally a reason for the decrees of god, founded on what the free creature would do in such and such circumstances. . i will not enter into all the detail of this controversy; it will suffice for me to give one instance. certain older writers, not acceptable to st. augustine and his first disciples, appear to have had ideas somewhat approaching those of molina. the thomists and those who call themselves disciples of st. augustine (but whom their opponents call jansenists) combat this doctrine on philosophical and theological grounds. some [ ] maintain that mediate knowledge must be included in the knowledge of mere intelligence. but the principal objection is aimed at the foundation of this knowledge. for what foundation can god have for seeing what the people of keilah would do? a simple contingent and free act has nothing in itself to yield a principle of certainty, unless one look upon it as predetermined by the decrees of god, and by the causes that are dependent upon them. consequently the difficulty existing in actual free actions will exist also in conditional free actions, that is to say, god will know them only under the condition of their causes and of his decrees, which are the first causes of things: and it will not be possible to separate such actions from those causes so as to know a contingent event in a way that is independent of the knowledge of its causes. therefore all must of necessity be traced back to the predetermination of god's decrees, and this mediate knowledge (so it will be said) will offer no remedy. the theologians who profess to be adherents of st. augustine claim also that the system of the molinists would discover the source of god's grace in the good qualities of man, and this they deem an infringement of god's honour and contrary to st. paul's teaching. . it would be long and wearisome to enter here into the replies and rejoinders coming from one side and the other, and it will suffice for me to explain how i conceive that there is truth on both sides. for this result i resort to my principle of an infinitude of possible worlds, represented in the region of eternal verities, that is, in the object of the divine intelligence, where all conditional futurities must be comprised. for the case of the siege of keilah forms part of a possible world, _which differs from ours only in all that is connected with this hypothesis_, and the idea of this possible world represents that which would happen in this case. thus we have a principle for the certain knowledge of contingent futurities, whether they happen actually or must happen in a certain case. for in the region of the possibles they are represented as they are, namely, as free contingencies. therefore neither the foreknowledge of contingent futurities nor the foundation for the certainty of this foreknowledge should cause us perplexity or seem to prejudice freedom. and though it were true and possible that contingent futurities consisting in free actions of reasonable creatures were entirely independent of the decrees of god and of external causes, there would [ ] still be means of foreseeing them; for god would see them as they are in the region of the possibles, before he decrees to admit them into existence. . but if the foreknowledge of god has nothing to do with the dependence or independence of our free actions, it is not so with the foreordinance of god, his decrees, and the sequence of causes which, as i believe, always contribute to the determination of the will. and if i am for the molinists in the first point, i am for the predeterminators in the second, provided always that predetermination be taken as not necessitating. in a word, i am of opinion that the will is always more inclined towards the course it adopts, but that it is never bound by the necessity to adopt it. that it will adopt this course is certain, but it is not necessary. the case corresponds to that of the famous saying, _astra inclinant, non necessitant_, although here the similarity is not complete. for the event towards which the stars tend (to speak with the common herd, as if there were some foundation for astrology) does not always come to pass, whereas the course towards which the will is more inclined never fails to be adopted. moreover the stars would form only a part of the inclinations that co-operate in the event, but when one speaks of the greater inclination of the will, one speaks of the result of all the inclinations. it is almost as we have spoken above of the consequent will in god, which results from all the antecedent wills. . nevertheless, objective certainty or determination does not bring about the necessity of the determinate truth. all philosophers acknowledge this, asserting that the truth of contingent futurities is determinate, and that nevertheless they remain contingent. the thing indeed would imply no contradiction in itself if the effect did not follow; and therein lies contingency. the better to understand this point, we must take into account that there are two great principles of our arguments. the one is the principle of _contradiction_, stating that of two contradictory propositions the one is true, the other false; the other principle is that of the _determinant reason_: it states that nothing ever comes to pass without there being a cause or at least a reason determining it, that is, something to give an _a priori_ reason why it is existent rather than non-existent, and in this wise rather than in any other. this great principle holds for all events, and a contrary instance will never be supplied: and although more often than not we are insufficiently [ ] acquainted with these determinant reasons, we perceive nevertheless that there are such. were it not for this great principle we could never prove the existence of god, and we should lose an infinitude of very just and very profitable arguments whereof it is the foundation; moreover, it suffers no exception, for otherwise its force would be weakened. besides, nothing is so weak as those systems where all is unsteady and full of exceptions. that fault cannot be laid to the charge of the system i approve, where everything happens in accordance with general rules that at most are mutually restrictive. . we must therefore not imagine with some schoolmen, whose ideas tend towards the chimerical, that free contingent futurities have the privilege of exemption from this general rule of the nature of things. there is always a prevailing reason which prompts the will to its choice, and for the maintenance of freedom for the will it suffices that this reason should incline without necessitating. that is also the opinion of all the ancients, of plato, of aristotle, of st. augustine. the will is never prompted to action save by the representation of the good, which prevails over the opposite representations. this is admitted even in relation to god, the good angels and the souls in bliss: and it is acknowledged that they are none the less free in consequence of that. god fails not to choose the best, but he is not constrained so to do: nay, more, there is no necessity in the object of god's choice, for another sequence of things is equally possible. for that very reason the choice is free and independent of necessity, because it is made between several possibles, and the will is determined only by the preponderating goodness of the object. this is therefore not a defect where god and the saints are concerned: on the contrary, it would be a great defect, or rather a manifest absurdity, were it otherwise, even in men here on earth, and if they were capable of acting without any inclining reason. of such absurdity no example will ever be found; and even supposing one takes a certain course out of caprice, to demonstrate one's freedom, the pleasure or advantage one thinks to find in this conceit is one of the reasons tending towards it. . there is therefore a freedom of contingency or, in a way, of indifference, provided that by 'indifference' is understood that nothing necessitates us to one course or the other; but there is never any _indifference of equipoise_, that is, where all is completely even on [ ] both sides, without any inclination towards either. innumerable great and small movements, internal and external, co-operate with us, for the most part unperceived by us. and i have already said that when one leaves a room there are such and such reasons determining us to put the one foot first, without pausing to reflect. for there is not everywhere a slave, as in trimalchio's house in petronius, to cry to us: the right foot first. all that we have just said agrees entirely also with the maxims of the philosophers, who teach that a cause cannot act without having a disposition towards action. it is this disposition which contains a predetermination, whether the doer have received it from without, or have had it in consequence of his own antecedent character. . thus we have no need to resort, in company with some new thomists, to a new immediate predetermination by god, such as may cause the free creature to abandon his indifference, and to a decree of god for predetermining the creature, making it possible for god to know what the creature will do: for it suffices that the creature be predetermined by its preceding state, which inclines it to one course more than to the other. moreover, all these connexions of the actions of the creature and of all creatures were represented in the divine understanding, and known to god through the knowledge of mere intelligence, before he had decreed to give them existence. thus we see that, in order to account for the foreknowledge of god, one may dispense with both the mediate knowledge of the molinists and the predetermination which a bañez or an alvarez (writers otherwise of great profundity) have taught. . by this false idea of an indifference of equipoise the molinists were much embarrassed. they were asked not only how it was possible to know in what direction a cause absolutely indeterminate would be determined, but also how it was possible that there should finally result therefrom a determination for which there is no source: to say with molina that it is the privilege of the free cause is to say nothing, but simply to grant that cause the privilege of being chimerical. it is pleasing to see their harassed efforts to emerge from a labyrinth whence there is absolutely no means of egress. some teach that the will, before it is determined formally, must be determined virtually, in order to emerge from its state of equipoise; and father louis of dole, in his book on the _co-operation of god_, quotes molinists who attempt to take refuge in this expedient: [ ] for they are compelled to acknowledge that the cause must needs be disposed to act. but they gain nothing, they only defer the difficulty: for they will still be asked how the free cause comes to be determined virtually. they will therefore never extricate themselves without acknowledging that there is a predetermination in the preceding state of the free creature, which inclines it to be determined. . in consequence of this, the case also of buridan's ass between two meadows, impelled equally towards both of them, is a fiction that cannot occur in the universe, in the order of nature, although m. bayle be of another opinion. it is true that, if the case were possible, one must say that the ass would starve himself to death: but fundamentally the question deals in the impossible, unless it be that god bring the thing about expressly. for the universe cannot be halved by a plane drawn through the middle of the ass, which is cut vertically through its length, so that all is equal and alike on both sides, in the manner wherein an ellipse, and every plane figure of the number of those i term 'ambidexter', can be thus halved, by any straight line passing through its centre. neither the parts of the universe nor the viscera of the animal are alike nor are they evenly placed on both sides of this vertical plane. there will therefore always be many things in the ass and outside the ass, although they be not apparent to us, which will determine him to go on one side rather than the other. and although man is free, and the ass is not, nevertheless for the same reason it must be true that in man likewise the case of a perfect equipoise between two courses is impossible. furthermore it is true that an angel, or god certainly, could always account for the course man has adopted, by assigning a cause or a predisposing reason which has actually induced him to adopt it: yet this reason would often be complex and incomprehensible to ourselves, because the concatenation of causes linked together is very long. . hence it is that the reason m. descartes has advanced to prove the independence of our free actions, by what he terms an intense inward sensation, has no force. we cannot properly speaking be sensible of our independence, and we are not aware always of the causes, often imperceptible, whereon our resolution depends. it is as though the magnetic needle took pleasure in turning towards the north: for it would think that it was turning independently of any other cause, not being aware of the imperceptible movements of the magnetic matter. nevertheless we shall [ ] see later in what sense it is quite true that the human soul is altogether its own natural principle in relation to its actions, dependent upon itself and independent of all other creatures. . as for _volition_ itself, to say that it is an object of free will is incorrect. we will to act, strictly speaking, and we do not will to will; else we could still say that we will to have the will to will, and that would go on to infinity. besides, we do not always follow the latest judgement of practical understanding when we resolve to will; but we always follow, in our willing, the result of all the inclinations that come from the direction both of reasons and passions, and this often happens without an express judgement of the understanding. . all is therefore certain and determined beforehand in man, as everywhere else, and the human soul is a kind of _spiritual automaton_, although contingent actions in general and free action in particular are not on that account necessary with an absolute necessity, which would be truly incompatible with contingency. thus neither futurition in itself, certain as it is, nor the infallible prevision of god, nor the predetermination either of causes or of god's decrees destroys this contingency and this freedom. that is acknowledged in respect of futurition and prevision, as has already been set forth. since, moreover, god's decree consists solely in the resolution he forms, after having compared all possible worlds, to choose that one which is the best, and bring it into existence together with all that this world contains, by means of the all-powerful word _fiat_, it is plain to see that this decree changes nothing in the constitution of things: god leaves them just as they were in the state of mere possibility, that is, changing nothing either in their essence or nature, or even in their accidents, which are represented perfectly already in the idea of this possible world. thus that which is contingent and free remains no less so under the decrees of god than under his prevision. . but could god himself (it will be said) then change nothing in the world? assuredly he could not now change it, without derogation to his wisdom, since he has foreseen the existence of this world and of what it contains, and since, likewise, he has formed this resolution to bring it into existence: for he cannot be mistaken nor repent, and it did not behove him to from an imperfect resolution applying to one part and not the [ ] whole. thus, all being ordered from the beginning, it is only because of this hypothetical necessity, recognized by everyone, that after god's prevision or after his resolution nothing can be changed: and yet the events in themselves remain contingent. for (setting aside this supposition of the futurition of the thing and of the prevision or of the resolution of god, a supposition which already lays it down as a fact that the thing will happen, and in accordance with which one must say, 'unumquodque, quando est, oportet esse, aut unumquodque, siquidem erit, oportet futurum esse'), the event has nothing in it to render it necessary and to suggest that no other thing might have happened in its stead. and as for the connexion between causes and effects, it only inclined, without necessitating, the free agency, as i have just explained; thus it does not produce even a hypothetical necessity, save in conjunction with something from outside, to wit, this very maxim, that the prevailing inclination always triumphs. . it will be said also that, if all is ordered, god cannot then perform miracles. but one must bear in mind that the miracles which happen in the world were also enfolded and represented as possible in this same world considered in the state of mere possibility; and god, who has since performed them, when he chose this world had even then decreed to perform them. again the objection will be made that vows and prayers, merits and demerits, good and bad actions avail nothing, since nothing can be changed. this objection causes most perplexity to people in general, and yet it is purely a sophism. these prayers, these vows, these good or bad actions that occur to-day were already before god when he formed the resolution to order things. those things which happen in this existing world were represented, with their effects and their consequences, in the idea of this same world, while it was still possible only; they were represented therein, attracting god's grace whether natural or supernatural, requiring punishments or rewards, just as it has happened actually in this world since god chose it. the prayer or the good action were even then an _ideal cause_ or _condition_, that is, an inclining reason able to contribute to the grace of god, or to the reward, as it now does in reality. since, moreover, all is wisely connected together in the world, it is clear that god, foreseeing that which would happen freely, ordered all other things on that basis beforehand, or (what is the same) he chose that possible world in [ ] which everything was ordered in this fashion. . this consideration demolishes at the same time what the ancients called the 'lazy sophism' ([greek: logos argos]) which ended in a decision to do nothing: for (people would say) if what i ask is to happen it will happen even though i should do nothing; and if it is not to happen it will never happen, no matter what trouble i take to achieve it. this necessity, supposedly existent in events, and detached from their causes, might be termed _fatum mahometanum_, as i have already observed above, because a similar line of reasoning, so it is said, causes the turks not to shun places ravaged by plague. but the answer is quite ready: the effect being certain, the cause that shall produce it is certain also; and if the effect comes about it will be by virtue of a proportionate cause. thus your laziness perchance will bring it about that you will obtain naught of what you desire, and that you will fall into those misfortunes which you would by acting with care have avoided. we see, therefore, that the _connexion of causes with effects_, far from causing an unendurable fatality, provides rather a means of obviating it. there is a german proverb which says that death will ever have a cause; and nothing is so true. you will die on that day (let us presume it is so, and that god foresees it): yes, without doubt; but it will be because you will do what shall lead you thither. it is likewise with the chastisements of god, which also depend upon their causes. and it will be apposite in this connexion to quote this famous passage from st. ambrose (in cap. i _lucae_), 'novit dominus mutare sententiam, si tu noveris mutare delictum', which is not to be understood as of reprobation, but of denunciation, such as that which jonah dealt out for god to the ninevites. this common saying: 'si non es praedestinatus, fac ut praedestineris', must not be taken literally, its true sense being that he who has doubts of his predestination need only do what is required for him to obtain it by the grace of god. the sophism which ends in a decision to trouble oneself over nothing will haply be useful sometimes to induce certain people to face danger fearlessly. it has been applied in particular to turkish soldiers: but it seems that hashish is a more important factor than this sophism, not to mention the fact that this resolute spirit in the turks has greatly belied itself in our days. . a learned physician of holland named johan van beverwyck took the trouble to write _de termino vitae_ and to collect sundry answers, [ ] letters and discourses of some learned men of his time on this subject. this collection has been printed, and it is astonishing to see there how often people are misled, and how they have confused a problem which, properly speaking, is the easiest in the world. after that it is no wonder that there are very many doubts which the human race cannot abandon. the truth is that people love to lose themselves, and this is a kind of ramble of the mind, which is unwilling to subject itself to attention, to order, to rules. it seems as though we are so accustomed to games and jesting that we play the fool even in the most serious occupations, and when we least think to do so. . i fear that in the recent dispute between the theologians of the augsburg confession, _de termino paenitentiae peremptorio_, which has called forth so many treatises in germany, some misunderstanding, though of a different nature, has slipped in. the terms prescribed by the laws are amongst lawyers known as _fatalia_. it may be said, in a sense, that the _peremptory term_, prescribed to man for his repentance and amendment, is certain in the sight of god, with whom all is certain. god knows when a sinner will be so hardened that thereafter nothing can be done for him: not indeed that it would be impossible for him to do penance or that sufficient grace needs must be refused to him after a certain term, a grace that never fails; but because there will be a time whereafter he will no more approach the ways of salvation. but we never have certain marks for recognizing this term, and we are never justified in considering a man utterly abandoned: that would be to pass a rash judgement. it were better always to have room for hope; and this is an occasion, with a thousand others, where our ignorance is beneficial. _prudens futuri temporis exitum_ _caliginosa nocte premit deus_. . the whole future is doubtless determined: but since we know not what it is, nor what is foreseen or resolved, we must do our duty, according to the reason that god has given us and according to the rules that he has prescribed for us; and thereafter we must have a quiet mind, and leave to god himself the care for the outcome. for he will never fail to do that which shall be the best, not only in general but also in particular, for those who have true confidence in him, that is, a confidence composed [ ] of true piety, a lively faith and fervent charity, by virtue of which we will, as far as in us lies, neglect nothing appertaining to our duty and his service. it is true that we cannot 'render service' to him, for he has need of nothing: but it is 'serving him', in our parlance, when we strive to carry out his presumptive will, co-operating in the good as it is known to us, wherever we can contribute thereto. for we must always presume that god is prompted towards the good we know, until the event shows us that he had stronger reasons, although perhaps unknown to us, which have made him subordinate this good that we sought to some other greater good of his own designing, which he has not failed or will not fail to effect. . i have just shown how the action of the will depends upon its causes; that there is nothing so appropriate to human nature as this dependence of our actions; and that otherwise one would slip into a preposterous and unendurable fatality, namely into the _fatum mahometanum_, which is the worst of all because it overthrows foresight and good counsel. it is well to show, notwithstanding, how this dependence of voluntary actions does not fundamentally preclude the existence within us of a wonderful _spontaneity_, which in a certain sense makes the soul in its resolves independent of the physical influence of all other creatures. this spontaneity, hitherto little recognized, which exalts our command over our actions to the highest pitch, is a consequence of the system of pre-established harmony, of which i must give some explanation here. the scholastic philosophers believed that there was a reciprocal physical influence between body and soul: but since it has been recognized that thought and dimensional mass have no mutual connexion, and that they are creatures differing _toto genere_, many moderns have acknowledged that there is no _physical communication_ between soul and body, despite the _metaphysical communication_ always subsisting, which causes soul and body to compose one and the same _suppositum_, or what is called a person. this physical communication, if there were such, would cause the soul to change the degree of speed and the directional line of some motions that are in the body, and _vice versa_ the body to change the sequence of the thoughts that are in the soul. but this effect cannot be inferred from any notion conceived in the body and in the soul; though nothing be better known to us than the soul, since it is inmost to us, that is to say inmost to itself. [ ] . m. descartes wished to compromise and to make a part of the body's action dependent upon the soul. he believed in the existence of a rule of nature to the effect, according to him, that the same quantity of movement is conserved in bodies. he deemed it not possible that the influence of the soul should violate this law of bodies, but he believed that the soul notwithstanding might have power to change the direction of the movements that are made in the body; much as a rider, though giving no force to the horse he mounts, nevertheless controls it by guiding that force in any direction he pleases. but as that is done by means of the bridle, the bit, the spurs and other material aids, it is conceivable how that can be; there are, however, no instruments such as the soul may employ for this result, nothing indeed either in the soul or in the body, that is, either in thought or in the mass, which may serve to explain this change of the one by the other. in a word, that the soul should change the quantity of force and that it should change the line of direction, both these things are equally inexplicable. . moreover, two important truths on this subject have been discovered since m. descartes' day. the first is that the quantity of absolute force which is in fact conserved is different from the quantity of movement, as i have demonstrated elsewhere. the second discovery is that the same direction is still conserved in all bodies together that are assumed as interacting, in whatever way they come into collision. if this rule had been known to m. descartes, he would have taken the direction of bodies to be as independent of the soul as their force; and i believe that that would have led direct to the hypothesis of pre-established harmony, whither these same rules have led me. for apart from the fact that the physical influence of one of these substances on the other is inexplicable, i recognized that without a complete derangement of the laws of nature the soul could not act physically upon the body. and i did not believe that one could here listen to philosophers, competent in other respects, who produce a god, as it were, _ex machina_, to bring about the final solution of the piece, maintaining that god exerts himself deliberately to move bodies as the soul pleases, and to give perceptions to the soul as the body requires. for this system, which is called that of _occasional causes_ (because it teaches that god acts on the body at the instance of the soul, and _vice versa_), besides introducing perpetual miracles to establish communication [ ] between these two substances, does not obviate the derangement of the natural laws obtaining in each of these same substances, which, in the general opinion, their mutual influence would cause. . being on other considerations already convinced of the principle of harmony in general, i was in consequence convinced likewise of the _preformation_ and the pre-established harmony of all things amongst themselves, of that between nature and grace, between the decrees of god and our actions foreseen, between all parts of matter, and even between the future and the past, the whole in conformity with the sovereign wisdom of god, whose works are the most harmonious it is possible to conceive. thus i could not fail to arrive at the system which declares that god created the soul in the beginning in such a fashion that it must produce and represent to itself successively that which takes place within the body, and the body also in such a fashion that it must do of itself that which the soul ordains. consequently the laws that connect the thoughts of the soul in the order of final causes and in accordance with the evolution of perceptions must produce pictures that meet and harmonize with the impressions of bodies on our organs; and likewise the laws of movements in the body, which follow one another in the order of efficient causes, meet and so harmonize with the thoughts of the soul that the body is induced to act at the time when the soul wills it. . far from its being prejudicial, nothing can be more favourable to freedom than that system. and m. jacquelot has demonstrated well in his book on the _conformity of faith with reason_, that it is just as if he who knows all that i shall order a servant to do the whole day long on the morrow made an automaton entirely resembling this servant, to carry out to-morrow at the right moment all that i should order; and yet that would not prevent me from ordering freely all that i should please, although the action of the automaton that would serve me would not be in the least free. . moreover, since all that passes in the soul depends, according to this system, only upon the soul, and its subsequent state is derived only from it and from its present state, how can one give it a greater _independence_? it is true that there still remains some imperfection in the constitution of the soul. all that happens to the soul depends upon it, but depends not always upon its will; that were too much. nor are such[ ] happenings even recognized always by its understanding or perceived with distinctness. for there is in the soul not only an order of distinct perceptions, forming its dominion, but also a series of confused perceptions or passions, forming its bondage: and there is no need for astonishment at that; the soul would be a divinity if it had none but distinct perceptions. it has nevertheless some power over these confused perceptions also, even if in an indirect manner. for although it cannot change its passions forthwith, it can work from afar towards that end with enough success, and endue itself with new passions and even habits. it even has a like power over the more distinct perceptions, being able to endue itself indirectly with opinions and intentions, and to hinder itself from having this one or that, and stay or hasten its judgement. for we can seek means beforehand to arrest ourselves, when occasion arises, on the sliding step of a rash judgement; we can find some incident to justify postponement of our resolution even at the moment when the matter appears ready to be judged. although our opinion and our act of willing be not directly objects of our will (as i have already observed), one sometimes, takes measures nevertheless, to will and even to believe in due time, that which one does not will, or believe, now. so great is the profundity of the spirit of man. . and now, to bring to a conclusion this question of _spontaneity_, it must be said that, on a rigorous definition, the soul has within it the principle of all its actions, and even of all its passions, and that the same is true in all the simple substances scattered throughout nature, although there be freedom only in those that are intelligent. in the popular sense notwithstanding, speaking in accordance with appearances, we must say that the soul depends in some way upon the body and upon the impressions of the senses: much as we speak with ptolemy and tycho in everyday converse, and think with copernicus, when it is a question of the rising and the setting of the sun. . one may however give a true and philosophic sense to this _mutual dependence_ which we suppose between the soul and the body. it is that the one of these two substances depends upon the other ideally, in so far as the reason of that which is done in the one can be furnished by that which is in the other. this had already happened when god ordered beforehand the harmony that there would be between them. even so would that [ ] automaton, that should fulfil the servant's function, depend upon me _ideally_, in virtue of the knowledge of him who, foreseeing my future orders, would have rendered it capable of serving me at the right moment all through the morrow. the knowledge of my future intentions would have actuated this great craftsman, who would accordingly have fashioned the automaton: my influence would be objective, and his physical. for in so far as the soul has perfection and distinct thoughts, god has accommodated the body to the soul, and has arranged beforehand that the body is impelled to execute its orders. and in so far as the soul is imperfect and as its perceptions are confused, god has accommodated the soul to the body, in such sort that the soul is swayed by the passions arising out of corporeal representations. this produces the same effect and the same appearance as if the one depended immediately upon the other, and by the agency of a physical influence. properly speaking, it is by its confused thoughts that the soul represents the bodies which encompass it. the same thing must apply to all that we understand by the actions of simple substances one upon another. for each one is assumed to act upon the other in proportion to its perfection, although this be only ideally, and in the reasons of things, as god in the beginning ordered one substance to accord with another in proportion to the perfection or imperfection that there is in each. (withal action and passion are always reciprocal in creatures, because one part of the reasons which serve to explain clearly what is done, and which have served to bring it into existence, is in the one of these substances, and another part of these reasons is in the other, perfections and imperfections being always mingled and shared.) thus it is we attribute _action_ to the one, and _passion_ to the other. . but after all, whatsoever dependence be conceived in voluntary actions, and even though there were an absolute and mathematical necessity (which there is not) it would not follow that there would not be a sufficient degree of freedom to render rewards and punishments just and reasonable. it is true that generally we speak as though the necessity of the action put an end to all merit and all demerit, all justification for praise and blame, for reward and punishment: but it must be admitted that this conclusion is not entirely correct. i am very far from sharing the opinions of bradwardine, wyclif, hobbes and spinoza, who advocate, so it seems,[ ] this entirely mathematical necessity, which i think i have adequately refuted, and perhaps more clearly than is customary. yet one must always bear testimony to the truth and not impute to a dogma anything that does not result from it. moreover, these arguments prove too much, since they would prove just as much against hypothetical necessity, and would justify the lazy sophism. for the absolute necessity of the sequence of causes would in this matter add nothing to the infallible certainty of a hypothetical necessity. . in the first place, therefore, it must be agreed that it is permitted to kill a madman when one cannot by other means defend oneself. it will be granted also that it is permitted, and often even necessary, to destroy venomous or very noxious animals, although they be not so by their own fault. . secondly, one inflicts punishments upon a beast, despite its lack of reason and freedom, when one deems that this may serve to correct it: thus one punishes dogs and horses, and indeed with much success. rewards serve us no less in the managing of animals: when an animal is hungry, the food that is given to him causes him to do what otherwise would never be obtained from him. . thirdly, one would inflict even on beasts capital punishments (where it is no longer a question of correcting the beast that is punished) if this punishment could serve as an example, or inspire terror in others, to make them cease from evil doing. rorarius, in his book on reason in beasts, says that in africa they crucified lions, in order to drive away other lions from the towns and frequented places, and that he had observed in passing through the province of jülich that they hanged wolves there in order to ensure greater safety for the sheepfolds. there are people in the villages also who nail birds of prey to the doors of houses, with the idea that other birds of the same kind will then not so readily appear. these measures would always be justified if they were of any avail. . then, in the fourth place, since experience proves that the fear of chastisements and the hope of rewards serves to make men abstain from evil and strive to do good, one would have good reason to avail oneself of such, even though men were acting under necessity, whatever the necessity might be. the objection will be raised that if good or evil is necessary it is useless to avail oneself of means to obtain it or to hinder it: but the answer has already been given above in the passage combating the lazy [ ] sophism. if good or evil were a necessity without these means, then such means would be unavailing; but it is not so. these goods and evils come only with the aid of these means, and if these results were necessary the means would be a part of the causes rendering them necessary, since experience teaches us that often fear or hope hinders evil or advances good. this objection, then, differs hardly at all from the lazy sophism, which we raise against the certainty as well as the necessity of future events. thus one may say that these objections are directed equally against hypothetical necessity and absolute necessity, and that they prove as much against the one as against the other, that is to say, nothing at all. . there was a great dispute between bishop bramhall and mr. hobbes, which began when they were both in paris, and which was continued after their return to england; all the parts of it are to be found collected in a quarto volume published in london in the year . they are all in english, and have not been translated as far as i know, nor inserted in the collection of works in latin by mr. hobbes. i had already read these writings, and have obtained them again since. and i had observed at the outset that he had not at all proved the absolute necessity of all things, but had shown sufficiently that necessity would not overthrow all the rules of divine or human justice, and would not prevent altogether the exercise of this virtue. . there is, however, a kind of justice and a certain sort of rewards and of punishments which appear not so applicable to those who should act by an absolute necessity, supposing such necessity existed. it is that kind of justice which has for its goal neither improvement nor example, nor even redress of the evil. this justice has its foundation only in the fitness of things, which demands a certain satisfaction for the expiation of an evil action. the socinians, hobbes and some others do not admit this punitive justice, which properly speaking is avenging justice. god reserves it for himself in many cases; but he does not fail to grant it to those who are entitled to govern others, and he exercises it through their agency, provided that they act under the influence of reason and not of passion. the socinians believe it to be without foundation, but it always has some foundation in that fitness of things which gives satisfaction not only to the injured but also to the wise who see it; even as a beautiful piece of music, or again a good piece of architecture, satisfies cultivated [ ] minds. and the wise lawgiver having threatened, and having, so to speak, promised a chastisement, it befits his consistency not to leave the action completely unpunished, even though the punishment would no longer avail to correct anyone. but even though he should have promised nothing, it is enough that there is a fitness of things which could have prompted him to make this promise, since the wise man likewise promises only that which is fitting. and one may even say that there is here a certain compensation of the mind, which would be scandalized by disorder if the chastisement did not contribute towards restoring order. one can also consult what grotius wrote against the socinians, of the satisfaction of jesus christ, and the answer of crellius thereto. . thus it is that the pains of the damned continue, even when they no longer serve to turn them away from evil, and that likewise the rewards of the blessed continue, even when they no longer serve for strengthening them in good. one may say nevertheless that the damned ever bring upon themselves new pains through new sins, and that the blessed ever bring upon themselves new joys by new progress in goodness: for both are founded on the _principle of the fitness of things_, which has seen to it that affairs were so ordered that the evil action must bring upon itself a chastisement. there is good reason to believe, following the parallelism of the two realms, that of final causes and that of efficient causes, that god has established in the universe a connexion between punishment or reward and bad or good action, in accordance wherewith the first should always be attracted by the second, and virtue and vice obtain their reward and their punishment in consequence of the natural sequence of things, which contains still another kind of pre-established harmony than that which appears in the communication between the soul and the body. for, in a word, all that god does, as i have said already, is harmonious to perfection. perhaps then this principle of the fitness of things would no longer apply to beings acting without true freedom or exemption from absolute necessity; and in that case corrective justice alone would be administered, and not punitive justice. that is the opinion of the famous conringius, in a dissertation he published on what is just. and indeed, the reasons pomponazzi employed in his book on fate, to prove the usefulness of chastisements and rewards, even though all should come about in our actions by a fatal necessity,[ ] concern only amendment and not satisfaction, [greek: kolasin ou timôrian]. moreover, it is only for the sake of outward appearances that one destroys animals accessary to certain crimes, as one razes the houses of rebels, that is, to inspire terror. thus it is an act of corrective justice, wherein punitive justice has no part at all. . but we will not amuse ourselves now by discussing a question more curious than necessary, since we have shown sufficiently that there is no such necessity in voluntary actions. nevertheless it was well to show that _imperfect freedom_ alone, that is, freedom which is exempt only from constraint, would suffice as foundation for chastisements and rewards of the kind conducive to the avoidance of evil, and to amendment. one sees also from this that some persons of intelligence, who persuade themselves that everything is necessary, are wrong in saying that none must be praised or blamed, rewarded or punished. apparently they say so only to exercise their wit: the pretext is that all being necessary nothing would be in our power. but this pretext is ill founded: necessary actions would be still in our power, at least in so far as we could perform them or omit them, when the hope or the fear of praise or blame, of pleasure or pain prompted our will thereto, whether they prompted it of necessity, or in prompting it they left spontaneity, contingency and freedom all alike unimpaired. thus praise and blame, rewards and punishments would preserve always a large part of their use, even though there were a true necessity in our actions. we can praise and blame also natural good and bad qualities, where the will has no part--in a horse, in a diamond, in a man; and he who said of cato of utica that he acted virtuously through the goodness of his nature, and that it was impossible for him to behave otherwise, thought to praise him the more. . the difficulties which i have endeavoured up to now to remove have been almost all common to natural and revealed theology. now it will be necessary to come to a question of revealed theology, concerning the election or the reprobation of men, with the dispensation or use of divine grace in connexion with these acts of the mercy or the justice of god. but when i answered the preceding objections, i opened up a way to meet those that remain. this confirms the observation i made thereon (_preliminary dissertation,_ ) that there is rather a conflict between the true [ ] reasons of natural theology and the false reasons of human appearances, than between revealed faith and reason. for on this subject scarcely any difficulty arises that is new, and not deriving its origin from those which can be placed in the way of the truths discerned by reason. . now as theologians of all parties are divided among themselves on this subject of predestination and grace, and often give different answers to the same objections, according to their various principles, one cannot avoid touching on the differences which prevail among them. one may say in general that some look upon god more metaphysically and others more morally: and it has already been stated on other occasions that the counter-remonstrants took the first course and the remonstrants the second. but to act rightly we must affirm alike on one side the independence of god and the dependence of creatures, and on the other side the justice and goodness of god, which makes him dependent upon himself, his will upon his understanding or his wisdom. . some gifted and well-intentioned authors, desiring to show the force of the reasons advocated by the two principal parties, in order to persuade them to a mutual tolerance, deem that the whole controversy is reduced to this essential point, namely: what was god's principal aim in making his decrees with regard to man? did he make them solely in order to show forth his glory by manifesting his attributes, and forming, to that end, the great plan of creation and providence? or has he had regard rather to the voluntary movements of intelligent substances which he designed to create, considering what they would will and do in the different circumstances and situations wherein he might place them, so as to form a fitting resolve thereupon? it appears to me that the two answers to this great question thus given as opposites to one another are easy to reconcile, and that in consequence the two parties would be agreed in principle, without any need of tolerance, if all were reduced to this point. in truth god, in designing to create the world, purposed solely to manifest and communicate his perfections in the way that was most efficacious, and most worthy of his greatness, his wisdom and his goodness. but that very purpose pledged him to consider all the actions of creatures while still in the state of pure possibility, that he might form the most fitting plan. he is like a great architect whose aim in view is the satisfaction or the glory of having[ ] built a beautiful palace, and who considers all that is to enter into this construction: the form and the materials, the place, the situation, the means, the workmen, the expense, before he forms a complete resolve. for a wise person in laying his plans cannot separate the end from the means; he does not contemplate any end without knowing if there are means of attaining thereto. . i know not whether there are also perchance persons who imagine that, god being the absolute master of all things, one can thence infer that everything outside him is indifferent to him, that he considers himself alone, without concern for others, and that thus he has made some happy and others unhappy without any cause, without choice, without reason. but to teach so about god were to deprive him of wisdom and of goodness. we need only observe that he considers himself and neglects nothing of what he owes to himself, to conclude that he considers his creatures also, and that he uses them in the manner most consistent with order. for the more a great and good prince is mindful of his glory, the more he will think of making his subjects happy, even though he were the most absolute of all monarchs, and though his subjects were slaves from birth, bondsmen (in lawyers' parlance), people entirely in subjection to arbitrary power. calvin himself and some others of the greatest defenders of the absolute decree rightly maintained that god had _great and just reasons_ for his election and the dispensation of his grace, although these reasons be unknown to us in detail: and we must judge charitably that the most rigid predestinators have too much reason and too much piety to depart from this opinion. . there will therefore be no argument for debate on that point (as i hope) with people who are at all reasonable. but there will always be argument among those who are called universalists and particularists, according to what they teach of the grace and the will of god. yet i am somewhat inclined to believe that the heated dispute between them on the will of god to save all men, and on that which depends upon it (when one keeps separate the doctrine _de auxiliis_, or of the assistance of grace), rests rather in expressions than in things. for it is sufficient to consider that god, as well as every wise and beneficent mind, is inclined towards all possible good, and that this inclination is proportionate to the excellence of the good. moreover, this results (if we take the [ ] matter precisely and in itself) from an 'antecedent will', as it is termed, which, however, is not always followed by its complete effect, because this wise mind must have many other inclinations besides. thus it is the result of all the inclinations together that makes his will complete and decretory, as i have already explained. one may therefore very well say with ancient writers that god wills to save all men according to his antecedent will, but not according to his consequent will, which never fails to be followed by its effect. and if those who deny this universal will do not allow that the antecedent inclination be called a will, they are only troubling themselves about a question of name. . but there is a question more serious in regard to predestination to eternal life and to all other destination by god, to wit, whether this destination is absolute or respective. there is destination to good and destination to evil; and as evil is moral or physical, theologians of all parties agree that there is no destination to moral evil, that is to say, that none is destined to sin. as for the greatest physical evil, which is damnation, one can distinguish between destination and predestination: for predestination appears to contain within itself an absolute destination, which is anterior to the consideration of the good or evil actions of those whom it concerns. thus one may say that the reprobate are _destined_ to be condemned, because they are known to be impenitent. but it cannot so well be said that the reprobate are _predestined_ to damnation: for there is no _absolute_ reprobation, its foundation being final foreseen impenitence. . it is true that there are writers who maintain that god, wishing to manifest his mercy and his justice in accordance with reasons worthy of him, but unknown to us, chose the elect, and in consequence rejected the damned, prior to all thought of sin, even of adam, that after this resolve he thought fit to permit sin in order to be able to exercise these two virtues, and that he has bestowed grace in jesus christ to some in order to save them, while he has refused it to others in order to be able to punish them. hence these writers are named 'supralapsarians', because the decree to punish precedes, according to them, the knowledge of the future existence of sin. but the opinion most common to-day amongst those who are called reformed, and one that is favoured by the synod of dordrecht, is that of the 'infralapsarians', corresponding somewhat to the conception of st. augustine. for he asserts that god having resolved to permit the [ ] sin of adam and the corruption of the human race, for reasons just but hidden, his mercy made him choose some of the corrupt mass to be freely saved by the merit of jesus christ, and his justice made him resolve to punish the others by the damnation that they deserved. that is why, with the schoolmen, only the saved were called _praedestinati_ and the damned were called _praesciti_. it must be admitted that some infralapsarians and others speak sometimes of predestination to damnation, following the example of fulgentius and of st. augustine himself: but that signifies the same as destination to them, and it avails nothing to wrangle about words. that pretext, notwithstanding, was in time past used for maltreating that godescalc who caused a stir about the middle of the ninth century, and who took the name of fulgentius to indicate that he followed that author. . as for the destination of the elect to eternal life, the protestants, as well as those of the roman church, dispute much among themselves as to whether election is absolute or is founded on the prevision of final living faith. those who are called evangelicals, that is, those of the augsburg confession, hold the latter opinion: they believe that one need not go into the hidden causes of election while one may find a manifest cause of it shown in holy scripture, which is faith in jesus christ; and it appears to them that the prevision of the cause is also the cause of the prevision of the effect. those who are called reformed are of a different opinion: they admit that salvation comes from faith in jesus christ, but they observe that often the cause anterior to the effect in execution is posterior in intention, as when the cause is the means and the effect is the end. thus the question is, whether faith or salvation is anterior in the intention of god, that is, whether god's design is rather to save man than to make him a believer. . hence we see that the question between the supralapsarians and the infralapsarians in part, and again between them and the evangelicals, comes back to a right conception of the order that is in god's decrees. perhaps one might put an end to this dispute at once by saying that, properly speaking, all the decrees of god that are here concerned are simultaneous, not only in respect of time, as everyone agrees, but also _in signo rationis_, or in the order of nature. and indeed, the formula of concord, building upon some passages of st. augustine, comprised in the same [ ] decree of election salvation and the means that conduce to it. to demonstrate this synchronism of destinations or of decrees with which we are concerned, we must revert to the expedient that i have employed more than once, which states that god, before decreeing anything, considered among other possible sequences of things that one which he afterwards approved. in the idea of this is represented how the first parents sin and corrupt their posterity; how jesus christ redeems the human race; how some, aided by such and such graces, attain to final faith and to salvation; and how others, with or without such or other graces, do not attain thereto, continue in sin, and are damned. god grants his sanction to this sequence only after having entered into all its detail, and thus pronounces nothing final as to those who shall be saved or damned without having pondered upon everything and compared it with other possible sequences. thus god's pronouncement concerns the whole sequence at the same time; he simply decrees its existence. in order to save other men, or in a different way, he must needs choose an altogether different sequence, seeing that all is connected in each sequence. in this conception of the matter, which is that most worthy of the all-wise, all whose actions are connected together to the highest possible degree, there would be only one total decree, which is to create such a world. this total decree comprises equally all the particular decrees, without setting one of them before or after another. yet one may say also that each particular act of antecedent will entering into the total result has its value and order, in proportion to the good whereto this act inclines. but these acts of antecedent will are not called decrees, since they are not yet inevitable, the outcome depending upon the total result. according to this conception of things, all the difficulties that can here be made amount to the same as those i have already stated and removed in my inquiry concerning the origin of evil. . there remains only one important matter of discussion, which has its peculiar difficulties. it is that of the dispensation of the means and circumstances contributing to salvation and to damnation. this comprises amongst others the subject of the aids of grace (_de auxiliis gratiae_), on which rome (since the congregation _de auxiliis_ under clement viii, when a debate took place between the dominicans and the jesuits) does not readily permit books to be published. everyone must agree that god is [ ] altogether good and just, that his goodness makes him contribute the least possible to that which can render men guilty, and the most possible to that which serves to save them (possible, i say, subject to the general order of things); that his justice prevents him from condemning innocent men, and from leaving good actions without reward; and that he even keeps an exact proportion in punishments and rewards. nevertheless, this idea that one should have of the goodness and the justice of god does not appear enough in what we know of his actions with regard to the salvation and the damnation of men: and it is that which makes difficulties concerning sin and its remedies. . the first difficulty is how the soul could be infected with original sin, which is the root of actual sins, without injustice on god's part in exposing the soul thereto. this difficulty has given rise to three opinions on the origin of the soul itself. the first is that of the _pre-existence of human souls_ in another world or in another life, where they had sinned and on that account had been condemned to this prison of the human body, an opinion of the platonists which is attributed to origen and which even to-day finds adherents. henry more, an english scholar, advocated something like this dogma in a book written with that express purpose. some of those who affirm this pre-existence have gone as far as metempsychosis. the younger van helmont held this opinion, and the ingenious author of some metaphysical _meditations_, published in under the name of william wander, appears to have some leaning towards it. the second opinion is that of _traduction_, as if the soul of children were engendered (_per traducem_) from the soul or souls of those from whom the body is engendered. st. augustine inclined to this judgement the better to explain original sin. this doctrine is taught also by most of the theologians of the augsburg confession. nevertheless it is not completely established among them, since the universities of jena and helmstedt, and others besides, have long been opposed to it. the third opinion, and that most widely accepted to-day, is that of _creation_: it is taught in the majority of the christian schools, but it is fraught with the greatest difficulty in respect of original sin. . into this controversy of theologians on the origin of the human soul has entered the philosophic dispute on _the origin of forms._ aristotle and scholastic philosophy after him called _form_ that which is a [ ] principle of action and is found in that which acts. this inward principle is either substantial, being then termed 'soul', when it is in an organic body, or accidental, and customarily termed 'quality'. the same philosopher gave to the soul the generic name of 'entelechy' or _act_. this word 'entelechy' apparently takes its origin from the greek word signifying 'perfect', and hence the celebrated ermolao barbaro expressed it literally in latin by _perfectihabia_: for act is a realization of potency. and he had no need to consult the devil, as men say he did, in order to learn that. now the philosopher of stagira supposes that there are two kinds of act, the permanent act and the successive act. the permanent or lasting act is nothing but the substantial or accidental form: the substantial form (as for example the soul) is altogether permanent, at least according to my judgement, and the accidental is only so for a time. but the altogether momentary act, whose nature is transitory, consists in action itself. i have shown elsewhere that the notion of entelechy is not altogether to be scorned, and that, being permanent, it carries with it not only a mere faculty for action, but also that which is called 'force', 'effort', 'conatus', from which action itself must follow if nothing prevents it. faculty is only an _attribute_, or rather sometimes a mode; but force, when it is not an ingredient of substance itself (that is, force which is not primitive but derivative), is a _quality_, which is distinct and separable from substance. i have shown also how one may suppose that the soul is a primitive force which is modified and varied by derivative forces or qualities, and exercised in actions. . now philosophers have troubled themselves exceedingly on the question of the origin of substantial forms. for to say that the compound of form and matter is produced and that the form is only _comproduced_ means nothing. the common opinion was that forms were derived from the potency of matter, this being called _eduction_. that also meant in fact nothing, but it was explained in a sense by a comparison with shapes: for that of a statue is produced only by removal of the superfluous marble. this comparison might be valid if form consisted in a mere limitation, as in the case of shape. some have thought that forms were sent from heaven, and even created expressly, when bodies were produced. julius scaliger hinted that it was possible that forms were rather derived from the active potency of the efficient cause (that is to say, either from that of god in the [ ] case of creation or from that of other forms in the case of generation), than from the passive potency of matter. and that, in the case of generation, meant a return to traduction. daniel sennert, a famous doctor and physicist at wittenberg, cherished this opinion, particularly in relation to animate bodies which are multiplied through seed. a certain julius caesar della galla, an italian living in the low countries, and a doctor of groningen named johan freitag wrote with much vehemence in opposition to sennert. johann sperling, a professor at wittenberg, made a defence of his master, and finally came into conflict with johann zeisold, a professor at jena, who upheld the belief that the human soul is created. . but traduction and eduction are equally inexplicable when it is a question of finding the origin of the soul. it is not the same with accidental forms, since they are only modifications of the substance, and their origin may be explained by eduction, that is, by variation of limitations, in the same way as the origin of shapes. but it is quite another matter when we are concerned with the origin of a substance, whose beginning and destruction are equally difficult to explain. sennert and sperling did not venture to admit the subsistence and the indestructibility of the souls of beasts or of other primitive forms, although they allowed that they were indivisible and immaterial. but the fact is that they confused indestructibility with immortality, whereby is understood in the case of man that not only the soul but also the personality subsists. in saying that the soul of man is immortal one implies the subsistence of what makes the identity of the person, something which retains its moral qualities, conserving the _consciousness_, or the reflective inward feeling, of what it is: thus it is rendered susceptible to chastisement or reward. but this conservation of personality does not occur in the souls of beasts: that is why i prefer to say that they are imperishable rather than to call them immortal. yet this misapprehension appears to have been the cause of a great inconsistency in the doctrine of the thomists and of other good philosophers: they recognized the immateriality or indivisibility of all souls, without being willing to admit their indestructibility, greatly to the prejudice of the immortality of the human soul. john scot, that is, the scotsman (which formerly signified hibernian or erigena), a famous writer of the time of louis the debonair and of his sons, was for the conservation of all souls: and i see not why there should be less [ ] objection to making the atoms of epicurus or of gassendi endure, than to affirming the subsistence of all truly simple and indivisible substances, which are the sole and true atoms of nature. and pythagoras was right in saying generally, as ovid makes him say: _morte carent animae_. . now as i like maxims which hold good and admit of the fewest exceptions possible, here is what has appeared to me most reasonable in every sense on this important question. i consider that souls and simple substances altogether cannot begin except by creation, or end except by annihilation. moreover, as the formation of organic animate bodies appears explicable in the order of nature only when one assumes a _preformation_ already organic, i have thence inferred that what we call generation of an animal is only a transformation and augmentation. thus, since the same body was already furnished with organs, it is to be supposed that it was already animate, and that it had the same soul: so i assume _vice versa_, from the conservation of the soul when once it is created, that the animal is also conserved, and that apparent death is only an envelopment, there being no likelihood that in the order of nature souls exist entirely separated from all body, or that what does not begin naturally can cease through natural forces. . considering that so admirable an order and rules so general are established in regard to animals, it does not appear reasonable that man should be completely excluded from that order, and that everything in relation to his soul should come about in him by miracle. besides i have pointed out repeatedly that it is of the essence of god's wisdom that all should be harmonious in his works, and that nature should be parallel with grace. it is thus my belief that those souls which one day shall be human souls, like those of other species, have been in the seed, and in the progenitors as far back as adam, and have consequently existed since the beginning of things, always in a kind of organic body. on this point it seems that m. swammerdam, father malebranche, m. bayle, mr. pitcairne, m. hartsoeker and numerous other very able persons share my opinion. this doctrine is also sufficiently confirmed by the microscope observations of m. leeuwenhoek and other good observers. but it also for divers reasons appears likely to me that they existed then as sentient or animal [ ] souls only, endowed with perception and feeling, and devoid of reason. further i believe that they remained in this state up to the time of the generation of the man to whom they were to belong, but that then they received reason, whether there be a natural means of raising a sentient soul to the degree of a reasoning soul (a thing i find it difficult to imagine) or whether god may have given reason to this soul through some special operation, or (if you will) by a kind of _transcreation_. this latter is easier to admit, inasmuch as revelation teaches much about other forms of immediate operation by god upon our souls. this explanation appears to remove the obstacles that beset this matter in philosophy or theology. for the difficulty of the origin of forms thus disappears completely; and besides it is much more appropriate to divine justice to give the soul, already corrupted _physically_ or on the animal side by the sin of adam, a new perfection which is reason, than to put a reasoning soul, by creation or otherwise, in a body wherein it is to be corrupted _morally_. . now the soul being once under the domination of sin, and ready to commit sin in actual fact as soon as the man is fit to exercise reason, a new question arises, to wit: whether this tendency in a man who has not been regenerated by baptism suffices to damn him, even though he should never come to commit sin, as may happen, and happens often, whether he die before reaching years of discretion or he become dull of sense before he has made use of his reason. st. gregory of nazianzos is supposed to have denied this (_orat. de baptismo_); but st. augustine is for the affirmative, and maintains that original sin of itself is sufficient to earn the flames of hell, although this opinion is, to say the least, very harsh. when i speak here of damnation or of hell, i mean pains, and not mere deprivation of supreme felicity; i mean _poenam sensus, non damni_. gregory of rimini, general of the augustinians, with a few others followed st. augustine in opposition to the accepted opinion of the schools of his time, and for that reason he was called the torturer of children, _tortor infantum_. the schoolmen, instead of sending them into the flames of hell, have assigned to them a special limbo, where they do not suffer, and are only punished by privation of the beatific vision. the revelations of st. birgitta (as they are called), much esteemed in rome, also uphold this dogma. salmeron and molina, and before them ambrose catharin and [ ] others, grant them a certain natural bliss; and cardinal sfondrati, a man of learning and piety, who approves this, latterly went so far as to prefer in a sense their state, which is the state of happy innocence, to that of a sinner saved, as we may see in his _nodus praedestinationis solutus_. that, however, seems to go too far. certainly a soul truly enlightened would not wish to sin, even though it could by this means obtain all imaginable pleasures. but the case of choosing between sin and true bliss is simply chimerical, and it is better to obtain bliss (even after repentance) than to be deprived of it for ever. . many prelates and theologians of france who are well pleased to differ from molina, and to join with st. augustine, seem to incline towards the opinion of this great doctor, who condemns to eternal flames children that die in the age of innocence before having received baptism. this is what appears from the letter mentioned above, written by five distinguished prelates of france to pope innocent xii, against that posthumous book by cardinal sfondrati. but therein they did not venture to condemn the doctrine of the purely privative punishment of children dying without baptism, seeing it approved by the venerable thomas aquinas, and by other great men. i do not speak of those who are called on one side jansenists and on the other disciples of st. augustine, for they declare themselves entirely and firmly for the opinion of this father. but it must be confessed that this opinion has not sufficient foundation either in reason or in scripture, and that it is outrageously harsh. m. nicole makes rather a poor apology for it in his book on the _unity of the church_, written to oppose m. jurieu, although m. bayle takes his side in chapter of the _reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii. m. nicole makes use of this pretext, that there are also other dogmas in the christian religion which appear harsh. on the one hand, however, that does not lead to the conclusion that these instances of harshness may be multiplied without proof; and on the other we must take into account that the other dogmas mentioned by m. nicole, namely original sin and eternity of punishment, are only harsh and unjust to outward appearance, while the damnation of children dying without actual sin and without regeneration would in truth be harsh, since it would be in effect the damning of innocents. for that reason i believe that the party which advocates this opinion will never altogether have the upper hand in the roman church itself. evangelical[ ] theologians are accustomed to speak with fair moderation on this question, and to surrender these souls to the judgement and the clemency of their creator. nor do we know all the wonderful ways that god may choose to employ for the illumination of souls. . one may say that those who condemn for original sin alone, and who consequently condemn children dying unbaptized or outside the covenant, fall, in a sense, without being aware of it, into a certain attitude to man's inclination and god's foreknowledge which they disapprove in others. they will not have it that god should refuse his grace to those whose resistance to it he foresees, nor that this expectation and this tendency should cause the damnation of these persons: and yet they claim that the tendency which constitutes original sin, and in which god foresees that the child will sin as soon as he shall reach years of discretion, suffices to damn this child beforehand. those who maintain the one and reject the other do not preserve enough uniformity and connexion in their dogmas. . there is scarcely less difficulty in the matter of those who reach years of discretion and plunge into sin, following the inclination of corrupt nature, if they receive not the succour of the grace necessary for them to stop on the edge of the precipice, or to drag themselves from the abyss wherein they have fallen. for it seems hard to damn them eternally for having done that which they had no power to prevent themselves from doing. those that damn even children, who are without discretion, trouble themselves even less about adults, and one would say that they have become callous through the very expectation of seeing people suffer. but it is not the same with other theologians, and i would be rather on the side of those who grant to all men a grace sufficient to draw them away from evil, provided they have a sufficient tendency to profit by this succour, and not to reject it voluntarily. the objection is made that there has been and still is a countless multitude of men, among civilized peoples and among barbarians, who have never had this knowledge of god and of jesus christ which is necessary for those who would tread the wonted paths to salvation. but without excusing them on the plea of a sin purely philosophical, and without stopping at a mere penalty of privation, things for which there is no opportunity of discussion here, one may doubt the fact: for how do we know whether they do not receive ordinary or extraordinary succour of [ ] kinds unknown to us? this maxim, _quod facienti, quod in se est, non denegatur gratia necessaria_, appears to me to have eternal truth. thomas aquinas, archbishop bradwardine and others have hinted that, in regard to this, something comes to pass of which we are not aware. (thom. quest. xiv, _de veritate_, artic. xi, ad i et alibi. bradwardine, _de causa dei_, non procul ab initio.) and sundry theologians of great authority in the roman church itself have taught that a sincere act of the love of god above all things, when the grace of jesus christ arouses it, suffices for salvation. father francis xavier answered the japanese that if their ancestors had used well their natural light god would have given them the grace necessary for salvation; and the bishop of geneva, francis of sales, gives full approval to this answer (book , _on the love of god,_ ch. ). . this i pointed out some time ago to the excellent m pélisson, to show him that the roman church, going further than the protestants, does not damn utterly those who are outside its communion, and even outside christianity, by using as its only criterion explicit faith. nor did he refute it, properly speaking, in the very kind answer he gave me, and which he published in the fourth part of his _reflexions_, also doing me the honour of adding to it my letter. i offered him then for consideration what a famous portuguese theologian, by name jacques payva andradius, envoy to the council of trent, wrote concerning this, in opposition to chemnitz, during this same council. and now, without citing many other authors of eminence, i will content myself with naming father friedrich spee, the jesuit, one of the most excellent in his society, who also held this common opinion upon the efficacy of the love of god, as is apparent in the preface to the admirable book which he wrote in germany on the christian virtues. he speaks of this observation as of a highly important secret of piety, and expatiates with great clearness upon the power of divine love to blot out sin, even without the intervention of the sacraments of the catholic church, provided one scorn them not, for that would not at all be compatible with this love. and a very great personage, whose character was one of the most lofty to be found in the roman church, was the first to make me acquainted with it. father spee was of a noble family of westphalia (it may be said in passing) and he died in the odour of sanctity, according to the testimony of him who published this book in cologne with the [ ] approval of the superiors. . the memory of this excellent man ought to be still precious to persons of knowledge and good sense, because he is the author of the book entitled: _cautio criminalis circa processus contra sagas_, which has caused much stir, and has been translated into several languages. i learnt from the grand elector of mainz, johann philipp von schonborn, uncle of his highness the present elector, who walks gloriously in the footsteps of that worthy predecessor, the story that follows. that father was in franconia when there was a frenzy there for burning alleged sorcerers. he accompanied even to the pyre many of them, all of whom he recognized as being innocent, from their confessions and the researches that he had made thereon. therefore in spite of the danger incurred at that time by one telling the truth in this matter, he resolved to compile this work, without however naming himself. it bore great fruit and on this matter converted that elector, at that time still a simple canon and afterwards bishop of würzburg, finally also archbishop of mainz, who, as soon as he came to power, put an end to these burnings. therein he was followed by the dukes of brunswick, and finally by the majority of the other princes and states of germany. . this digression appeared to me to be seasonable, because that writer deserves to be more widely known. returning now to the subject i make a further observation. supposing that to-day a knowledge of jesus christ according to the flesh is absolutely necessary to salvation, as indeed it is safest to teach, it will be possible to say that god will give that knowledge to all those who do, humanly speaking, that which in them lies, even though god must needs give it by a miracle. moreover, we cannot know what passes in souls at the point of death; and if sundry learned and serious theologians claim that children receive in baptism a kind of faith, although they do not remember it afterwards when they are questioned about it, why should one maintain that nothing of a like nature, or even more definite, could come about in the dying, whom we cannot interrogate after their death? thus there are countless paths open to god, giving him means of satisfying his justice and his goodness: and the only thing one may allege against this is that we know not what way he employs; which is far from being a valid objection. [ ] . let us pass on to those who lack not power to amend, but good will. they are doubtless not to be excused; but there always remains a great difficulty concerning god, since it rested with him to give them this same good will. he is the master of wills, the hearts of kings and those of all other men are in his hand. holy scripture goes so far as to say that god at times hardened the wicked in order to display his power by punishing them. this hardening is not to be taken as meaning that god inspires men with a kind of anti-grace, that is, a kind of repugnance to good, or even an inclination towards evil, just as the grace that he gives is an inclination towards good. it is rather that god, having considered the sequence of things that he established, found it fitting, for superior reasons, to permit that pharaoh, for example, should be in such _circumstances_ as should increase his wickedness, and divine wisdom willed to derive a good from this evil. . thus it all often comes down to _circumstances_, which form a part of the combination of things. there are countless examples of small circumstances serving to convert or to pervert. nothing is more widely known than the _tolle, lege_ (take and read) cry which st. augustine heard in a neighbouring house, when he was pondering on what side he should take among the christians divided into sects, and saying to himself, _quod vitae sectabor iter?_ this brought him to open at random the book of the holy scriptures which he had before him, and to read what came before his eyes: and these were words which finally induced him to give up manichaeism. the good steno, a dane, who was titular bishop of titianopolis, vicar apostolic (as they say) of hanover and the region around, when there was a duke regent of his religion, told us that something of that kind had happened to him. he was a great anatomist and deeply versed in natural science; but he unfortunately gave up research therein, and from being a great physicist he became a mediocre theologian. he would almost listen to nothing more about the marvels of nature, and an express order from the pope _in virtute sanctae obedientiae_ was needed to extract from him the observations m. thévenot asked of him. he told us then that what had greatly helped towards inducing him to place himself on the side of the roman church had been the voice of a lady in florence, who had cried out to him from a window: 'go not on[ ] the side where you are about to go, sir, go on the other side.' 'that voice struck me,' he told us, 'because i was just meditating upon religion.' this lady knew that he was seeking a man in the house where she was, and, when she saw him making his way to the other house, wished to point out where his friend's room was. . father john davidius, the jesuit, wrote a book entitled _veridicus christianus_, which is like a kind of _bibliomancy_, where one takes passages at random, after the pattern of the _tolle, lege_ of st. augustine, and it is like a devotional game. but the chances to which, in spite of ourselves, we are subject, play only too large a part in what brings salvation to men, or removes it from them. let us imagine twin polish children, the one taken by the tartars, sold to the turks, brought to apostasy, plunged in impiety, dying in despair; the other saved by some chance, falling then into good hands to be educated properly, permeated by the soundest truths of religion, exercised in the virtues that it commends to us, dying with all the feelings of a good christian. one will lament the misfortune of the former, prevented perhaps by a slight circumstance from being saved like his brother, and one will marvel that this slight chance should have decided his fate for eternity. . someone will perchance say that god foresaw by mediate knowledge that the former would have been wicked and damned even if he had remained in poland. there are perhaps conjunctures wherein something of the kind takes place. but will it therefore be said that this is a general rule, and that not one of those who were damned amongst the pagans would have been saved if he had been amongst christians? would that not be to contradict our lord, who said that tyre and sidon would have profited better by his preaching, if they had had the good fortune to hear it, than capernaum? . but were one to admit even here this use of mediate knowledge against all appearances, this knowledge still implies that god considers what a man would do in such and such circumstances; and it always remains true that god could have placed him in other circumstances more favourable, and given him inward or outward succour capable of vanquishing the most abysmal wickedness existing in any soul. i shall be told that god is not bound to do so, but that is not enough; it must be added that greater reasons prevent him from making all his goodness felt by all. thus there must [ ] needs be choice; but i do not think one must seek the reason altogether in the good or bad nature of men. for if with some people one assume that god, choosing the plan which produces the most good, but which involves sin and damnation, has been prompted by his wisdom to choose the best natures in order to make them objects of his grace, this grace would not sufficiently appear to be a free gift. accordingly man will be distinguishable by a kind of inborn merit, and this assumption seems remote from the principles of st. paul, and even from those of supreme reason. . it is true that there are reasons for god's choice, and the consideration of the object, that is, the nature of man, must needs enter therein; but it does not seem that this choice can be subjected to a rule such as we are capable of conceiving, and such as may flatter the pride of men. some famous theologians believe that god offers more grace, and in a more favourable way, to those whose resistance he foresees will be less, and that he abandons the rest to their self-will. we may readily suppose that this is often the case, and this expedient, among those which make man distinguishable by anything favourable in his nature, is the farthest removed from pelagianism. but i would not venture, notwithstanding, to make of it a universal rule. moreover, that we may not have cause to vaunt ourselves, it is necessary that we be ignorant of the reasons for god's choice. those reasons are too diverse to become known to us; and it may be that god at times shows the power of his grace by overcoming the most obstinate resistance, to the end that none may have cause either to despair or to be puffed up. st. paul, as it would seem, had this in mind when he offered himself as an example. god, he said, has had mercy upon me, to give a great example of his patience. . it may be that fundamentally all men are equally bad, and consequently incapable of being distinguished the one from the other through their good or less bad natural qualities; but they are not bad all in the same way: for there is an inherent individual difference between souls, as the pre-established harmony proves. some are more or less inclined towards a particular good or a particular evil, or towards their opposites, all in accordance with their natural dispositions. but since the general plan of the universe, chosen by god for superior reasons, causes men to be in different circumstances, those who meet with such as are more [ ] favourable to their nature will become more readily the least wicked, the most virtuous, the most happy; yet it will be always by aid of the influence of that inward grace which god unites with the circumstances. sometimes it even comes to pass, in the progress of human life, that a more excellent nature succeeds less, for lack of cultivation or opportunities. one may say that men are chosen and ranged not so much according to their excellence as according to their conformity with god's plan. even so it may occur that a stone of lesser quality is made use of in a building or in a group because it proves to be the particular one for filling a certain gap. . but, in fine, all these attempts to find reasons, where there is no need to adhere altogether to certain hypotheses, serve only to make clear to us that there are a thousand ways of justifying the conduct of god. all the disadvantages we see, all the obstacles we meet with, all the difficulties one may raise for oneself, are no hindrance to a belief founded on reason, even when it cannot stand on conclusive proof, as has been shown and will later become more apparent, that there is nothing so exalted as the wisdom of god, nothing so just as his judgements, nothing so pure as his holiness, and nothing more vast than his goodness. [ ] * * * * * essays on the justice of god and the freedom of man in the origin of evil * * * * * part two . hitherto i have devoted myself to giving a full and clear exposition of this whole subject: and although i have not yet spoken of m. bayle's objections in particular, i have endeavoured to anticipate them, and to suggest ways of answering them. but as i have taken upon myself the task of meeting them in detail, not only because there will perhaps still be passages calling for elucidation, but also because his arguments are usually full of wit and erudition, and serve to throw greater light on this controversy, it will be well to give an account of the chief objections that are dispersed through his works, and to add my answers. at the beginning i observed 'that god co-operates in moral evil, and in physical evil, and in each of them both morally and physically; and that man co-operates therein also morally and physically in a free and active way, becoming in consequence subject to blame and punishment'. i have shown also that each point has its own difficulty; but the greatest of these lies in maintaining that god co-operates morally in moral evil, that is, in sin, without being the originator of the sin, and even without being accessary thereto. . he does this by _permitting_ it justly, and by _directing_ it wisely towards the good, as i have shown in a manner that appears tolerably intelligible. but as it is here principally that m. bayle undertakes [ ] to discomfit those who maintain that there is nothing in faith which cannot be harmonized with reason, it is also here especially i must show that my dogmas are fortified (to make use of his own allegory) with a rampart, even of reasons, which is able to resist the fire of his strongest batteries. he has ranged them against me in chapter of his _reply to the questions of a provincial_ (vol. iii, p. ), where he includes the theological doctrine in seven propositions and opposes thereto nineteen philosophic maxims, like so many large cannon capable of breaching my rampart. let us begin with the theological propositions. . i. 'god,' he says, 'the being eternal and necessary, infinitely good, holy, wise and powerful, possesses from all eternity a glory and a bliss that can never either increase or diminish.' this proposition of m. bayle's is no less philosophical than theological. to say that god possesses a 'glory' when he is alone, that depends upon the meaning of the term. one may say, with some, that glory is the satisfaction one finds in being aware of one's own perfections; and in this sense god possesses it always. but when glory signifies that others become aware of these perfections, one may say that god acquires it only when he reveals himself to intelligent creatures; even though it be true that god thereby gains no new good, and it is rather the rational creatures who thence derive advantage, when they apprehend aright the glory of god. . ii. 'he resolved freely upon the production of creatures, and he chose from among an infinite number of possible beings those whom it pleased him to choose, to give them existence, and to compose the universe of them, while he left all the rest in nothingness.' this proposition is also, just like the preceding one, in close conformity with that part of philosophy which is called natural theology. one must dwell a little on what is said here, that he chose the possible beings 'whom it pleased him to choose'. for it must be borne in mind that when i say, 'that pleases me', it is as though i were saying, 'i find it good'. thus it is the ideal goodness of the object which pleases, and which makes me choose it among many others which do not please or which please less, that is to say, which contain less of that goodness which moves me. now it is only the genuinely good that is capable of pleasing god: and consequently that which pleases god most, and which meets his choice, is the best. [ ] . iii. 'human nature having been among the beings that he willed to produce, he created a man and a woman, and granted them amongst other favours free will, so that they had the power to obey him; but he threatened them with death if they should disobey the order that he gave them to abstain from a certain fruit.' this proposition is in part revealed, and should be admitted without difficulty, provided that _free will_ be understood properly, according to the explanation i have given. . iv. 'they ate thereof nevertheless, and thenceforth they were condemned, they and all their posterity, to the miseries of this life, to temporal death and eternal damnation, and made subject to such a tendency to sin that they abandoned themselves thereto endlessly and without ceasing.' there is reason to suppose that the forbidden action by itself entailed these evil results in accordance with a natural effect, and that it was for that very reason, and not by a purely arbitrary decree, that god had forbidden it: much as one forbids knives to children. the famous fludde or de fluctibus, an englishman, once wrote a book _de vita, morte et resurrectione_ under the name of r. otreb, wherein he maintained that the fruit of the forbidden tree was a poison: but we cannot enter into this detail. it suffices that god forbade a harmful thing; one must not therefore suppose that god acted here simply in the character of a legislator who enacts a purely positive law, or of a judge who imposes and inflicts a punishment by an order of his will, without any connexion between the evil of guilt and the evil of punishment. and it is not necessary to suppose that god in justifiable annoyance deliberately put a corruption in the soul and the body of man, by an extraordinary action, in order to punish him: much as the athenians gave hemlock-juice to their criminals. m. bayle takes the matter thus: he speaks as if the original corruption had been put in the soul of the first man by an order and operation of god. it is that which calls forth his objection (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ) 'that reason would not commend the monarch who, in order to chastise a rebel, condemned him and his descendants to have a tendency towards rebellion'. but this chastisement happens naturally to the wicked, without any ordinance of a legislator, and they become addicted to evil. if drunkards begot children inclined to the same vice, by a natural consequence of what takes place in bodies, that would be a punishment of their progenitors, but it would [ ] not be a penalty of law. there is something comparable to this in the consequences of the first man's sin. for the contemplation of divine wisdom leads us to believe that the realm of nature serves that of grace; and that god as an architect has done all in a manner befitting god considered as a monarch. we do not sufficiently know the nature of the forbidden fruit, or that of the action, or its effects, to judge of the details of this matter: nevertheless we must do god justice so far as to believe that it comprised something other than what painters depict for us. . v. 'it has pleased him by his infinite mercy to deliver a very few men from this condemnation; and, leaving them exposed during this life to the corruption of sin and misery, he has given them aids which enable them to obtain the never-ending bliss of paradise.' many in the past have doubted, as i have already observed, whether the number of the damned is so great as is generally supposed; and it appears that they believed in the existence of some intermediate state between eternal damnation and perfect bliss. but we have no need of these opinions, and it is enough to keep to the ideas accepted in the church. in this connexion it is well to observe that this proposition of m. bayle's is conceived in accordance with the principles of sufficient grace, given to all men, and sufficing them provided that they have good will. although m. bayle holds the opposite opinion, he wished (as he states in the margin) to avoid the terms that would not agree with a system of decrees subsequent to the prevision of contingent events. . vi. 'he foresaw from eternity all that which should happen, he ordered all things and placed them each one in its own place, and he guides and controls them continually, according to his pleasure. thus nothing is done without his permission or against his will, and he can prevent, as seems good to him, as much and as often as seems good to him, all that does not please him, and in consequence sin, which is the thing in the world that most offends him and that he most detests; and he can produce in each human soul all the thoughts that he approves.' this thesis is also purely philosophic, that is, recognizable by the light of natural reason. it is opportune also, as one has dwelt in thesis ii on _that which pleases_, to dwell here upon _that which seems good_, that is, upon that which god finds good to do. he can avoid or put away as 'seems good to him' all 'that does not please him'. nevertheless it must be borne in mind that some objects of his aversion, such as certain evils, and especially sin, which his [ ] antecedent will repelled, could only have been rejected by his consequent or decretory will, in so far as it was prompted by the rule of the best, which the all-wise must choose after having taken all into account. when one says 'that sin offends god most, and that he detests it most', these are human ways of speaking. god cannot, properly speaking, be _offended_, that is, injured, disturbed, disquieted or angered; and he _detests_ nothing of that which exists, in the sense that to detest something is to look upon it with abomination and in a way that causes us disgust, that greatly pains and distresses us; for god cannot suffer either vexation, or grief or discomfort; he is always altogether content and at ease. yet these expressions in their true sense are justified. the supreme goodness of god causes his antecedent will to repel all evil, but moral evil more than any other: it only admits evil at all for irresistible superior reasons, and with great correctives which repair its ill effects to good advantage. it is true also that god could produce in each human soul all the thoughts that he approves: but this would be to act by miracles, more than his most perfectly conceived plan admits. . vii. 'he offers grace to people that he knows are destined not to accept it, and so destined by this refusal to make themselves more criminal than they would be if he had not offered them that grace; he assures them that it is his ardent wish that they accept it, and he does not give them the grace which he knows they would accept.' it is true that these people become more criminal through their refusal than if one had offered them nothing, and that god knows this. yet it is better to permit their crime than to act in a way which would render god himself blameworthy, and provide the criminals with some justification for the complaint that it was not possible for them to do better, even though they had or might have wished it. god desires that they receive such grace from him as they are fit to receive, and that they accept it; and he desires to give them in particular that grace whose acceptance by them he foresees: but it is always by a will antecedent, detached or particular, which cannot always be carried out in the general plan of things. this thesis also is among the number of those which philosophy establishes no less than revelation, like three others of the seven that we have just stated here, the third, fourth and fifth being the only ones where revelation is necessary. [ ] . here now are the nineteen philosophic maxims which m. bayle opposes to the seven theological propositions. i. 'as the infinitely perfect being finds in himself a glory and a bliss that can never either diminish or increase, his goodness alone has determined him to create this universe: neither the ambition to be praised, nor any interested motive of preserving or augmenting his bliss and his glory, has had any part therein.' this maxim is very good: praises of god do him no service, but they are of service to the men who praise him, and he desired their good. nevertheless, when one says that _goodness_ alone determined god to create this universe, it is well to add that his goodness prompted him _antecedently_ to create and to produce all possible good; but that his wisdom made the choice and caused him to select the best _consequently_; and finally that his power gave him the means to carry out _actually_ the great design which he had formed. . ii. 'the goodness of the infinitely perfect being is infinite, and would not be infinite if one could conceive of a goodness greater than this. this characteristic of infinity is proper also to all his other perfections, to love of virtue, hatred of vice, etc., they must be the greatest one can imagine. (see m. jurieu in the first three sections of the _judgement on methods_, where he argues constantly upon this principle, as upon a primary notion. see also in wittich, _de providentia dei_, n. , these words of st. augustine, lib. i, _de doctrina christiana_, c. : "cum cogitatur deus, ita cogitatur, ut aliquid, quo nihil melius sit atque sublimius. et paulo post: nec quisquam inveniri potest, qui hoc deum credat esse, quo melius aliquid est.")' this maxim is altogether to my liking, and i draw from it this conclusion, that god does the very best possible: otherwise the exercise of his goodness would be restricted, and that would be restricting his _goodness_ itself, if it did not prompt him to the best, if he were lacking in good will. or again it would be restricting his _wisdom_ and his _power_, if he lacked the knowledge necessary for discerning the best and for finding the means to obtain it, or if he lacked the strength necessary for employing these means. there is, however, ambiguity in the assertion that love of virtue and hatred of vice are infinite in god: if that were absolutely and unreservedly true, in practice there would be no vice in the world. but although each one of god's perfections is infinite in itself, it is exercised only in proportion to the object and as the nature of things prompts it. thus love of the best in the whole carries the day over [ ] all other individual inclinations or hatreds; it is the only impulse whose very exercise is absolutely infinite, nothing having power to prevent god from declaring himself for the best; and some vice being combined with the best possible plan, god permits it. . iii. 'an infinite goodness having guided the creator in the production of the world, all the characteristics of knowledge, skill, power and greatness that are displayed in his work are destined for the happiness of intelligent creatures. he wished to show forth his perfections only to the end that creatures of this kind should find their felicity in the knowledge, the admiration and the love of the supreme being.' this maxim appears to me not sufficiently exact. i grant that the happiness of intelligent creatures is the principal part of god's design, for they are most like him; but nevertheless i do not see how one can prove that to be his sole aim. it is true that the realm of nature must serve the realm of grace: but, since all is connected in god's great design, we must believe that the realm of grace is also in some way adapted to that of nature, so that nature preserves the utmost order and beauty, to render the combination of the two the most perfect that can be. and there is no reason to suppose that god, for the sake of some lessening of moral evil, would reverse the whole order of nature. each perfection or imperfection in the creature has its value, but there is none that has an infinite value. thus the moral or physical good and evil of rational creatures does not infinitely exceed the good and evil which is simply metaphysical, namely that which lies in the perfection of the other creatures; and yet one would be bound to say this if the present maxim were strictly true. when god justified to the prophet jonah the pardon that he had granted to the inhabitants of nineveh, he even touched upon the interest of the beasts who would have been involved in the ruin of this great city. no substance is absolutely contemptible or absolutely precious before god. and the abuse or the exaggerated extension of the present maxim appears to be in part the source of the difficulties that m. bayle puts forward. it is certain that god sets greater store by a man than a lion; nevertheless it can hardly be said with certainty that god prefers a single man in all respects to the whole of lion-kind. even should that be so, it would by no means follow that the interest of a certain number of men would prevail over the [ ] consideration of a general disorder diffused through an infinite number of creatures. this opinion would be a remnant of the old and somewhat discredited maxim, that all is made solely for man. . iv. 'the benefits he imparts to the creatures that are capable of felicity tend only to their happiness. he therefore does not permit that these should serve to make them unhappy, and, if the wrong use that they made of them were capable of destroying them, he would give them sure means of always using them well. otherwise they would not be true benefits, and his goodness would be smaller than that we can conceive of in another benefactor. (i mean, in a cause that united with its gifts the sure skill to make good use of them.)' there already is the abuse or the ill effect of the preceding maxim. it is not strictly true (though it appear plausible) that the benefits god imparts to the creatures who are capable of felicity tend solely to their happiness. all is connected in nature; and if a skilled artisan, an engineer, an architect, a wise politician often makes one and the same thing serve several ends, if he makes a double hit with a single throw, when that can be done conveniently, one may say that god, whose wisdom and power are perfect, does so always. that is husbanding the ground, the time, the place, the material, which make up as it were his outlay. thus god has more than one purpose in his projects. the felicity of all rational creatures is one of the aims he has in view; but it is not his whole aim, nor even his final aim. therefore it happens that the unhappiness of some of these creatures may come about _by concomitance_, and as a result of other greater goods: this i have already explained, and m. bayle has to some extent acknowledged it. the goods as such, considered in themselves, are the object of the antecedent will of god. god will produce as much reason and knowledge in the universe as his plan can admit. one can conceive of a mean between an antecedent will altogether pure and primitive, and a consequent and final will. the _primitive antecedent will_ has as its object each good and each evil in itself, detached from all combination, and tends to advance the good and prevent the evil. the _mediate will_ relates to combinations, as when one attaches a good to an evil: then the will will have some tendency towards this combination when the good exceeds the evil therein. but the _final and decisive will_ results from consideration of all the goods and all the evils that enter into our deliberation, it results from a total combination. this shows[ ] that a mediate will, although it may in a sense pass as consequent in relation to a pure and primitive antecedent will, must be considered antecedent in relation to the final and decretory will. god gives reason to the human race; misfortunes arise thence by concomitance. his pure antecedent will tends towards giving reason, as a great good, and preventing the evils in question. but when it is a question of the evils that accompany this gift which god has made to us of reason, the compound, made up of the combination of reason and of these evils, will be the object of a mediate will of god, which will tend towards producing or preventing this compound, according as the good or the evil prevails therein. but even though it should prove that reason did more harm than good to men (which, however, i do not admit), whereupon the mediate will of god would discard it with all its concomitants, it might still be the case that it was more in accordance with the perfection of the universe to give reason to men, notwithstanding all the evil consequences which it might have with reference to them. consequently, the final will or the decree of god, resulting from all the considerations he can have, would be to give it to them. and, far from being subject to blame for this, he would be blameworthy if he did not so. thus the evil, or the mixture of goods and evils wherein the evil prevails, happens only _by concomitance_, because it is connected with greater goods that are outside this mixture. this mixture, therefore, or this compound, is not to be conceived as a grace or as a gift from god to us; but the good that is found mingled therein will nevertheless be good. such is god's gift of reason to those who make ill use thereof. it is always a good in itself; but the combination of this good with the evils that proceed from its abuse is not a good with regard to those who in consequence thereof become unhappy. yet it comes to be by concomitance, because it serves a greater good in relation to the universe. and it is doubtless that which prompted god to give reason to those who have made it an instrument of their unhappiness. or, to put it more precisely, in accordance with my system god, having found among the possible beings some rational creatures who misuse their reason, gave existence to those who are included in the best possible plan of the universe. thus nothing prevents us from admitting that god grants goods which turn into evil by the fault of men, this often happening to men in just punishment of the misuse they had made of god's grace. aloysius [ ] novarinus wrote a book _de occultis dei beneficiis_: one could write one _de occultis dei poenis_. this saying of claudian would be in place here with regard to some persons: _tolluntur in altum,_ _ut lapsu graviore ruant_. but to say that god should not give a good which he knows an evil will will abuse, when the general plan of things demands that he give it; or again to say that he should give certain means for preventing it, contrary to this same general order: that is to wish (as i have observed already) that god himself become blameworthy in order to prevent man from being so. to object, as people do here, that the goodness of god would be smaller than that of another benefactor who would give a more useful gift, is to overlook the fact that the goodness of a benefactor is not measured by a single benefit. it may well be that a gift from a private person is greater than one from a prince, but the gifts of this private person all taken together will be much inferior to the prince's gifts all together. thus one can esteem fittingly the good things done by god only when one considers their whole extent by relating them to the entire universe. moreover, one may say that the gifts given in the expectation that they will harm are the gifts of an enemy, [greek: hechthrôn dôra adôra], _hostibus eveniant talia dona meis._ but that applies to when there is malice or guilt in him who gives them, as there was in that eutrapelus of whom horace speaks, who did good to people in order to give them the means of destroying themselves. his design was evil, but god's design cannot be better than it is. must god spoil his system, must there be less beauty, perfection and reason in the universe, because there are people who misuse reason? the common sayings are in place here: _abusus non tollit usum_; there is _scandalum datum et scandalum acceptum_. . v. 'a maleficent being is very capable of heaping magnificent gifts upon his enemies, when he knows that they will make thereof a use that will destroy them. it therefore does not beseem the infinitely good being to give to creatures a free will, whereof, as he knows for certain, they would make a use that would render them unhappy. therefore if he gives them free will he combines with it the art of using it always opportunely, and permits not that they neglect the practice of this art in any [ ] conjuncture; and if there were no sure means of determining the good use of this free will, he would rather take from them this faculty, than allow it to be the cause of their unhappiness. that is the more manifest, as free will is a grace which he has given them of his own choice and without their asking for it; so that he would be more answerable for the unhappiness it would bring upon them than if he had only granted it in response to their importunate prayers.' what was said at the end of the remark on the preceding maxim ought to be repeated here, and is sufficient to counter the present maxim. moreover, the author is still presupposing that false maxim advanced as the third, stating that the happiness of rational creatures is the sole aim of god. if that were so, perhaps neither sin nor unhappiness would ever occur, even by concomitance. god would have chosen a sequence of possibles where all these evils would be excluded. but god would fail in what is due to the universe, that is, in what he owes to himself. if there were only spirits they would be without the required connexion, without the order of time and place. this order demands matter, movement and its laws; to adjust these to spirits in the best possible way means to return to our world. when one looks at things only in the mass, one imagines to be practicable a thousand things that cannot properly take place. to wish that god should not give free will to rational creatures is to wish that there be none of these creatures; and to wish that god should prevent them from misusing it is to wish that there be none but these creatures alone, together with what was made for them only. if god had none but these creatures in view, he would doubtless prevent them from destroying themselves. one may say in a sense, however, that god has given to these creatures the art of always making good use of their free will, for the natural light of reason is this art. but it would be necessary always to have the will to do good, and often creatures lack the means of giving themselves the will they ought to have; often they even lack the will to use those means which indirectly give a good will. of this i have already spoken more than once. this fault must be admitted, and one must even acknowledge that god would perhaps have been able to exempt creatures from that fault, since there is nothing to prevent, so it seems, the existence of some whose nature it would be always to have good will. but i reply that it is not necessary, and that it was not feasible for all rational creatures to have so great a perfection,[ ] and such as would bring them so close to the divinity. it may even be that that can only be made possible by a special divine grace. but in this case, would it be proper for god to grant it to all, that is, always to act miraculously in respect of all rational creatures? nothing would be less rational than these perpetual miracles. there are degrees among creatures: the general order requires it. and it appears quite consistent with the order of divine government that the great privilege of strengthening in the good should be granted more easily to those who had a good will when they were in a more imperfect state, in the state of struggle and of pilgrimage, _in ecclesia militante, in statu viatorum_. the good angels themselves were not created incapable of sin. nevertheless i would not dare to assert that there are no blessed creatures born, or such as are sinless and holy by their nature. there are perhaps people who give this privilege to the blessed virgin, since, moreover, the roman church to-day places her above the angels. but it suffices us that the universe is very great and very varied: to wish to limit it is to have little knowledge thereof. 'but', m. bayle goes on, 'god has given free will to creatures capable of sinning, without their having asked him for this grace. and he who gave such a gift would be more answerable for the unhappiness that it brought upon those who made use of it, than if he had granted it only in response to their importunate prayers.' but importunity in prayers makes no difference to god; he knows better than we what we need, and he only grants what serves the interest of the whole. it seems that m. bayle here makes free will consist in the faculty for sinning; yet he acknowledges elsewhere that god and the saints are free, without having this faculty. however that may be, i have already shown fully that god, doing what his wisdom and his goodness combined ordain, is not answerable for the evil that he permits. even men, when they do their duty, are not answerable for consequences, whether they foresee them or not. . vi. 'it is as sure a means of taking a man's life to give him a silk cord that one knows certainly he will make use of freely to strangle himself, as to plant a few dagger thrusts in his body. one desires his death not less when one makes use of the first way, than when one employs the second: it even seems as though one desires it with a more malicious intention, since one tends to leave to him the whole trouble and the whole blame of his destruction.' [ ] those who write treatises on duties (de officiis) as, for instance, cicero, st. ambrose, grotius, opalenius, sharrok, rachelius, pufendorf, as well as the casuists, teach that there are cases where one is not obliged to return to its owner a thing deposited: for example, one will not give back a dagger when one knows that he who has deposited it is about to stab someone. let us pretend that i have in my hands the fatal draught that meleager's mother will make use of to kill him; the magic javelin that cephalus will unwittingly employ to kill his procris; the horses of theseus that will tear to pieces hippolytus, his son: these things are demanded back from me, and i am right in refusing them, knowing the use that will be made of them. but how will it be if a competent judge orders me to restore them, when i cannot prove to him what i know of the evil consequences that restitution will have, apollo perchance having given to me, as to cassandra, the gift of prophecy under the condition that i shall not be believed? i should then be compelled to make restitution, having no alternative other than my own destruction: thus i cannot escape from contributing towards the evil. another comparison: jupiter promises semele, the sun phaeton, cupid psyche to grant whatever favour the other shall ask. they swear by the styx, _di cujus jurare timent et fallere numen_. one would gladly stop, but too late, the request half heard, _voluit deus ora loquentis_ _opprimere; exierat jam vox properata sub auras_. one would gladly draw back after the request was made, making vain remonstrances; but they press you, they say to you: 'do you make oaths that you will not keep?' the law of the styx is inviolable, one must needs submit to it; if one has erred in making the oath, one would err more in not keeping it; the promise must be fulfilled, however harmful it may be to him who exacts it. it would be ruinous to you if you did not fulfil it. it seems as though the moral of these fables implies that a supreme necessity may constrain one to comply with evil. god, in truth, knows no other judge that can compel him to give what may turn to evil, he is not like jupiter who fears the styx. but his own wisdom is the greatest judge that he can find, there is no appeal from its judgements: they are the decrees of destiny. the eternal verities, objects of his wisdom, are more [ ] inviolable than the styx. these laws and this judge do not constrain: they are stronger, for they persuade. wisdom only shows god the best possible exercise of his goodness: after that, the evil that occurs is an inevitable result of the best. i will add something stronger: to permit the evil, as god permits it, is the greatest goodness. _si mala sustulerat, non erat ille bonus._ one would need to have a bent towards perversity to say after this that it is more malicious to leave to someone the whole trouble and the whole blame of his destruction. when god does leave it to a man, it has belonged to him since before his existence; it was already in the idea of him as still merely possible, before the decree of god which makes him to exist. can one, then, leave it or give it to another? there is the whole matter. . vii. 'a true benefactor gives promptly, and does not wait to give until those he loves have suffered long miseries from the privation of what he could have imparted to them at first very easily, and without causing any inconvenience to himself. if the limitation of his forces does not permit him to do good without inflicting pain or some other inconvenience, he acquiesces in this, but only regretfully, and he never employs this way of rendering service when he can render it without mingling any kind of evil in his favours. if the profit one could derive from the evils he inflicted could spring as easily from an unalloyed good as from those evils, he would take the straight road of unalloyed good, and not the indirect road that would lead from the evil to the good. if he showers riches and honours, it is not to the end that those who have enjoyed them, when they come to lose them, should be all the more deeply afflicted in proportion to their previous experience of pleasure, and that thus they should become more unhappy than the persons who have always been deprived of these advantages. a malicious being would shower good things at such a price upon the people for whom he had the most hatred.' (compare this passage of aristotle, _rhetor._, . , c. , p. m. : [greek: hoion ei doiê an tis tini hina aphelomenos leipêsêi; hothen kai tout' eirêtai,] [greek: pollois ho daimôn ou kat' eunoian pherôn] [greek: megala didôsin eutychêmat', all' hina] [greek: tas symphoras labôsin epiphanesteras.] [ ] id est: veluti si quis alicui aliquid det, ut (postea) hoc (ipsi) erepto (ipsum) afficiat dolore. unde etiam illud est dictum: _bona magna multis non amicus dat deus,_ _insigniore ut rursus his privet malo._) all these objections depend almost on the same sophism; they change and mutilate the fact, they only half record things: god has care for men, he loves the human race, he wishes it well, nothing so true. yet he allows men to fall, he often allows them to perish, he gives them goods that tend towards their destruction; and when he makes someone happy, it is after many sufferings: where is his affection, where is his goodness or again where is his power? vain objections, which suppress the main point, which ignore the fact that it is of god one speaks. it is as though one were speaking of a mother, a guardian, a tutor, whose well-nigh only care is concerned with the upbringing, the preservation, the happiness of the person in question, and who neglect their duty. god takes care of the universe, he neglects nothing, he chooses what is best on the whole. if in spite of all that someone is wicked and unhappy, it behoved him to be so. god (so they say) could have given happiness to all, he could have given it promptly and easily, and without causing himself any inconvenience, for he can do all. but should he? since he does not so, it is a sign that he had to act altogether differently. if we infer from this either that god only regretfully, and owing to lack of power, fails to make men happy and to give the good first of all and without admixture of evil, or else that he lacks the good will to give it unreservedly and for good and all, then we are comparing our true god with the god of herodotus, full of envy, or with the demon of the poet whose iambics aristotle quotes, and i have just translated into latin, who gives good things in order that he may cause more affliction by taking them away. that would be trifling with god in perpetual anthropomorphisms, representing him as a man who must give himself up completely to one particular business, whose goodness must be chiefly exercised upon those objects alone which are known to us, and who lacks either aptitude or good will. god is not lacking therein, he could do the good that we would desire; he even wishes it, taking it separately, but he must not do it in preference to other greater goods which are opposed to it. moreover, one has no cause to complain of the fact that usually [ ] one attains salvation only through many sufferings, and by bearing the cross of jesus christ. these evils serve to make the elect imitators of their master, and to increase their happiness. . viii. 'the greatest and the most substantial glory that he who is the master of others can gain is to maintain amongst them virtue, order, peace, contentment of mind. the glory that he would derive from their unhappiness can be nothing but a false glory.' if we knew the city of god just as it is, we should see that it is the most perfect state which can be devised; that virtue and happiness reign there, as far as is possible, in accordance with the laws of the best; that sin and unhappiness (whose entire exclusion from the nature of things reasons of the supreme order did not permit), are well-nigh nothing there in comparison with the good, and even are of service for greater good. now since these evils were to exist, there must needs be some appointed to be subject to them, and we are those people. if it were others, would there not be the same appearance of evil? or rather, would not these others be those known as we? when god derives some glory from the evil through having made it serve a greater good, it was proper that he should derive that glory. it is not therefore a false glory, as would be that of a prince who overthrew his state in order to have the honour of setting it up again. . ix. 'the way whereby that master can give proof of greatest love for virtue is to cause it, if he can, to be always practised without any mixture of vice. if it is easy for him to procure for his subjects this advantage, and nevertheless he permits vice to raise its head, save that he punishes it finally after having long tolerated it, his affection for virtue is not the greatest one can conceive; it is therefore not infinite.' i am not yet half way through the nineteen maxims, and already i am weary of refuting, and making the same answer always. m. bayle multiplies unnecessarily his so-called maxims in opposition to my dogmas. if things connected together may be separated, the parts from their whole, the human kind from the universe, god's attributes the one from the other, power from wisdom, it may be said that god _can cause_ virtue to be in the world without any mixture of vice, and even that he can do so _easily_. but, since he has permitted vice, it must be that that order of the universe which was found preferable to every other plan required it. one must believe that it is not permitted to do otherwise, since it is not [ ] possible to do better. it is a hypothetical necessity, a moral necessity, which, far from being contrary to freedom, is the effect of its choice. _quae rationi contraria sunt, ea nec fieri a sapiente posse credendum est_. the objection is made here, that god's affection for virtue is therefore not the greatest which can be conceived, that it is not _infinite_. to that an answer has already been given on the second maxim, in the assertion that god's affection for any created thing whatsoever is proportionate to the value of the thing. virtue is the noblest quality of created things, but it is not the only good quality of creatures. there are innumerable others which attract the inclination of god: from all these inclinations there results the most possible good, and it turns out that if there were only virtue, if there were only rational creatures, there would be less good. midas proved to be less rich when he had only gold. and besides, wisdom must vary. to multiply one and the same thing only would be superfluity, and poverty too. to have a thousand well-bound vergils in one's library, always to sing the airs from the opera of cadmus and hermione, to break all the china in order only to have cups of gold, to have only diamond buttons, to eat nothing but partridges, to drink only hungarian or shiraz wine--would one call that reason? nature had need of animals, plants, inanimate bodies; there are in these creatures, devoid of reason, marvels which serve for exercise of the reason. what would an intelligent creature do if there were no unintelligent things? what would it think of, if there were neither movement, nor matter, nor sense? if it had only distinct thoughts it would be a god, its wisdom would be without bounds: that is one of the results of my meditations. as soon as there is a mixture of confused thoughts, there is sense, there is matter. for these confused thoughts come from the relation of all things one to the other by way of duration and extent. thus it is that in my philosophy there is no rational creature without some organic body, and there is no created spirit entirely detached from matter. but these organic bodies vary no less in perfection than the spirits to which they belong. therefore, since god's wisdom must have a world of bodies, a world of substances capable of perception and incapable of reason; since, in short, it was necessary to choose from all the things possible what produced the best effect together, and since vice entered in by this door, god would not have been altogether good, altogether wise if he had excluded it. [ ] . x. 'the way to evince the greatest hatred for vice is not indeed to allow it to prevail for a long time and then chastise it, but to crush it before its birth, that is, prevent it from showing itself anywhere. a king, for example, who put his finances in such good order that no malversation was ever committed, would thus display more hatred for the wrong done by factionaries than if, after having suffered them to batten on the blood of the people, he had them hanged.' it is always the same song, it is anthropomorphism pure and simple. a king should generally have nothing so much at heart as to keep his subjects free from oppression. one of his greatest interests is to bring good order into his finances. nevertheless there are times when he is obliged to tolerate vice and disorders. he has a great war on his hands, he is in a state of exhaustion, he has no choice of generals, it is necessary to humour those he has, those possessed of great authority with the soldiers: a braccio, a sforza, a wallenstein. he lacks money for the most pressing needs, it is necessary to turn to great financiers, who have an established credit, and he must at the same time connive at their malversations. it is true that this unfortunate necessity arises most often from previous errors. it is not the same with god: he has need of no man, he commits no error, he always does the best. one cannot even wish that things may go better, when one understands them: and it would be a vice in the author of things if he wished to change anything whatsoever in them, if he wished to exclude the vice that was found there. is this state with perfect government, where good is willed and performed as far as it is possible, where evil even serves the greatest good, comparable with the state of a prince whose affairs are in ruin and who escapes as best he can? or with that of a prince who encourages oppression in order to punish it, and who delights to see the little men with begging bowls and the great on scaffolds? . xi. 'a ruler devoted to the interests of virtue, and to the good of his subjects, takes the utmost care to ensure that they never disobey his laws; and if he must needs chastise them for their disobedience, he sees to it that the penalty cures them of the inclination to evil, and restores in their soul a strong and constant tendency towards good: so far is he from any desire that the penalty for the error should incline them more and more towards evil.' [ ] to make men better, god does all that is due, and even all that can be done on his side without detriment to what is due. the most usual aim of punishment is amendment; but it is not the sole aim, nor that which god always intends. i have said a word on that above. original sin, which disposes men towards evil, is not merely a penalty for the first sin; it is a natural consequence thereof. on that too a word has been said, in the course of an observation on the fourth theological proposition. it is like drunkenness, which is a penalty for excess in drinking and is at the same time a natural consequence that easily leads to new sins. . xii. 'to permit the evil that one could prevent is not to care whether it be committed or not, or is even to wish that it be committed.' by no means. how many times do men permit evils which they could prevent if they turned all their efforts in that direction? but other more important cares prevent them from doing so. one will rarely resolve upon adjusting irregularities in the coinage while one is involved in a great war. and the action of an english parliament in this direction a little before the peace of ryswyck will be rather praised than imitated. can one conclude from this that the state has no anxiety about this irregularity, or even that it desires it? god has a far stronger reason, and one far more worthy of him, for tolerating evils. not only does he derive from them greater goods, but he finds them connected with the greatest goods of all those that are possible: so that it would be a fault not to permit them. . xiii. 'it is a very great fault in those who govern, if they do not care whether there be disorder in their states or not. the fault is still greater if they wish and even desire disorder there. if by hidden and indirect, but infallible, ways they stirred up a sedition in their states to bring them to the brink of ruin, in order to gain for themselves the glory of showing that they have the courage and the prudence necessary for saving a great kingdom on the point of perishing, they would be most deserving of condemnation. but if they stirred up this sedition because there were no other means than that, of averting the total ruin of their subjects and of strengthening on new foundations, and for several centuries, the happiness of nations, one must needs lament the unfortunate necessity (see above, pp. , , what has been said of the force of[ ] necessity) to which they were reduced, and praise them for the use that they made thereof.' this maxim, with divers others set forth here, is not applicable to the government of god. not to mention the fact that it is only the disorders of a very small part of his kingdom which are brought up in objection, it is untrue that he has no anxiety about evils, that he desires them, that he brings them into being, to have the glory of allaying them. god wills order and good; but it happens sometimes that what is disorder in the part is order in the whole. i have already stated this legal axiom: _incivile est nisi tota lege inspecta judicare_. the permission of evils comes from a kind of moral necessity: god is constrained to this by his wisdom and by his goodness; _this necessity is happy_, whereas that of the prince spoken of in the maxim is _unhappy_. his state is one of the most corrupt; and the government of god is the best state possible. . xiv. 'the permission of a certain evil is only excusable when one cannot remedy it without introducing a greater evil; but it cannot be excusable in those who have in hand a remedy more efficacious against this evil, and against all the other evils that could spring from the suppression of this one.' the maxim is true, but it cannot be brought forward against the government of god. supreme reason constrains him to permit the evil. if god chose what would not be the best absolutely and in all, that would be a greater evil than all the individual evils which he could prevent by this means. this wrong choice would destroy his wisdom and his goodness. . xv. 'the being infinitely powerful, creator of matter and of spirits, makes whatever he wills of this matter and these spirits. there is no situation or shape that he cannot communicate to spirits. if he then permitted a physical or a moral evil, this would not be for the reason that otherwise some other still greater physical or moral evil would be altogether inevitable. none of those reasons for the mixture of good and evil which are founded on the limitation of the forces of benefactors can apply to him.' it is true that god makes of matter and of spirits whatever he wills; but he is like a good sculptor, who will make from his block of marble only that which he judges to be the best, and who judges well. god makes of matter the most excellent of all possible machines; he makes of spirits the most excellent of all governments conceivable; and over and above all that, he establishes for their union the most perfect of all harmonies, [ ] according to the system i have proposed. now since physical evil and moral evil occur in this perfect work, one must conclude (contrary to m. bayle's assurance here) that _otherwise a still greater evil would have been altogether inevitable_. this great evil would be that god would have chosen ill if he had chosen otherwise than he has chosen. it is true that god is infinitely powerful; but his power is indeterminate, goodness and wisdom combined determine him to produce the best. m. bayle makes elsewhere an objection which is peculiar to him, which he derives from the opinions of the modern cartesians. they say that god could have given to souls what thoughts he would, without making them depend upon any relation to the body: by this means souls would be spared a great number of evils which only spring from derangement of the body. more will be said of this later; now it is sufficient to bear in mind that god cannot establish a system ill-connected and full of dissonances. it is to some extent the nature of souls to represent bodies. . xvi. 'one is just as much the cause of an event when one brings it about in moral ways, as when one brings it about in physical ways. a minister of state, who, without going out of his study, and simply by utilizing the passions of the leaders of a faction, overthrew all their plots, would thus be bringing about the ruin of this faction, no less than if he destroyed it by a surprise attack.' i have nothing to say against this maxim. evil is always attributed to moral causes, and not always to physical causes. here i observe simply that if i could not prevent the sin of others except by committing a sin myself, i should be justified in permitting it, and i should not be accessary thereto, or its moral cause. in god, every fault would represent a sin; it would be even more than sin, for it would destroy divinity. and it would be a great fault in him not to choose the best. i have said so many times. he would then prevent sin by something worse than all sins. . xvii. 'it is all the same whether one employ a necessary cause, or employ a free cause while choosing the moments when one knows it to be determined. if i imagine that gunpowder has the power to ignite or not to ignite when fire touches it, and if i know for certain that it will be disposed to ignite at eight o'clock in the morning, i shall be just as much the cause of its effects if i apply the fire to it at that hour, as i should be in assuming, as is the case, that it is a necessary cause. [ ] for where i am concerned it would no longer be a free cause. i should be catching it at the moment when i knew it to be necessitated by its own choice. it is impossible for a being to be free or indifferent with regard to that to which it is already determined, and at the time when it is determined thereto. all that which exists exists of necessity while it exists. [greek: to einai to on hotan êi, kai to mê einai hotan mê êi, anankê.] "necesse est id quod est, quando est, esse; et id quod non est, quando non est, non esse": arist., _de interpret._, cap. . the nominalists have adopted this maxim of aristotle. scotus and sundry other schoolmen appear to reject it, but fundamentally their distinctions come to the same thing. see the jesuits of coimbra on this passage from aristotle, p. _et seq._)' this maxim may pass also; i would wish only to change something in the phraseology. i would not take 'free' and 'indifferent' for one and the same thing, and would not place 'free' and 'determined' in antithesis. one is never altogether indifferent with an indifference of equipoise; one is always more inclined and consequently more determined on one side than on another: but one is never necessitated to the choice that one makes. i mean here a _necessity_ absolute and metaphysical; for it must be admitted that god, that wisdom, is prompted to the best by a _moral_ necessity. it must be admitted also that one is necessitated to the choice by a hypothetical necessity, when one actually makes the choice; and even before one is necessitated thereto by the very truth of the futurition, since one will do it. these hypothetical necessities do no harm. i have spoken sufficiently on this point already. . xviii. 'when a whole great people has become guilty of rebellion, it is not showing clemency to pardon the hundred thousandth part, and to kill all the rest, not excepting even babes and sucklings.' it seems to be assumed here that there are a hundred thousand times more damned than saved, and that children dying unbaptized are included among the former. both these points are disputed, and especially the damnation of these children. i have spoken of this above. m. bayle urges the same objection elsewhere (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ): 'we see clearly', he says, 'that the sovereign who wishes to exercise both justice and clemency when a city has revolted must be content with the punishment of a small number of mutineers, and [ ] pardon all the rest. for if the number of those who are chastised is as a thousand to one, in comparison with those whom he freely pardons, he cannot be accounted mild, but, on the contrary, cruel. he would assuredly be accounted an abominable tyrant if he chose punishments of long duration, and if he eschewed bloodshed only because he was convinced that men would prefer death to a miserable life; and if, finally, the desire to take revenge were more responsible for his severities than the desire to turn to the service of the common weal the penalty that he would inflict on almost all the rebels. criminals who are executed are considered to expiate their crimes so completely by the loss of their life, that the public requires nothing more, and is indignant when executioners are clumsy. these would be stoned if they were known deliberately to give repeated strokes of the axe; and the judges who are present at the execution would not be immune from danger if they were thought to take pleasure in this evil sport of the executioners, and to have surreptitiously urged them to practise it.' (note that this is not to be understood as strictly universal. there are cases where the people approve of the slow killing of certain criminals, as when francis i thus put to death some persons accused of heresy after the notorious placards of . no pity was shown to ravaillac, who was tortured in divers horrible ways. see the _french mercury_, vol. i, fol. m., _et seq._ see also pierre matthieu in his _history of the death of henry iv_; and do not forget what he says on page m. concerning the discussion by the judges with regard to the torture of this parricide.) 'finally it is an exceptionally notorious fact that rulers who should be guided by st. paul, i mean who should condemn to the extreme penalty all those whom he condemns to eternal death, would be accounted enemies of the human kind and destroyers of their communities. it is incontestable that their laws, far from being fitted, in accordance with the aim of legislators, to uphold society, would be its complete ruin. (apply here these words of pliny the younger, _epist._, , lib. : mandemus memoriae quod vir mitissimus, et ob hoc quoque maximus, thrasea crebro dicere solebat, qui vitia odit, homines odit.)' he adds that it was said of the laws of draco, an athenian lawgiver, that they had not been written with ink, but with blood, because they punished all sins with the extreme penalty, and because damnation is a penalty even worse than death. but it must be borne in mind that damnation is a consequence of sin. thus i [ ] once answered a friend, who raised as an objection the disproportion existing between an eternal punishment and a limited crime, that there is no injustice when the continuation of the punishment is only a result of the continuation of the sin. i will speak further on this point later. as for the number of the damned, even though it should be incomparably greater among men than the number of the saved, that would not preclude the possibility that in the universe the happy creatures infinitely outnumber those who are unhappy. such examples as that of a prince who punishes only the leaders of rebels or of a general who has a regiment decimated, are of no importance here. self-interest compels the prince and the general to pardon the guilty, even though they should remain wicked. god only pardons those who become better: he can distinguish them; and this severity is more consistent with perfect justice. but if anyone asks why god gives not to all the grace of conversion, the question is of a different nature, having no relation to the present maxim. i have already answered it in a sense, not in order to find god's reasons, but to show that he cannot lack such, and that there are no opposing reasons of any validity. moreover, we know that sometimes whole cities are destroyed and the inhabitants put to the sword, to inspire terror in the rest. that may serve to shorten a great war or a rebellion, and would mean a saving of blood through the shedding of it: there is no decimation there. we cannot assert, indeed, that the wicked of our globe are punished so severely in order to intimidate the inhabitants of the other globes and to make them better. yet an abundance of reasons in the universal harmony which are unknown to us, because we know not sufficiently the extent of the city of god, nor the form of the general republic of spirits, nor even the whole architecture of bodies, may produce the same effect. . xix. 'those physicians who chose, among many remedies capable of curing a sick man, whereof divers were such as they well knew he would take with enjoyment, precisely that one which they knew he would refuse to take, would vainly urge and pray him not to refuse it; we should still have just cause for thinking that they had no desire to cure him: for if they wished to do so, they would choose for him among those good medicines one which they knew he would willingly swallow. if, moreover, they knew that rejection of the remedy they offered him would augment his sickness to[ ] the point of making it fatal, one could not help saying that, despite all their exhortations, they must certainly be desirous of the sick man's death.' god wishes to save all men: that means that he would save them if men themselves did not prevent it, and did not refuse to receive his grace; and he is not bound or prompted by reason always to overcome their evil will. he does so sometimes nevertheless, when superior reasons allow of it, and when his consequent and decretory will, which results from all his reasons, makes him resolve upon the election of a certain number of men. he gives aids to all for their conversion and for perseverance, and these aids suffice in those who have good will, but they do not always suffice to give good will. men obtain this good will either through particular aids or through circumstances which cause the success of the general aids. god cannot refrain from offering other remedies which he knows men will reject, bringing upon themselves all the greater guilt: but shall one wish that god be unjust in order that man may be less criminal? moreover, the grace that does not serve the one may serve the other, and indeed always serves the totality of god's plan, which is the best possible in conception. shall god not give the rain, because there are low-lying places which will be thereby incommoded? shall the sun not shine as much as it should for the world in general, because there are places which will be too much dried up in consequence? in short, all these comparisons, spoken of in these maxims that m. bayle has just given, of a physician, a benefactor, a minister of state, a prince, are exceedingly lame, because it is well known what their duties are and what can and ought to be the object of their cares: they have scarce more than the one affair, and they often fail therein through negligence or malice. god's object has in it something infinite, his cares embrace the universe: what we know thereof is almost nothing, and we desire to gauge his wisdom and his goodness by our knowledge. what temerity, or rather what absurdity! the objections are on false assumptions; it is senseless to pass judgement on the point of law when one does not know the matter of fact. to say with st. paul, _o altitudo divitiarum et sapientiae,_ is not renouncing reason, it is rather employing the reasons that we know, for they teach us that immensity of god whereof the apostle speaks. but therein we confess our ignorance of the facts, and we acknowledge, moreover, before we see it, that god does all the best [ ] possible, in accordance with the infinite wisdom which guides his actions. it is true that we have already before our eyes proofs and tests of this, when we see something entire, some whole complete in itself, and isolated, so to speak, among the works of god. such a whole, shaped as it were by the hand of god, is a plant, an animal, a man. we cannot wonder enough at the beauty and the contrivance of its structure. but when we see some broken bone, some piece of animal's flesh, some sprig of a plant, there appears to be nothing but confusion, unless an excellent anatomist observe it: and even he would recognize nothing therein if he had not before seen like pieces attached to their whole. it is the same with the government of god: that which we have been able to see hitherto is not a large enough piece for recognition of the beauty and the order of the whole. thus the very nature of things implies that this order in the divine city, which we see not yet here on earth, should be an object of our faith, of our hope, of our confidence in god. if there are any who think otherwise, so much the worse for them, they are malcontents in the state of the greatest and the best of all monarchs; and they are wrong not to take advantage of the examples he has given them of his wisdom and his infinite goodness, whereby he reveals himself as being not only wonderful, but also worthy of love beyond all things. . i hope it will be found that nothing of what is comprised in the nineteen maxims of m. bayle, which we have just considered, has been left without a necessary answer. it is likely that, having often before meditated on this subject, he will have put there all his strongest convictions touching the moral cause of moral evil. there are, however, still sundry passages here and there in his works which it will be well not to pass over in silence. very often he exaggerates the difficulty which he assumes with regard to freeing god from the imputation of sin. he observes _(reply to the questions of a provincial_, ch. , p. ) that molina, if he reconciled free will with foreknowledge, did not reconcile the goodness and the holiness of god with sin. he praises the sincerity of those who bluntly declare (as he claims piscator did) that everything is to be traced back to the will of god, and who maintain that god could not but be just, even though he were the author of sin, even though he condemned innocence. and on the other side, or in other passages, he seems to show more approval of the opinions of those who preserve god's goodness at [ ] the expense of his greatness, as plutarch does in his book against the stoics. 'it was more reasonable', he says, 'to say' (with the epicureans) 'that innumerable parts' (or atoms flying about at haphazard through an infinite space) 'by their force prevailed over the weakness of jupiter and, in spite of him and against his nature and will, did many bad and irrational things, than to agree that there is neither confusion nor wickedness but he is the author thereof.' what may be said for both these parties, stoics and epicureans, appears to have led m. bayle to the [greek: epechein] of the pyrrhonians, the suspension of his judgement in respect of reason, so long as faith is set apart; and to that he professes sincere submission. . pursuing his arguments, however, he has gone as far as attempting almost to revive and reinforce those of the disciples of manes, a persian heretic of the third century after christ, or of a certain paul, chief of the manichaeans in armenia in the seventh century, from whom they were named paulicians. all these heretics renewed what an ancient philosopher of upper asia, known under the name of zoroaster, had taught, so it is said, of two intelligent principles of all things, the one good, the other bad, a dogma that had perhaps come from the indians. among them numbers of people still cling to their error, one that is exceedingly prone to overtake human ignorance and superstition, since very many barbarous peoples, even in america, have been deluded by it, without having had need of philosophy. the slavs (according to helmold) had their zernebog or black god. the greeks and romans, wise as they seem to be, had a vejovis or anti-jupiter, otherwise called pluto, and numerous other maleficent divinities. the goddess nemesis took pleasure in abasing those who were too fortunate; and herodotus in some passages hints at his belief that all divinity is envious; which, however, is not in harmony with the doctrine of the two principles. . plutarch, in his treatise _on isis and osiris_, knows of no writer more ancient than zoroaster the magician, as he calls him, that is likely to have taught the two principles. trogus or justin makes him a king of the bactrians, who was conquered by ninus or semiramis; he attributes to him the knowledge of astronomy and the invention of magic. but this magic was apparently the religion of the fire-worshippers: and it appears that he looked upon light and heat as the good principle, while he added the [ ] evil, that is to say, opacity, darkness, cold. pliny cites the testimony of a certain hermippus, an interpreter of zoroaster's books, according to whom zoroaster was a disciple in the art of magic to one named azonacus; unless indeed this be a corruption of oromases, of whom i shall speak presently, and whom plato in the _alcibiades_ names as the father of zoroaster. modern orientals give the name zerdust to him whom the greeks named zoroaster; he is regarded as corresponding to mercury, because with some nations wednesday _(mercredi)_ takes its name from him. it is difficult to disentangle the story of zoroaster and know exactly when he lived. suidas puts him five hundred years before the taking of troy. some ancients cited by pliny and plutarch took it to be ten times as far back. but xanthus the lydian (in the preface to diogenes laertius) put him only six hundred years before the expedition of xerxes. plato declares in the same passage, as m. bayle observes, that the magic of zoroaster was nothing but the study of religion. mr. hyde in his book on the religion of the ancient persians tries to justify this magic, and to clear it not only of the crime of impiety but also of idolatry. fire-worship prevailed among the persians and the chaldaeans also; it is thought that abraham left it when he departed from ur of the chaldees. mithras was the sun and he was also the god of the persians; and according to ovid's account horses were offered in sacrifice to him, _placat equo persis radiis hyperiona cinctum,_ _ne detur celeri victima tarda deo._ but mr. hyde believes that they only made use of the sun and fire in their worship as symbols of the divinity. it may be necessary to distinguish, as elsewhere, between the wise and the multitude. there are in the splendid ruins of persepolis or of tschelminaar (which means forty columns) sculptured representations of their ceremonies. an ambassador of holland had had them sketched at very great cost by a painter, who had devoted a considerable time to the task: but by some chance or other these sketches fell into the hands of a well-known traveller, m. chardin, according to what he tells us himself. it would be a pity if they were lost. these ruins are one of the most ancient and most beautiful monuments of the earth; and in this respect i wonder at such lack of curiosity in a century so curious as ours. [ ] . the ancient greeks and the modern orientals agree in saying that zoroaster called the good god oromazes, or rather oromasdes, and the evil god arimanius. when i pondered on the fact that great princes of upper asia had the name of hormisdas and that irminius or herminius was the name of a god or ancient hero of the scythian celts, that is, of the germani, it occurred to me that this arimanius or irminius might have been a great conqueror of very ancient time coming from the west, just as genghis khan and tamburlaine were later, coming from the east. arimanius would therefore have come from the north-west, that is, from germania and sarmatia, through the territory of the alani and massagetae, to raid the dominions of one ormisdas, a great king in upper asia, just as other scythians did in the days of cyaxares, king of the medes, according to the account given by herodotus. the monarch governing civilized peoples, and working to defend them against the barbarians, would have gone down to posterity, amongst the same peoples, as the good god; but the chief of these devastators will have become the symbol of the evil principle: that is altogether reasonable. it appears from this same mythology that these two princes contended for long, but that neither of them was victorious. thus they both held their own, just as the two principles shared the empire of the world according to the hypothesis attributed to zoroaster. . it remains to be proved that an ancient god or hero of the germani was called herman, arimanius or irminius. tacitus relates that the three tribes which composed germania, the ingaevones, the istaevones and the herminones or hermiones, were thus named from the three sons of mannus. whether that be true or not, he wished in any case to indicate that there was a hero named herminius, from whom he was told the herminones were named. herminones, hermenner, hermunduri all mean the same, that is, soldiers. even in the dark ages arimanni were _viri militares,_ and there is _feudum arimandiae_ in lombard law. . i have shown elsewhere that apparently the name of one part of germania was given to the whole, and that from these herminones or hermunduri all the teutonic peoples were named _hermanni_ or _germani_. the difference between these two words is only in the force of the aspiration: there is the same difference of initial letter between the _germani_ of the latins and _hermanos_ of the spaniards, or in the _gammarus_ of the latins and the _hummer_ (that is, marine crayfish) of the low germans. [ ] besides it is very usual for one part of a nation to give the name to the whole: so all the germani were called alemanni by the french, and yet this, according to the old nomenclature, only applied to the suabians and the swiss. although tacitus did not actually know the origin of the name of the germani, he said something which supports my opinion, when he observed that it was a name which inspired terror, taken or given _ob metum_. in fact it signifies a warrior: _heer_, _hari_ is army, whence comes _hariban_, or 'call to haro', that is, a general order to be with the army, since corrupted into _arrièreban_. thus hariman or ariman, german _guerre-man_, is a soldier. for as _hari_, _heer_ means army, so _wehr_ signifies arms, _wehren_ to fight, to make war, the word _guerre_, _guerra_ coming doubtless from the same source. i have already spoken of the _feudum arimandiae_: not only did herminones or germani signify the same, but also that ancient herman, so-called son of mannus, appears to have been given this name as being pre-eminently a warrior. . now it is not the passage in tacitus only which indicates for us this god or hero: we cannot doubt the existence of one of this name among these peoples, since charlemagne found and destroyed near the weser the column called _irminsäule_, erected in honour of this god. and that combined with the passage in tacitus leaves us with the conclusion that it was not that famous arminius who was an enemy of the romans, but a much greater and more ancient hero, that this cult concerned. arminius bore the same name as those who are called hermann to-day. arminius was not great enough, nor fortunate enough, nor well enough known throughout germania to attain to the honour of a public cult, even at the hands of remote tribes, like the saxons, who came long after him into the country of the cherusci. and our arminius, taken by the asiatics for the evil god, provides ample confirmation of my opinion. for in these matters conjectures confirm one another without any logical circle, when their foundations tend towards one and the same end. . it is not beyond belief that the hermes (that is, mercury) of the greeks is the same herminius or arimanius. he may have been an inventor or promoter of the arts and of a slightly more civilized life among his own people and in the countries where he held supremacy, while amongst his enemies he was looked upon as the author of confusion. who knows but that he may have penetrated even into egypt, like the scythians who in [ ] pursuit of sesostris came nearly so far. theut, menes and hermes were known and revered in egypt. they might have been tuiscon, his son mannus and herman, son of mannus, according to the genealogy of tacitus. menes is held to be the most ancient king of the egyptians; 'theut' was with them a name for mercury. at least theut or tuiscon, from whom tacitus derives the descent of the germani, and from whom the teutons, _tuitsche_ (that is, germani) even to-day have their name, is the same as that _teutates_ who according to lucan was worshipped by the gauls, and whom caesar took _pro dite patre_, for pluto, because of the resemblance between his latin name and that of _teut_ or _thiet_, _titan_, _theodon_; this in ancient times signified men, people, and also an excellent man (like the word 'baron'), in short, a prince. there are authorities for all these significations: but one must not delay over this point. herr otto sperling, who is well known for various learned writings, but has many more in readiness to appear, in a special dissertation has treated the question of this teutates, god of the celts. some observations which i imparted to him on that subject have been published, with his reply, in the _literary news of the baltic sea_. he interprets this passage from lucan somewhat otherwise than i do: _teutates, pollensque feris altaribus hesus,_ _et tamaris scythicae non mitior ara dianae._ hesus was, it appears, the god of war, who was called ares by the greeks and erich by the ancient germani, whence still remains _erichtag_, tuesday. the letters r and s, which are produced by the same organ, are easily interchanged, for instance: _moor_ and _moos_, _geren_ and _gesen_, _er war_ and _er was_, _fer_, _hierro_, _eiron_, _eisen_. likewise _papisius_, _valesius_, _fusius_, instead of _papirius_, _valerius_, _furius_, with the ancient romans. as for taramis or perhaps taranis, one knows that _taran_ was the thunder, or the god of thunder, with the ancient celts, called _thor_ by the germani of the north; whence the english have preserved the name 'thursday', _jeudi_, _diem jovis_. and the passage from lucan means that the altar of taran, god of the celts, was not less cruel than that of diana in tauris: _taranis aram non mitiorem ara dianae scythicae fuisse_. . it is also not impossible that there was a time when the western [ ] or celtic princes made themselves masters of greece, of egypt and a good part of asia, and that their cult remained in those countries. when one considers with what rapidity the huns, the saracens and the tartars gained possession of a great part of our continent one will be the less surprised at this; and it is confirmed by the great number of words in the greek and german tongues which correspond so closely. callimachus, in a hymn in honour of apollo, seems to imply that the celts who attacked the temple at delphi, under their brennus, or chief, were descendants of the ancient titans and giants who made war on jupiter and the other gods, that is to say, on the princes of asia and of greece. it may be that jupiter is himself descended from the titans or theodons, that is, from the earlier celto-scythian princes; and the material collected by the late abbé de la charmoye in his _celtic origins_ conforms to that possibility. yet there are opinions on other matters in this work by this learned writer which to me do not appear probable, especially when he excludes the germani from the number of the celts, not having recalled sufficiently the facts given by ancient writers and not being sufficiently aware of the relation between the ancient gallic and germanic tongues. now the so-called giants, who wished to scale the heavens, were new celts who followed the path of their ancestors; and jupiter, although of their kindred, as it were, was constrained to resist them. just so did the visigoths established in gallic territory resist, together with the romans, other peoples of germania and scythia, who succeeded them under attila their leader, he being at that time in control of the scythian, sarmatic and germanic tribes from the frontiers of persia up to the rhine. but the pleasure one feels when one thinks to find in the mythologies of the gods some trace of the old history of fabulous times has perhaps carried me too far, and i know not whether i shall have been any more successful than goropius becanus, schrieckius, herr rudbeck and the abbe de la charmoye. . let us return to zoroaster, who led us to oromasdes and arimanius, the sources of good and evil, and let us assume that he looked upon them as two eternal principles opposed to each other, although there is reason to doubt this assumption. it is thought that marcion, disciple of cerdon, was of this opinion before manes. m. bayle acknowledges that these men used lamentable arguments; but he thinks that they did not sufficiently [ ] recognize their advantages or know how to apply their principal instrument, which was the difficulty over the origin of evil. he believes that an able man on their side would have thoroughly embarrassed the orthodox, and it seems as though he himself, failing any other, wished to undertake a task so unnecessary in the opinion of many people. 'all the hypotheses' (he says, _dictionary_, v., 'marcion', p. ) 'that christians have established parry but poorly the blows aimed at them: they all triumph when they act on the offensive; but they lose their whole advantage when they have to sustain the attack.' he confesses that the 'dualists' (as with mr. hyde he calls them), that is, the champions of two principles, would soon have been routed by _a priori_ reasons, taken from the nature of god; but he thinks that they triumph in their turn when one comes to the _a posteriori_ reasons, which are taken from the existence of evil. . he treats of the matter with abundant detail in his _dictionary_, article 'manichaeans', p. , which we must examine a little, in order to throw greater light upon this subject: 'the surest and clearest ideas of order teach us', he says, 'that a being who exists through himself, who is necessary, who is eternal, must be single, infinite, all powerful, and endowed with all kinds of perfections.' this argument deserves to have been developed more completely. 'now it is necessary to see', he goes on, 'if the phenomena of nature can be conveniently explained by the hypothesis of one single principle.' i have explained it sufficiently by showing that there are cases where some disorder in the part is necessary for producing the greatest order in the whole. but it appears that m. bayle asks a little too much: he wishes for a detailed exposition of how evil is connected with the best possible scheme for the universe. that would be a complete explanation of the phenomena: but i do not undertake to give it; nor am i bound to do so, for there is no obligation to do that which is impossible for us in our existing state. it is sufficient for me to point out that there is nothing to prevent the connexion of a certain individual evil with what is the best on the whole. this incomplete explanation, leaving something to be discovered in the life to come, is sufficient for answering the objections, though not for a comprehension of the matter. . 'the heavens and all the rest of the universe', adds m. bayle, 'preach the glory, the power, the oneness of god.' thence the conclusion [ ] should have been drawn that this is the case (as i have already observed above) because there is seen in these objects something entire and isolated, so to speak. every time we see such a work of god, we find it so perfect that we must wonder at the contrivance and the beauty thereof: but when we do not see an entire work, when we only look upon scraps and fragments, it is no wonder if the good order is not evident there. our planetary system composes such an isolated work, which is complete also when it is taken by itself; each plant, each animal, each man furnishes one such work, to a certain point of perfection: one recognizes therein the wonderful contrivance of the author. but the human kind, so far as it is known to us, is only a fragment, only a small portion of the city of god or of the republic of spirits, which has an extent too great for us, and whereof we know too little, to be able to observe the wonderful order therein. 'man alone,' says m. bayle, 'that masterpiece of his creator among things visible, man alone, i say, gives rise to great objections with regard to the oneness of god.' claudian made the same observation, unburdening his heart in these well-known lines: _saepe mihi dubiam traxit sententia mentem_, etc. but the harmony existing in all the rest allows of a strong presumption that it would exist also in the government of men, and generally in that of spirits, if the whole were known to us. one must judge the works of god as wisely as socrates judged those of heraclitus in these words: what i have understood thereof pleases me; i think that the rest would please me no less if i understood it. . here is another particular reason for the disorder apparent in that which concerns man. it is that god, in giving him intelligence, has presented him with an image of the divinity. he leaves him to himself, in a sense, in his small department, _ut spartam quam nactus est ornet_. he enters there only in a secret way, for he supplies being, force, life, reason, without showing himself. it is there that free will plays its game: and god makes game (so to speak) of these little gods that he has thought good to produce, as we make game of children who follow pursuits which we secretly encourage or hinder according as it pleases us. thus man is there like a little god in his own world or _microcosm_, which he governs [ ] after his own fashion: he sometimes performs wonders therein, and his art often imitates nature. _jupiter in parvo cum cerneret aethera vitro,_ _risit et ad superos talia dicta dedit:_ _huccine mortalis progressa potentia, divi?_ _jam meus in fragili luditur orbe labor._ _jura poli rerumque fidem legesque deorum_ _cuncta syracusius transtulit arte senex._ _quid falso insontem tonitru salmonea miror?_ _aemula naturae est parva reperta manus._ but he also commits great errors, because he abandons himself to the passions, and because god abandons him to his own way. god punishes him also for such errors, now like a father or tutor, training or chastising children, now like a just judge, punishing those who forsake him: and evil comes to pass most frequently when these intelligences or their small worlds come into collision. man finds himself the worse for this, in proportion to his fault; but god, by a wonderful art, turns all the errors of these little worlds to the greater adornment of his great world. it is as in those devices of perspective, where certain beautiful designs look like mere confusion until one restores them to the right angle of vision or one views them by means of a certain glass or mirror. it is by placing and using them properly that one makes them serve as adornment for a room. thus the apparent deformities of our little worlds combine to become beauties in the great world, and have nothing in them which is opposed to the oneness of an infinitely perfect universal principle: on the contrary, they increase our wonder at the wisdom of him who makes evil serve the greater good. . m. bayle continues: 'that man is wicked and miserable; that there are everywhere prisons and hospitals; that history is simply a collection of the crimes and calamities of the human race.' i think that there is exaggeration in that: there is incomparably more good than evil in the life of men, as there are incomparably more houses than prisons. with regard to virtue and vice, a certain mediocrity prevails. machiavelli has already observed that there are few very wicked and very good men, and that this causes the failure of many great enterprises. i find it a great fault in historians that they keep their mind on the evil more than on the [ ] good. the chief end of history, as also of poetry, should be to teach prudence and virtue by examples, and then to display vice in such a way as to create aversion to it and to prompt men to avoid it, or serve towards that end. . m. bayle avows: 'that one finds everywhere both moral good and physical good, some examples of virtue, some examples of happiness, and that this is what makes the difficulty. for if there were only wicked and unhappy people', he says, 'there would be no need to resort to the hypothesis of the two principles.' i wonder that this admirable man could have evinced so great an inclination towards this opinion of the two principles; and i am surprised at his not having taken into account that this romance of human life, which makes the universal history of the human race, lay fully devised in the divine understanding, with innumerable others, and that the will of god only decreed its existence because this sequence of events was to be most in keeping with the rest of things, to bring forth the best result. and these apparent faults in the whole world, these spots on a sun whereof ours is but a ray, rather enhance its beauty than diminish it, contributing towards that end by obtaining a greater good. there are in truth two principles, but they are both in god, to wit, his understanding and his will. the understanding furnishes the principle of evil, without being sullied by it, without being evil; it represents natures as they exist in the eternal verities; it contains within it the reason wherefore evil is permitted: but the will tends only towards good. let us add a third principle, namely power; it precedes even understanding and will, but it operates as the one displays it and as the other requires it. . some (like campanella) have called these three perfections of god the three primordialities. many have even believed that there was therein a secret connexion with the holy trinity: that power relates to the father, that is, to the source of divinity, wisdom to the eternal word, which is called _logos_ by the most sublime of the evangelists, and will or love to the holy spirit. well-nigh all the expressions or comparisons derived from the nature of the intelligent substance tend that way. . it seems to me that if m. bayle had taken into account what i have just said of the principles of things, he would have answered his own questions, or at the least he would not have continued to ask, as he does in these which follow: 'if man is the work of a single principle [ ] supremely good, supremely holy, supremely powerful, can he be subject to diseases, to cold, heat, hunger, thirst, pain, grief? can he have so many evil tendencies? can he commit so many crimes? can supreme goodness produce an unhappy creature? shall not supreme power, united to an infinite goodness, shower blessings upon its work, and shall it not banish all that might offend or grieve?' prudentius in his _hamartigenia_ presented the same difficulty: _si non vult deus esse malum, cur non vetat? inquit._ _non refert auctor fuerit, factorve malorum._ _anne opera in vitium sceleris pulcherrima verti,_ _cum possit prohibere, sinat; quod si velit omnes_ _innocuos agere omnipotens, ne sancta voluntas_ _degeneret, facto nec se manus inquinet ullo?_ _condidit ergo malum dominus, quod spectat ab alto,_ _et patitur fierique probat, tanquam ipse crearit._ _ipse creavit enim, quod si discludere possit,_ _non abolet, longoque sinit grassarier usu._ but i have already answered that sufficiently. man is himself the source of his evils: just as he is, he was in the divine idea. god, prompted by essential reasons of wisdom, decreed that he should pass into existence just as he is. m. bayle would perchance have perceived this origin of evil in the form in which i demonstrate it here, if he had herein combined the wisdom of god with his power, his goodness and his holiness. i will add, in passing, that his _holiness_ is nothing other than the highest degree of goodness, just as the crime which is its opposite is the worst of all evil. . m. bayle places the greek philosopher melissus, champion of the oneness of the first principle (and perhaps even of the oneness of substance) in conflict with zoroaster, as with the first originator of duality. zoroaster admits that the hypothesis of melissus is more consistent with order and _a priori_ reasons, but he denies its conformity with experience and _a posteriori_ reasons. 'i surpass you', he said, 'in the explanation of phenomena, which is the principal mark of a good system.' but, in my opinion, it is not a very good explanation of a phenomenon to assign to it an _ad hoc_ principle: to evil, a _principium maleficum_, to cold, a _primum frigidum_; there is nothing so easy and nothing so dull. it is well-nigh as if someone were to say that the [ ] peripatetics surpass the new mathematicians in the explanation of the phenomena of the stars, by giving them _ad hoc_ intelligences to guide them. according to that, it is quite easy to conceive why the planets make their way with such precision; whereas there is need of much geometry and reflexion to understand how from the gravity of the planets, which bears them towards the sun, combined with some whirlwind which carries them along, or with their own motive force, can spring the elliptic movement of kepler, which satisfies appearances so well. a man incapable of relishing deep speculations will at first applaud the peripatetics and will treat our mathematicians as dreamers. some old galenist will do the same with regard to the faculties of the schoolmen: he will admit a chylific, a chymific and a sanguific, and he will assign one of these _ad hoc_ to each operation; he will think he has worked wonders, and will laugh at what he will call the chimeras of the moderns, who claim to explain through mechanical structure what passes in the body of an animal. . the explanation of the cause of evil by a particular principle, _per principium maleficum_, is of the same nature. evil needs no such explanation, any more than do cold and darkness: there is neither _primum frigidum_ nor principle of darkness. evil itself comes only from privation; the positive enters therein only by concomitance, as the active enters by concomitance into cold. we see that water in freezing is capable of breaking a gun-barrel wherein it is confined; and yet cold is a certain privation of force, it only comes from the diminution of a movement which separates the particles of fluids. when this separating motion becomes weakened in the water by the cold, the particles of compressed air concealed in the water collect; and, becoming larger, they become more capable of acting outwards through their buoyancy. the resistance which the surfaces of the proportions of air meet in the water, and which opposes the force exerted by these portions towards dilation, is far less, and consequently the effect of the air greater, in large air-bubbles than in small, even though these small bubbles combined should form as great a mass as the large. for the resistances, that is, the surfaces, increase by the _square_, and the forces, that is, the contents or the volumes of the spheres of compressed air, increase by the _cube_, of their diameters. thus it is _by accident_ that privation involves action and force. i have already shown how privation is enough to cause error and malice, and [ ] how god is prompted to permit them, despite that there be no malignity in him. evil comes from privation; the positive and action spring from it by accident, as force springs from cold. . the statement that m. bayle attributes to the paulicians, p. , is not conclusive, to wit, that free will must come from two principles, to the end that it may have power to turn towards good and towards evil: for, being simple in itself, it should rather have come from a neutral principle if this argument held good. but free will tends towards good, and if it meets with evil it is by accident, for the reason that this evil is concealed beneath the good, and masked, as it were. these words which ovid ascribes to medea, _video meliora proboque,_ _deteriora sequor_, imply that the morally good is mastered by the agreeably good, which makes more impression on souls when they are disturbed by the passions. . furthermore, m. bayle himself supplies melissus with a good answer; but a little later he disputes it. here are his words, p. : 'if melissus consults the notions of order, he will answer that man was not wicked when god made him; he will say that man received from god a happy state, but that not having followed the light of conscience, which in accordance with the intention of its author should have guided him along the path of virtue, he has become wicked, and has deserved that god the supremely good should make him feel the effects of his anger. it is therefore not god who is the cause of moral evil: but he is the cause of physical evil, that is, of the punishment of moral evil. and this punishment, far from being incompatible with the supremely good principle, of necessity emanates from that one of its attributes, i mean its justice, which is not less essential to it than its goodness. this answer, the most reasonable that melissus can give, is fundamentally good and sound, but it may be disputed by something more specious and more dazzling. for indeed zoroaster objects that the infinitely good principle ought to have created man not only without actual evil, but also without the inclination towards evil; that god, having foreseen sin with all its consequences, ought to have prevented it; that he ought to have impelled man to moral good, and not to have allowed him any force for tending towards crime.' that is quite easy to say, but it is not practicable if one follows the principles [ ] of order: it could not have been accomplished without perpetual miracles. ignorance, error and malice follow one another naturally in animals made as we are: should this species, then, have been missing in the universe? i have no doubt but that it is too important there, despite all its weaknesses, for god to have consented to its abolition. . m. bayle, in the article entitled 'paulicians' inserted by him in his _dictionary_, follows up the pronouncements he made in the article on the manichaeans. according to him (p. , lit. h) the orthodox seem to admit two first principles, in making the devil the originator of sin. m. becker, a former minister of amsterdam, author of the book entitled _the world bewitched_, has made use of this idea in order to demonstrate that one should not assign such power and authority to the devil as would allow of his comparison with god. therein he is right: but he pushes the conclusions too far. and the author of the book entitled [greek: apokatastasis pantôn] believes that if the devil had never been vanquished and despoiled, if he had always kept his prey, if the title of invincible had belonged to him, that would have done injury to the glory of god. but it is a poor advantage to keep those whom one has led astray in order to share their punishment for ever. and as for the cause of evil, it is true that the devil is the author of sin. but the origin of sin comes from farther away, its source is in the original imperfection of creatures: that renders them capable of sinning, and there are circumstances in the sequence of things which cause this power to evince itself in action. . the devils were angels like the rest before their fall, and it is thought that their leader was one of the chief among angels; but scripture is not explicit enough on that point. the passage of the apocalypse that speaks of the struggle with the dragon, as of a vision, leaves much in doubt, and does not sufficiently develop a subject which by the other sacred writers is hardly mentioned. it is not in place here to enter into this discussion, and one must still admit that the common opinion agrees best with the sacred text. m. bayle examines some replies of st. basil, of lactantius and others on the origin of evil. as, however, they are concerned with physical evil, i postpone discussion thereof, and i will proceed with the examination of the difficulties over the moral cause of moral evil, which arise in several passages of the works of our gifted author. [ ] . he disputes the _permission_ of this evil, he would wish one to admit that god _wills_ it. he quotes these words of calvin (on genesis, ch. ): 'the ears of some are offended when one says that god willed it. but i ask you, what else is the permission of him who is entitled to forbid, or rather who has the thing in his own hands, but an act of will?' m. bayle explains these words of calvin, and those which precede them, as if he admitted that god willed the fall of adam, not in so far as it was a crime, but under some other conception that is unknown to us. he quotes casuists who are somewhat lax, who say that a son can desire the death of his father, not in so far as it is an evil for himself but in so far as it is a good for his heirs _(reply to the questions of a provincial_, ch. , p. ). it seems to me that calvin only says that god willed man's fall for some reason unknown to us. in the main, when it is a question of a decisive will, that is, of a decree, these distinctions are useless: one wills the action with all its qualities, if it is true that one wills it. but when it is a crime, god can only will the permission of it: the crime is neither an end nor a means, it is only a _conditio sine qua non_; thus it is not the object of a direct will, as i have already demonstrated above. god cannot prevent it without acting against what he owes to himself, without doing something that would be worse than the crime of man, without violating the rule of the best; and that would be to destroy divinity, as i have already observed. god is therefore bound by a moral necessity, which is in himself, to permit moral evil in creatures. there is precisely the case wherein the will of a wise mind is only permissive. i have already said this: he is bound to permit the crime of others when he cannot prevent it without himself failing in that which he owes to himself. . 'but among all these infinite combinations', says m. bayle (p. ), 'it pleased god to choose one wherein adam was to sin, and by his decree he made it, in preference to all the others, the plan that should come to pass.' very good; that is speaking my language; so long as one applies it to the combinations which compose the whole universe. 'you will therefore never make us understand', he adds, 'how god did not will that eve and adam should sin, since he rejected all the combinations wherein they would not have sinned.' but the thing is in general very easy to understand, from all that i have just said. this combination that makes the whole universe is the best; god therefore could not refrain from choosing it without [ ] incurring a lapse, and rather than incur such, a thing altogether inappropriate to him, he permits the lapse or the sin of man which is involved in this combination. . m. jacquelot, with other able men, does not differ in opinion from me, when for example he says, p. of his treatise on the _conformity of faith with reason_: 'those who are puzzled by these difficulties seem to be too limited in their outlook, and to wish to reduce all god's designs to their own interests. when god formed the universe, his whole prospect was himself and his own glory, so that if we had knowledge of all creatures, of their diverse combinations and of their different relations, we should understand without difficulty that the universe corresponds perfectly to the infinite wisdom of the almighty.' he says elsewhere (p. ): 'supposing the impossible, that god could not prevent the wrong use of free will without destroying it, it will be agreed that since his wisdom and his glory determined him to form free creatures this powerful reason must have prevailed over the grievous consequences which their freedom might have.' i have endeavoured to develop this still further through _the reason of the best and the moral necessity_ which led god to make this choice, despite the sin of some creatures which is involved therein. i think that i have cut down to the root of the difficulty; nevertheless i am well pleased, for the sake of throwing more light on the matter, to apply my principle of solution to the peculiar difficulties of m. bayle. . here is one, set forth in these terms (ch. , p. ): 'would it in a prince be a mark of his kindness: . to give to a hundred messengers as much money as is needed for a journey of two hundred leagues? . to promise a recompense to all those who should finish the journey without having borrowed anything, and to threaten with imprisonment all those whom their money should not have sufficed? . to make choice of a hundred persons, of whom he would know for certain that there were but two who should earn the recompense, the ninety-eight others being destined to find on the way either a mistress or a gamester or some other thing which would make them incur expenses, and which he would himself have been at pains to dispose in certain places along their path? . to imprison actually ninety-eight of these messengers on the moment of their return? is it not abundantly evident that he would have no kindness for them, and that on the contrary he would intend for them, not the proposed recompense, but prison? [ ] they would deserve it, certainly; but he who had wished them to deserve it and placed them in the sure way towards deserving it, should he be worthy of being called kind, on the pretext that he had recompensed the two others?' it would doubtless not be on that account that he earned the title of 'kind'. yet other circumstances may contribute, which would avail to render him worthy of praise for having employed this artifice in order to know those people, and to make trial of them; just as gideon made use of some extraordinary means of choosing the most valiant and the least squeamish among his soldiers. and even if the prince were to know already the disposition of all these messengers, may he not put them to this test in order to make them known also to the others? even though these reasons be not applicable to god, they make it clear, nevertheless, that an action like that of this prince may appear preposterous when it is detached from the circumstances indicating its cause. all the more must one deem that god has acted well, and that we should see this if we fully knew of all that he has done. . m. descartes, in a letter to the princess elizabeth (vol. , letter ) has made use of another comparison to reconcile human freedom with the omnipotence of god. 'he imagines a monarch who has forbidden duels, and who, knowing for certain that two noblemen, if they meet, will fight, takes sure steps to bring about their meeting. they meet indeed, they fight: their disobedience of the law is an effect of their free will, they are punishable. what a king can do in such a case (he adds) concerning some free actions of his subjects, god, who has infinite foreknowledge and power, certainly does concerning all those of men. before he sent us into this world he knew exactly what all the tendencies of our will would be: he has endued us therewith, he also has disposed all other things that are outside us, to cause such and such objects to present themselves to our senses at such and such a time. he knew that as a result of this our free will would determine us toward some particular thing, and he has willed it thus; but he has not for that willed to constrain our free will thereto. in this king one may distinguish two different degrees of will, the one whereby he willed that these noblemen should fight, since he brought about their meeting, and the other whereby he did not will it, since he forbade duels. even so theologians distinguish in god an absolute and independent will, whereby he wills that all things be done just as they are done, [ ] and another which is relative, and which concerns the merit or demerit of men, whereby he wills that his laws be obeyed' (descartes, letter of vol. , pp. , . compare with that the quotation made by m. arnauld, vol. , p. _et seqq_. of his _reflexions on the system of malebranche_, from thomas aquinas, on the antecedent and consequent will of god). . here is m. bayle's reply to that (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, ch. , p. ): 'this great philosopher is much mistaken, it seems to me. there would not be in this monarch any degree of will, either small or great, that these two noblemen should obey the law, and not fight. he would will entirely and solely that they should fight. that would not exculpate them, they would only follow their passion, they would be unaware that they conformed to the will of their sovereign: but he would be in truth the moral cause of their encounter, and he would not more entirely wish it supposing he were to inspire them with the desire or to give them the order for it. imagine to yourself two princes each of whom wishes his eldest son to poison himself. one employs constraint, the other contents himself with secretly causing a grief that he knows will be sufficient to induce his son to poison himself. will you be doubtful whether the will of the latter is less complete than the will of the former? m. descartes is therefore assuming an unreal fact and does not at all solve the difficulty.' . one must confess that m. descartes speaks somewhat crudely of the will of god in regard to evil in saying not only that god knew that our free will would determine us toward some particular thing, but also _that he also wished it_, albeit he did not will to constrain the will thereto. he speaks no less harshly in the eighth letter of the same volume, saying that not the slightest thought enters into the mind of a man which god does not _will_, and has not willed from all eternity, to enter there. calvin never said anything harsher; and all that can only be excused if it is to be understood of a permissive will. m. descartes' solution amounts to the distinction between the will expressed in the sign and the will expressive of the good pleasure (_inter voluntatem signi et beneplaciti_) which the moderns have taken from the schoolmen as regards the terms, but to which they have given a meaning not usual among the ancients. it is true that god may command something and yet not will that it be done, as when he commanded abraham to sacrifice his son: he willed the obedience, and he did not will the action. but when god commands the virtuous action and [ ] forbids the sin, he wills indeed that which he ordains, but it is only by an antecedent will, as i have explained more than once. . m. descartes' comparison is therefore not satisfactory; but it may be made so. one must make some change in the facts, inventing some reason to oblige the prince to cause or permit the two enemies to meet. they must, for instance, be together in the army or in other obligatory functions, a circumstance the prince himself cannot hinder without endangering his state. for example, the absence of either of them might be responsible for the disappearance of innumerable persons of his party from the army or cause grumbling among the soldiers and give rise to some great disturbance. in this case, therefore, one may say that the prince does not will the duel: he knows of it, but he permits it notwithstanding, for he prefers permitting the sin of others to committing one himself. thus this corrected comparison may serve, provided that one observe the difference between god and the prince. the prince is forced into this permission by his powerlessness; a more powerful monarch would have no need of all these considerations; but god, who has power to do all that is possible, only permits sin because it is absolutely impossible to anyone at all to do better. the prince's action is peradventure not free from sorrow and regret. this regret is due to his imperfection, of which he is sensible; therein lies displeasure. god is incapable of such a feeling and finds, moreover, no cause therefor; he is infinitely conscious of his own perfection, and it may even be said that the imperfection in creatures taken individually changes for him into perfection in relation to the whole, and that it is an added glory for the creator. what more can one wish, when one possesses a boundless wisdom and when one is as powerful as one is wise; when one can do all and when one has the best? . having once understood these things, we are hardened sufficiently, so it seems to me, against the strongest and most spirited objections. i have not concealed them: but there are some we shall merely touch upon, because they are too odious. the remonstrants and m. bayle (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , end page ) quote st. augustine, saying, '_crudelem esse misericordiam velle aliquem miserum esse ut eius miserearis_': in the same sense is cited seneca _de benef._, l. , c. , . i confess that one would have some reason to urge that against those who believed that god has no other cause for permitting sin than the [ ] design to have something wherewith to exercise punitive justice against the majority of men, and his mercy towards a small number of elect. but it must be considered that god had reasons for his permission of sin, more worthy of him and more profound in relation to us. someone has dared to compare god's course of action with that of a caligula, who has his edicts written in so small a hand and has them placarded in so high a place that it is not possible to read them; with that of a mother who neglects her daughter's honour in order to attain her own selfish ends; with that of queen catherine de medicis, who is said to have abetted the love-affairs of her ladies in order to learn of the intrigues of the great; and even with that of tiberius, who arranged, through the extraordinary services of the executioner, that the law forbidding the subjection of a virgin to capital punishment should no longer apply to the case of sejanus's daughter. this last comparison was proposed by peter bertius, then an armenian, but finally a member of the roman communion. and a scandalous comparison has been made between god and tiberius, which is related at length by andreas caroli in his _memorabilia ecclesiastica_ of the last century, as m. bayle observes. bertius used it against the gomarists. i think that arguments of this kind are only valid against those who maintain that justice is an arbitrary thing in relation to god; or that he has a despotic power which can go so far as being able to condemn innocents; or, in short, that good is not the motive of his actions. . at that same time an ingenious satire was composed against the gomarists, entitled _fur praedestinatus, de gepredestineerdedief_, wherein there is introduced a thief condemned to be hanged, who attributes to god all the evil he has done; who believes himself predestined to salvation notwithstanding his wicked actions; who imagines that this belief is sufficient for him, and who defeats by arguments _ad hominem_ a counter-remonstrant minister called to prepare him for death: but this thief is finally converted by an old pastor who had been dismissed for his arminianism, whom the gaoler, in pity for the criminal and for the weakness of the minister, had brought to him secretly. replies were made to this lampoon, but replies to satires never please as much as the satires themselves. m. bayle (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ) says that this book was printed in england in the [ ] time of cromwell, and he appears not to have been informed that it was only a translation of the much older original flemish. he adds that dr. george kendal wrote a confutation of it at oxford in the year , under the title of _fur pro tribunali_, and that the dialogue is there inserted. this dialogue presupposes, contrary to the truth, that the counter-remonstrants make god the cause of evil, and teach a kind of predestination in the mahometan manner according to which it does not matter whether one does good or evil, and the assumption that one is predestined assures the fact. they by no means go so far. nevertheless it is true that there are among them some supralapsarians and others who find it hard to declare themselves in clear terms upon the justice of god and the principles of piety and morals in man. for they imagine despotism in god, and demand that man be convinced, without reason, of the absolute certainty of his election, a course that is liable to have dangerous consequences. but all those who acknowledge that god produces the best plan, having chosen it from among all possible ideas of the universe; that he there finds man inclined by the original imperfection of creatures to misuse his free will and to plunge into misery; that god prevents the sin and the misery in so far as the perfection of the universe, which is an emanation from his, may permit it: those, i say, show forth more clearly that god's intention is the one most right and holy in the world; that the creature alone is guilty, that his original limitation or imperfection is the source of his wickedness, that his evil will is the sole cause of his misery; that one cannot be destined to salvation without also being destined to the holiness of the children of god, and that all hope of election one can have can only be founded upon the good will infused into one's heart by the grace of god. . _metaphysical considerations_ also are brought up against my explanation of the moral cause of moral evil; but they will trouble me less since i have dismissed the objections derived from moral reasons, which were more impressive. these metaphysical considerations concern the nature of the _possible_ and of the _necessary_; they go against my fundamental assumption that god has chosen the best of all possible worlds. there are philosophers who have maintained that there is nothing possible except that which actually happens. these are those same people who thought or could have thought that all is necessary unconditionally. some were of this [ ] opinion because they admitted a brute and blind necessity in the cause of the existence of things: and it is these i have most reason for opposing. but there are others who are mistaken only because they misuse terms. they confuse moral necessity with metaphysical necessity: they imagine that since god cannot help acting for the best he is thus deprived of freedom, and things are endued with that necessity which philosophers and theologians endeavour to avoid. with these writers my dispute is only one of words, provided they admit in very deed that god chooses and does the best. but there are others who go further, they think that god could have done better. this is an opinion which must be rejected: for although it does not altogether deprive god of wisdom and goodness, as do the advocates of blind necessity, it sets bounds thereto, thus derogating from god's supreme perfection. . the question of the _possibility of things that do not happen_ has already been examined by the ancients. it appears that epicurus, to preserve freedom and to avoid an absolute necessity, maintained, after aristotle, that contingent futurities were not susceptible of determinate truth. for if it was true yesterday that i should write to-day, it could therefore not fail to happen, it was already necessary; and, for the same reason, it was from all eternity. thus all that which happens is necessary, and it is impossible for anything different to come to pass. but since that is not so it would follow, according to him, that contingent futurities have no determinate truth. to uphold this opinion, epicurus went so far as to deny the first and the greatest principle of the truths of reason, he denied that every assertion was either true or false. here is the way they confounded him: 'you deny that it was true yesterday that i should write to-day; it was therefore false.' the good man, not being able to admit this conclusion, was obliged to say that it was neither true nor false. after that, he needs no refutation, and chrysippus might have spared himself the trouble he took to prove the great principle of contradictories, following the account by cicero in his book _de fato_: 'contendit omnes nervos chrysippus ut persuadeat omne [greek: axiôma] aut verum esse aut falsum. ut enim epicurus veretur ne si hoc concesserit, concedendum sit, fato fieri quaecunque fiant; si enim alterum ex aeternitate verum sit, esse id etiam certum; si certum, etiam necessarium; ita et necessitatem et fatum confirmari putat; sic chrysippus metuit ne non, si non obtinuerit omne[ ] quod enuncietur aut verum esse aut falsum, omnia fato fieri possint ex causis aeternis rerum futurarum.' m. bayle observes (_dictionary_, article 'epicurus', let. t, p. ) 'that neither of these two great philosophers [epicurus and chrysippus] understood that the truth of this maxim, every proposition is true or false, is independent of what is called _fatum_: it could not therefore serve as proof of the existence of the _fatum_, as chrysippus maintained and as epicurus feared. chrysippus could not have conceded, without damaging his own position, that there are propositions which are neither true nor false. but he gained nothing by asserting the contrary: for, whether there be free causes or not, it is equally true that this proposition, the grand mogul will go hunting to-morrow, is true or false. men rightly regarded as ridiculous this speech of tiresias: all that i shall say will happen or not, for great apollo confers on me the faculty of prophesying. if, assuming the impossible, there were no god, it would yet be certain that everything the greatest fool in the world should predict would happen or would not happen. that is what neither chrysippus nor epicurus has taken into consideration.' cicero, lib. i, _de nat. deorum_, with regard to the evasions of the epicureans expressed the sound opinion (as m. bayle observes towards the end of the same page) that it would be much less shameful to admit that one cannot answer one's opponent, than to have recourse to such answers. yet we shall see that m. bayle himself confused the certain with the necessary, when he maintained that the choice of the best rendered things necessary. . let us come now to the possibility of things that do not happen, and i will give the very words of m. bayle, albeit they are somewhat discursive. this is what he says on the matter in his _dictionary_ (article 'chrysippus', let. s, p. ): 'the celebrated dispute on things possible and things impossible owed its origin to the doctrine of the stoics concerning fate. the question was to know whether, among the things which have never been and never will be, there are some possible; or whether all that is not, all that has never been, all that will never be, was impossible. a famous dialectician of the megaric sect, named diodorus, gave a negative answer to the first of these two questions and an affirmative to the second; but chrysippus vehemently opposed him. here are two passages of cicero (epist. , lib. , _ad familiar._): "[greek: peri dynatôn] me scito [greek: kata diodôron krinein]. quapropter si venturus es, scito [ ] necesse esse te venire. sin autem non es, [greek: tôn adynatôn] est te venire. nunc vide utra te [greek: krisis] magis delectet, [greek: chrysippeia] ne, an haec; quam noster diodorus [a stoic who for a long time had lived in cicero's house] non concoquebat." this is quoted from a letter that cicero wrote to varro. he sets forth more comprehensively the whole state of the question, in the little book _de fato_. i am going to quote a few pieces (cic., _de fato_, p. m. ): "vigila, chrysippe, ne tuam causam, in qua tibi cum diodoro valente dialectico magna luctatio est, deseras ... omne ergo quod falsum dicitur in futuro, id fieri non potest. at hoc, chrysippe, minime vis, maximeque tibi de hoc ipso cum diodoro certamen est. ille enim id solum fieri posse dicit, quod aut sit verum, aut futurum sit verum; et quicquid futurum sit, id dicit fieri necesse esse; et quicquid non sit futurum, id negat fieri posse. tu etiam quae non sint futura, posse fieri dicis, ut frangi hanc gemmam, etiamsi id nunquam futurum sit: neque necesse fuisse cypselum regnare corinthi, quamquam id millesimo ante anno apollinis oraculo editum esset.... placet diodoro, id solum fieri posse, quod aut verum sit, aut verum futurum sit: qui locus attingit hanc quaestionem, nihil fieri, quod non necesse fuerit; et quicquid fieri possit, id aut esse jam, aut futurum esse: nec magis commutari ex veris in falsa ea posse quae futura sunt, quam ea quae facta sunt: sed in factis immutabilitatem apparere; in futuris quibusdam, quia non apparent, ne inesse quidem videri: ut in eo qui mortifero morbo urgeatur, verum sit, hic morietur hoc morbo: at hoc idem si vere dicatur in eo, in quo tanta vis morbi non appareat, nihilominus futurum sit. ita fit ut commutatio ex vero in falsum, ne in futuro quidem ulla fieri possit." cicero makes it clear enough that chrysippus often found himself in difficulties in this dispute, and that is no matter for astonishment: for the course he had chosen was not bound up with his dogma of fate, and, if he had known how, or had dared, to reason consistently, he would readily have adopted the whole hypothesis of diodorus. we have seen already that the freedom he assigned to the soul, and his comparison of the cylinder, did not preclude the possibility that in reality all the acts of the human will were unavoidable consequences of fate. hence it follows that everything which does not happen is impossible, and that there is nothing possible but that which actually comes to pass. plutarch (_de stoicor. repugn._, pp. , ) discomfits him completely, on that point as well as on the dispute [ ] with diodorus, and maintains that his opinion on possibility is altogether contrary to the doctrine of _fatum_. observe that the most eminent stoics had written on this matter without following the same path. arrian (in _epict._, lib. , c. , p. m. ) named four of them, who are chrysippus, cleanthes, archidemus and antipater. he evinces great scorn for this dispute; and m. menage need not have cited him as a writer who had spoken in commendation of the work of chrysippus [greek: peri dynatôn] ("citatur honorifice apud arrianum", menag. in _laert._, i, , ) for assuredly these words, "[greek: gegraphe de kai chrysippos thaumastôs], etc., de his rebus mira scripsit chrysippus", etc., are not in that connexion a eulogy. that is shown by the passages immediately before and after it. dionysius of halicarnassus (_de collocat. verbor._, c. , p. m. ) mentions two treatises by chrysippus, wherein, under a title that promised something different, much of the logicians' territory had been explored. the work was entitled "[greek: peri tês syntaxeôs tôn tou logou merôn], de partium orationis collocatione", and treated only of propositions true and false, possible and impossible, contingent and equivocal, etc., matter that our schoolmen have pounded down and reduced to its essence. take note that chrysippus recognized that past things were necessarily true, which cleanthes had not been willing to admit. (arrian, _ubi supra_, p. m. .) "[greek: ou pan de parelêlythos alêthes anankaion esti, kathaper hoi peri kleanthên pheresthai dokousi]. non omne praeteritum ex necessitate verum est, ut illi qui cleanthem sequuntur sentiunt." we have already seen (p. , col. ) that abélard is alleged to have taught a doctrine which resembles that of diodorus. i think that the stoics pledged themselves to give a wider range to possible things than to future things, for the purpose of mitigating the odious and frightful conclusions which were drawn from their dogma of fatality.' it is sufficiently evident that cicero when writing to varro the words that have just been quoted (lib. , ep. , _ad familiar._) had not enough comprehension of the effect of diodorus's opinion, since he found it preferable. he presents tolerably well in his book _de fato_ the opinions of those writers, but it is a pity that he has not always added the reasons which they employed. plutarch in his treatise on the contradictions of the stoics and m. bayle are both surprised that chrysippus was not of the same opinion as diodorus, since he favours fatality. but chrysippus and even his master cleanthes were on that point more reasonable than is supposed. [ ] that will be seen as we proceed. it is open to question whether the past is more necessary than the future. cleanthes held the opinion that it is. the objection is raised that it is necessary _ex hypothesi_ for the future to happen, as it is necessary _ex hypothesi_ for the past to have happened. but there is this difference, that it is not possible to act on the past state, that would be a contradiction; but it is possible to produce some effect on the future. yet the hypothetical necessity of both is the same: the one cannot be changed, the other will not be; and once that is past, it will not be possible for it to be changed either. . the famous pierre abélard expressed an opinion resembling that of diodorus in the statement that god can do only that which he does. it was the third of the fourteen propositions taken from his works which were censured at the council of sens. it had been taken from the third book of his _introduction to theology_, where he treats especially of the power of god. the reason he gave for his statement was that god can do only that which he wills. now god cannot will to do anything other than that which he does, because, of necessity, he must will whatever is fitting. hence it follows that all that which he does not, is not fitting, that he cannot will to do it, and consequently that he cannot do it. abélard admits himself that this opinion is peculiar to him, that hardly anyone shares in it, that it seems contrary to the doctrine of the saints and to reason and derogatory to the greatness of god. it appears that this author was a little too much inclined to speak and to think differently from others: for in reality this was only a dispute about words: he was changing the use of terms. power and will are different faculties, whose objects also are different; it is confusing them to say that god can do only that which he wills. on the contrary, among various possibles, he wills only that which he finds the best. for all possibles are regarded as objects of power, but actual and existing things are regarded as the objects of his decretory will. abélard himself acknowledged it. he raises this objection for himself: a reprobate can be saved; but he can only be saved if god saves him. god can therefore save him, and consequently do something that he does not. abélard answers that it may indeed be said that this man can be saved in respect of the possibility of human nature, which is capable of salvation: but that it may not be said that god can save him in respect of god himself, because it is impossible that god should do that which he[ ] must not do. but abélard admits that it may very well be said in a sense, speaking absolutely and setting aside the assumption of reprobation, that such an one who is reprobate can be saved, and that thus often that which god does not can be done. he could therefore have spoken like the rest, who mean nothing different when they say that god can save this man, and that he can do that which he does not. . the so-called necessity of wyclif, which was condemned by the council of constance, seems to arise simply from this same misunderstanding. i think that men of talent do wrong to truth and to themselves when, without reason, they bring into use new and displeasing expressions. in our own time the celebrated mr. hobbes supported this same opinion, that what does not happen is impossible. he proves it by the statement that all the conditions requisite for a thing that shall not exist (_omnia rei non futurae requisita_) are never found together, and that the thing cannot exist otherwise. but who does not see that that only proves a hypothetical impossibility? it is true that a thing cannot exist when a requisite condition for it is lacking. but as we claim to be able to say that the thing can exist although it does not exist, we claim in the same way to be able to say that the requisite conditions can exist although they do not exist. thus mr. hobbes's argument leaves the matter where it is. the opinion which was held concerning mr. hobbes, that he taught an absolute necessity of all things, brought upon him much discredit, and would have done him harm even had it been his only error. . spinoza went further: he appears to have explicitly taught a blind necessity, having denied to the author of things understanding and will, and assuming that good and perfection relate to us only, and not to him. it is true that spinoza's opinion on this subject is somewhat obscure: for he grants god thought, after having divested him of understanding, _cogitationem, non intellectum concedit deo_. there are even passages where he relents on the question of necessity. nevertheless, as far as one can understand him, he acknowledges no goodness in god, properly speaking, and he teaches that all things exist through the necessity of the divine nature, without any act of choice by god. we will not waste time here in refuting an opinion so bad, and indeed so inexplicable. my own opinion is founded on the nature of the possibles, that is, of things that imply [ ] no contradiction. i do not think that a spinozist will say that all the romances one can imagine exist actually now, or have existed, or will still exist in some place in the universe. yet one cannot deny that romances such as those of mademoiselle de scudéry, or as _octavia_, are possible. let us therefore bring up against him these words of m. bayle, which please me well, on page , 'it is to-day', he says, 'a great embarrassment for the spinozists to see that, according to their hypothesis, it was as impossible from all eternity that spinoza, for instance, should not die at the hague, as it is impossible for two and two to make six. they are well aware that it is a necessary conclusion from their doctrine, and a conclusion which disheartens, affrights, and stirs the mind to revolt, because of the absurdity it involves, diametrically opposed to common sense. they are not well pleased that one should know they are subverting a maxim so universal and so evident as this one: all that which implies contradiction is impossible, and all that which implies no contradiction is possible.' . one may say of m. bayle, 'ubi bene, nemo melius', although one cannot say of him what was said of origen, 'ubi male, nemo pejus'. i will only add that what has just been indicated as a maxim is in fact the definition of the _possible_ and the _impossible_. m. bayle, however, adds here towards the end a remark which somewhat spoils his eminently reasonable statement. 'now what contradiction would there be if spinoza had died in leyden? would nature then have been less perfect, less wise, less powerful?' he confuses here what is impossible because it implies contradiction with what cannot happen because it is not meet to be chosen. it is true that there would have been no contradiction in the supposition that spinoza died in leyden and not at the hague; there would have been nothing so possible: the matter was therefore indifferent in respect of the power of god. but one must not suppose that any event, however small it be, can be regarded as indifferent in respect of his wisdom and his goodness. jesus christ has said divinely well that everything is numbered, even to the hairs of our head. thus the wisdom of god did not permit that this event whereof m. bayle speaks should happen otherwise than it happened, not as if by itself it would have been more deserving of choice, but on account of its connexion with that entire sequence of the universe which deserved to be given preference. to say that what has already happened was of no interest to the wisdom of god, and[ ] thence to infer that it is therefore not necessary, is to make a false assumption and argue incorrectly to a true conclusion. it is confusing what is necessary by moral necessity, that is, according to the principle of wisdom and goodness, with what is so by metaphysical and brute necessity, which occurs when the contrary implies contradiction. spinoza, moreover, sought a metaphysical necessity in events. he did not think that god was determined by his goodness and by his perfection (which this author treated as chimeras in relation to the universe), but by the necessity of his nature; just as the semicircle is bound to enclose only right angles, without either knowing or willing this. for euclid demonstrated that all angles enclosed between two straight lines drawn from the extremities of the diameter towards a point on the circumference of the circle are of necessity right angles, and that the contrary implies contradiction. . there are people who have gone to the other extreme: under the pretext of freeing the divine nature from the yoke of necessity they wished to regard it as altogether indifferent, with an indifference of equipoise. they did not take into account that just as metaphysical necessity is preposterous in relation to god's actions _ad extra_, so moral necessity is worthy of him. it is a happy necessity which obliges wisdom to do good, whereas indifference with regard to good and evil would indicate a lack of goodness or of wisdom. and besides, the indifference which would keep the will in a perfect equipoise would itself be a chimera, as has been already shown: it would offend against the great principle of the determinant reason. . those who believe that god established good and evil by an arbitrary decree are adopting that strange idea of mere indifference, and other absurdities still stranger. they deprive god of the designation _good_: for what cause could one have to praise him for what he does, if in doing something quite different he would have done equally well? and i have very often been surprised that divers supralapsarian theologians, as for instance samuel rutherford, a professor of theology in scotland, who wrote when the controversies with the remonstrants were at their height, could have been deluded by so strange an idea. rutherford (in his _exercitationes apologeticae pro gratia_) says positively that nothing is unjust or morally bad in god's eyes before he has forbidden it: thus without this prohibition it would be a matter of indifference whether one murdered or saved a [ ] man, loved god or hated him, praised or blasphemed him. nothing is so unreasonable as that. one may teach that god established good and evil by a positive law, or one may assert that there was something good and just before his decree, but that he is not required to conform to it, and that nothing prevents him from acting unjustly and from perhaps condemning innocence: but it all comes to the same thing, offering almost equal dishonour to god. for if justice was established arbitrarily and without any cause, if god came upon it by a kind of hazard, as when one draws lots, his goodness and his wisdom are not manifested in it, and there is nothing at all to attach him to it. if it is by a purely arbitrary decree, without any reason, that he has established or created what we call justice and goodness, then he can annul them or change their nature. thus one would have no reason to assume that he will observe them always, as it would be possible to say he will observe them on the assumption that they are founded on reasons. the same would hold good more or less if his justice were different from ours, if (for example) it were written in his code that it is just to make the innocent eternally unhappy. according to these principles also, nothing would compel god to keep his word or would assure us of its fulfilment. for why should the law of justice, which states that reasonable promises must be kept, be more inviolable for him than any other laws? . all these three dogmas, albeit a little different from one another, namely, ( ) that the nature of justice is arbitrary, ( ) that it is fixed, but it is not certain that god will observe it, and finally ( ) that the justice we know is not that which he observes, destroy the confidence in god that gives us tranquillity, and the love of god that makes our happiness. there is nothing to prevent such a god from behaving as a tyrant and an enemy of honest folk, and from taking pleasure in that which we call evil. why should he not, then, just as well be the evil principle of the manichaeans as the single good principle of the orthodox? at least he would be neutral and, as it were, suspended between the two, or even sometimes the one and sometimes the other. that would be as if someone were to say that oromasdes and arimanius reign in turns, according to which of the two is the stronger or the more adroit. it is like the saying of a certain moghul woman. she, so it seems, having heard it said that formerly under genghis khan and his successors her nation had had dominion over most [ ] of the north and east, told the muscovites recently, when m. isbrand went to china on behalf of the czar, through the country of those tartars, that the god of the moghuls had been driven from heaven, but that one day he would take his own place again. the true god is always the same: natural religion itself demands that he be essentially as good and wise as he is powerful. it is scarcely more contrary to reason and piety to say that god acts without cognition, than to maintain that he has cognition which does not find the eternal rules of goodness and of justice among its objects, or again to say that he has a will such as heeds not these rules. . some theologians who have written of god's right over creatures appear to have conceded to him an unrestricted right, an arbitrary and despotic power. they thought that would be placing divinity on the most exalted level that may be imagined for it, and that it would abase the creature before the creator to such an extent that the creator is bound by no laws of any kind with respect to the creature. there are passages from twiss, rutherford and some other supralapsarians which imply that god cannot sin whatever he may do, because he is subject to no law. m. bayle himself considers that this doctrine is monstrous and contrary to the holiness of god (_dictionary_, v. 'paulicians', p. _in initio_); but i suppose that the intention of some of these writers was less bad than it seems to be. apparently they meant by the term right, [greek: anypeuthynian], a state wherein one is responsible to none for one's actions. but they will not have denied that god owes to himself what goodness and justice demand of him. on that matter one may see m. amyraut's _apology for calvin_: it is true that calvin appears orthodox on this subject, and that he is by no means one of the extreme supralapsarians. . thus, when m. bayle says somewhere that st. paul extricates himself from predestination only through the consideration of god's absolute right, and the incomprehensibility of his ways, it is implied that, if one understood them, one would find them consistent with justice, god not being able to use his power otherwise. st. paul himself says that it is a _depth_, but a depth of wisdom (_altitudo sapientiae_), and _justice_ is included in _the goodness of the all-wise_. i find that m. bayle speaks very well elsewhere on the application of our notions of goodness to the actions of god (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, ch. , p. ): 'one must not assert here', he says, 'that the goodness of the [ ] infinite being is not subject to the same rules as the goodness of the creature. for if there is in god an attribute that can be called goodness, the marks of goodness in general must apply to him. now when we reduce goodness to the most general abstraction, we find therein the will to do good. divide and subdivide into as many kinds as you shall please this general goodness, into infinite goodness, finite goodness, kingly goodness, goodness of a father, goodness of a husband, goodness of a master, you will find in each, as an inseparable attribute, the will to do good.' . i find also that m. bayle combats admirably the opinion of those who assert that goodness and justice depend solely upon the arbitrary choice of god; who suppose, moreover, that if god had been determined by the goodness of things themselves to act, he would be entirely subjected to necessity in his actions, a state incompatible with freedom. that is confusing metaphysical necessity with moral necessity. here is what m. bayle says in objection to this error (_reply_, ch. , p. ): 'the consequence of this doctrine will be, that before god resolved upon creating the world he saw nothing better in virtue than in vice, and that his ideas did not show him that virtue was more worthy of his love than vice. that leaves no distinction between natural right and positive right; there will no longer be anything unalterable or inevitable in morals; it will have been just as possible for god to command people to be vicious as to command them to be virtuous; and one will have no certainty that the moral laws will not one day be abrogated, as the ceremonial laws of the jews were. this, in a word, leads us straight to the belief that god was the free author, not only of goodness and of virtue, but also of truth and of the essence of things. that is what certain of the cartesians assert, and i confess that their opinion (see the continuation of _divers thoughts on the comet_, p. ) might be of some avail in certain circumstances. yet it is open to dispute for so many reasons, and subject to consequences so troublesome (see chapter of the same continuation) that there are scarcely any extremes it were not better to suffer rather than plunge into that one. it opens the door to the most exaggerated pyrrhonism: for it leads to the assertion that this proposition, three and three make six, is only true where and during the time when it pleases god; that it is perhaps false in some parts of the universe; and that perhaps it will be so among men in the coming year.[ ] all that depends on the free will of god could have been limited to certain places and certain times, like the judaic ceremonies. this conclusion will be extended to all the laws of the decalogue, if the actions they command are in their nature divested of all goodness to the same degree as the actions they forbid.' . to say that god, having resolved to create man just as he is, could not but have required of him piety, sobriety, justice and chastity, because it is impossible that the disorders capable of overthrowing or disturbing his work can please him, that is to revert in effect to the common opinion. virtues are virtues only because they serve perfection or prevent the imperfection of those who are virtuous, or even of those who have to do with them. and they have that power by their nature and by the nature of rational creatures, before god decrees to create them. to hold a different opinion would be as if someone were to say that the rules of proportion and harmony are arbitrary with regard to musicians because they occur in music only when one has resolved to sing or to play some instrument. but that is exactly what is meant by being essential to good music: for those rules belong to it already in the ideal state, even when none yet thinks of singing, since it is known that they must of necessity belong to it as soon as one shall sing. in the same way virtues belong to the ideal state of the rational creature before god decrees to create it; and it is for that very reason we maintain that virtues are good by their nature. . m. bayle has inserted a special chapter in his continuation of _divers thoughts on the comet_ (it is chapter ) where he shows 'that the christian doctors teach that there are things which are just antecedently to god's decrees'. some theologians of the augsburg confession censured some of the reformed who appeared to be of a different opinion; and this error was regarded as if it were a consequence of the absolute decree, which doctrine seems to exempt the will of god from any kind of reason, _ubi stat pro ratione voluntas_. but, as i have observed already on various occasions, calvin himself acknowledged that the decrees of god are in conformity with justice and wisdom, although the reasons that might prove this conformity in detail are unknown to us. thus, according to him, the rules of goodness and of justice are anterior to the decrees of god. m. bayle, in the same place, quotes a passage from the celebrated m. turretin which draws a distinction between natural divine laws and positive [ ] divine laws. moral laws are of the first kind and ceremonial of the second. samuel desmarests, a celebrated theologian formerly at groningen, and herr strinesius, who is still at frankfort on the oder, advocated this same distinction; and i think that it is the opinion most widely accepted even among the reformed. thomas aquinas and all the thomists were of the same opinion, with the bulk of the schoolmen and the theologians of the roman church. the casuists also held to that idea: i count grotius among the most eminent of them, and he was followed in this point by his commentators. herr pufendorf appeared to be of a different opinion, which he insisted on maintaining in the face of censure from some theologians; but he need not be taken into account, not having advanced far enough in subjects of this kind. he makes a vigorous protest against the absolute decree, in his _fecialis divinus_, and yet he approves what is worst in the opinions of the champions of this decree, and without which this decree (as others of the reformed explain) becomes endurable. aristotle was very orthodox on this matter of justice, and the schoolmen followed him: they distinguish, just as cicero and the jurists do, between perpetual right, which is binding on all and everywhere, and positive right, which is only for certain times and certain peoples. i once read with enjoyment the _euthyphro_ of plato, who makes socrates uphold the truth on that point, and m. bayle has called attention to the same passage. . m. bayle himself upholds this truth with considerable force in a certain passage, which it will be well to quote here in its entirety, long as it is (vol. ii of the continuation of _divers thoughts on the comet_, ch. , p. _seqq._): 'according to the teaching of countless writers of importance', he says, 'there is in nature and in the essence of certain things a moral good or evil that precedes the divine decree. they prove this doctrine principally through the frightful consequences that attend the opposite dogma. thus from the proposition that to do wrong to no man would be a good action, not in itself but by an arbitrary dispensation of god's will, it would follow that god could have given to man a law directly opposed at all points to the commandments of the decalogue. that is horrifying. but here is a more direct proof, one derived from metaphysics. one thing is certain, that the existence of god is not an effect of his will. he exists not because he wills his existence, but through the [ ] necessity of his infinite nature. his power and his knowledge exist through the same necessity. he is all-powerful, he knows all things, not because he wills it thus, but because these are attributes necessarily identified with him. the dominion of his will relates only to the exercise of his power, he gives effect outside himself only to that which he wills, and he leaves all the rest in the state of mere possibility. thence it comes that this dominion extends only over the existence of creatures, and not over their essential being. god was able to create matter, a man, a circle, or leave them in nothingness, but he was not able to produce them without giving them their essential properties. he had of necessity to make man a rational animal and to give the round shape to a circle, since, according to his eternal ideas, independent of the free decrees of his will, the essence of man lay in the properties of being animal and rational, and since the essence of the circle lay in having a circumference equally distant from the centre as to all its parts. this is what has caused the christian philosophers to acknowledge that the essences of things are eternal, and that there are propositions of eternal truth; consequently that the essences of things and the truth of the first principles are immutable. that is to be understood not only of theoretical but also of practical first principles, and of all the propositions that contain the true definition of creatures. these essences and these truths emanate from the same necessity of nature as the knowledge of god. since therefore it is by the nature of things that god exists, that he is all-powerful, and that he has perfect knowledge of all things, it is also by the nature of things that matter, the triangle, man and certain actions of man, etc., have such and such properties essentially. god saw from all eternity and in all necessity the essential relations of numbers, and the identity of the subject and predicate in the propositions that contain the essence of each thing. he saw likewise that the term just is included in these propositions: to esteem what is estimable, be grateful to one's benefactor, fulfil the conditions of a contract, and so on, with many others relating to morals. one is therefore justified in saying that the precepts of natural law assume the reasonableness and justice of that which is enjoined, and that it would be man's duty to practise what they contain even though god should have been so indulgent as to ordain nothing in that respect. pray observe that in going back with our visionary thoughts to that ideal moment when god has yet decreed nothing, we find in the [ ] ideas of god the principles of morals under terms that imply an obligation. we understand these maxims as certain, and derived from the eternal and immutable order: it beseems the rational creature to conform to reason; a rational creature conforming to reason is to be commended, but not conforming thereto is blameworthy. you would not dare to deny that these truths impose upon man a duty in relation to all acts which are in conformity with strict reason, such as these: one must esteem all that is estimable; render good for good; do wrong to no man; honour one's father; render to every man that which is his due, etc. now since by the very nature of things, and before the divine laws, the truths of morality impose upon man certain duties, thomas aquinas and grotius were justified in saying that if there were no god we should nevertheless be obliged to conform to natural law. others have said that even supposing all rational beings in existence were to perish, true propositions would remain true. cajetan maintained that if he remained alone in the universe, all other things without any exception having been destroyed, the knowledge that he had of the nature of a rose would nevertheless subsist.' . the late jacob thomasius, a celebrated professor at leipzig, made the apt observation in his elucidations of the philosophic rules of daniel stahl, a jena professor, that it is not advisable to go altogether beyond god, and that one must not say, with some scotists, that the eternal verities would exist even though there were no understanding, not even that of god. for it is, in my judgement, the divine understanding which gives reality to the eternal verities, albeit god's will have no part therein. all reality must be founded on something existent. it is true that an atheist may be a geometrician: but if there were no god, geometry would have no object. and without god, not only would there be nothing existent, but there would be nothing possible. that, however, does not hinder those who do not see the connexion of all things one with another and with god from being able to understand certain sciences, without knowing their first source, which is in god. aristotle, although he also scarcely knew that source, nevertheless said something of the same kind which was very apposite. he acknowledged that the principles of individual forms of knowledge depend on a superior knowledge which gives the reason for them; and this superior knowledge must have being, and consequently god, the[ ] source of being, for its object. herr dreier of königsberg has aptly observed that the true metaphysics which aristotle sought, and which he called [greek: tên zêtoumenên], his _desideratum_, was theology. . yet the same m. bayle, who says so much that is admirable in order to prove that the rules of goodness and justice, and the eternal verities in general, exist by their nature, and not by an arbitrary choice of god, has spoken very hesitatingly about them in another passage (continuation of _divers thoughts on the comet_, vol. ii, ch. , towards the end). after having given an account of the opinion of m. descartes and a section of his followers, who maintain that god is the free cause of truths and of essences, he adds (p. ): 'i have done all that i could to gain true understanding of this dogma and to find the solution of the difficulties surrounding it. i confess to you quite simply that i still cannot properly fathom it. that does not discourage me; i suppose, as other philosophers in other cases have supposed, that time will unfold the meaning of this noble paradox. i wish that father malebranche had thought fit to defend it, but he took other measures.' is it possible that the enjoyment of doubt can have such influence upon a gifted man as to make him wish and hope for the power to believe that two contradictories never exist together for the sole reason that god forbade them to, and, moreover, that god could have issued them an order to ensure that they always walked together? there is indeed a noble paradox! father malebranche showed great wisdom in taking other measures. . i cannot even imagine that m. descartes can have been quite seriously of this opinion, although he had adherents who found this easy to believe, and would in all simplicity follow him where he only made pretence to go. it was apparently one of his tricks, one of his philosophic feints: he prepared for himself some loophole, as when for instance he discovered a trick for denying the movement of the earth, while he was a copernican in the strictest sense. i suspect that he had in mind here another extraordinary manner of speaking, of his own invention, which was to say that affirmations and negations, and acts of inner judgement in general, are operations of the will. through this artifice the eternal verities, which until the time of descartes had been named an object of the divine understanding, suddenly became an object of god's will. now the acts of his will are free, therefore god is the free cause of the verities. that [ ] is the outcome of the matter. _spectatum admissi._ a slight change in the meaning of terms has caused all this commotion. but if the affirmations of necessary truths were actions of the will of the most perfect mind, these actions would be anything but free, for there is nothing to choose. it seems that m. descartes did not declare himself sufficiently on the nature of freedom, and that his conception of it was somewhat unusual: for he extended it so far that he even held the affirmations of necessary truths to be free in god. that was preserving only the name of freedom. . m. bayle, who with others conceives this to be a freedom of indifference, that god had had to establish (for instance) the truths of numbers, and to ordain that three times three made nine, whereas he could have commanded them to make ten, imagines in this strange opinion, supposing it were possible to defend it, some kind of advantage gained against the stratonists. strato was one of the leaders of the school of aristotle, and the successor of theophrastus; he maintained (according to cicero's account) that this world had been formed such as it is by nature or by a necessary cause devoid of cognition. i admit that that might be so, if god had so preformed matter as to cause such an effect by the laws of motion alone. but without god there would not even have been any reason for existence, and still less for any particular existence of things: thus strato's system is not to be feared. . nevertheless m. bayle is in difficulties over this: he will not admit plastic natures devoid of cognition, which mr. cudworth and others had introduced, for fear that the modern stratonists, that is, the spinozists, take advantage of it. this has involved him in disputes with m. le clerc. under the influence of this error, that a non-intelligent cause can produce nothing where contrivance appears, he is far from conceding to me that _preformation_ which produces naturally the organs of animals, and _the system of a harmony pre-established by god_ in bodies, to make them respond in accordance with their own laws to the thoughts and the wills of souls. but it ought to have been taken into account that this non-intelligent cause, which produces such beautiful things in the grains and seeds of plants and animals, and effects the actions of bodies as the will ordains them, was formed by the hand of god: and god is infinitely more skilful than a watchmaker, who himself makes machines and automata that are [ ] capable of producing as wonderful effects as if they possessed intelligence. . now to come to m. bayle's apprehensions concerning the stratonists, in case one should admit truths that are not dependent upon the will of god: he seems to fear lest they may take advantage against us of the perfect regularity of the eternal verities. since this regularity springs only from the nature and necessity of things, without being directed by any cognition, m. bayle fears that one might with strato thence infer that the world also could have become regular through a blind necessity. but it is easy to answer that. in the region of the eternal verities are found all the possibles, and consequently the regular as well as the irregular: there must be a reason accounting for the preference for order and regularity, and this reason can only be found in understanding. moreover these very truths can have no existence without an understanding to take cognizance of them; for they would not exist if there were no divine understanding wherein they are realized, so to speak. hence strato does not attain his end, which is to exclude cognition from that which enters into the origin of things. . the difficulty that m. bayle has imagined in connexion with strato seems a little too subtle and far-fetched. that is termed: _timere, ubi non est timor_. he makes another difficulty, which has just as slight a foundation, namely, that god would be subjected to a kind of _fatum_. here are his words (p. ): 'if they are propositions of eternal truth, which are such by their nature and not by god's institution, if they are not true by a free decree of his will, but if on the contrary he has recognized them as true of necessity, because such was their nature, there is a kind of _fatum_ to which he is subjected; there is an absolutely insurmountable natural necessity. thence comes also the result that the divine understanding in the infinity of its ideas has always and at the outset hit upon their perfect conformity with their objects, without the guidance of any cognition; for it would be a contradiction to say that any exemplary cause had served as a plan for the acts of god's understanding. one would never that way find eternal ideas or any first intelligence. one must say, then, that a nature which exists of necessity always finds its way, without any need for it to be shown. how then shall we overcome the obstinacy of a stratonist?' . but again it is easy to answer. this so-called _fatum_, which [ ] binds even the divinity, is nothing but god's own nature, his own understanding, which furnishes the rules for his wisdom and his goodness; it is a happy necessity, without which he would be neither good nor wise. is it to be desired that god should not be bound to be perfect and happy? is our condition, which renders us liable to fail, worth envying? and should we not be well pleased to exchange it for sinlessness, if that depended upon us? one must be indeed weary of life to desire the freedom to destroy oneself and to pity the divinity for not having that freedom. m. bayle himself reasons thus elsewhere against those who laud to the skies an extravagant freedom which they assume in the will, when they would make the will independent of reason. . moreover, m. bayle wonders 'that the divine understanding in the infinity of its ideas always and at the outset hits upon their perfect conformity with their objects, without the guidance of any cognition'. this objection is null and void. every distinct idea is, through its distinctness, in conformity with its object, and in god there are distinct ideas only. at first, moreover, the object exists nowhere; but when it comes into existence, it will be formed according to this idea. besides, m. bayle knows very well that the divine understanding has no need of time for seeing the connexion of things. all trains of reasoning are in god in a transcendent form, and they preserve an order amongst them in his understanding, as well as in ours: but with him it is only an order and a _priority of nature_, whereas with us there is a _priority of time_. it is therefore not to be wondered at that he who penetrates all things at one stroke should always strike true at the outset; and it must not be said that he succeeds without the guidance of any cognition. on the contrary, it is because his knowledge is perfect that his voluntary actions are also perfect. . up to now i have shown that the will of god is not independent of the rules of wisdom, although indeed it is a matter for surprise that one should have been constrained to argue about it, and to do battle for a truth so great and so well established. but it is hardly less surprising that there should be people who believe that god only half observes these rules, and does not choose the best, although his wisdom causes him to recognize it; and, in a word, that there should be writers who hold that god could have done better. that is more or less the error of the famous alfonso, king of castile, who was elected king of the romans by [ ] certain electors, and originated the astronomical tables that bear his name. this prince is reported to have said that if god in making the world had consulted him he would have given god good advice. apparently the ptolemaic system, which prevailed at that time, was displeasing to him. he believed therefore that something better planned could have been made, and he was right. but if he had known the system of copernicus, with the discoveries of kepler, now extended by knowledge of the gravity of the planets, he would indeed have confessed that the contrivance of the true system is marvellous. we see, therefore, that here the question concerned the more or less only; alfonso maintained that better could have been done, and his opinion was censured by everyone. . yet philosophers and theologians dare to support dogmatically such a belief; and i have many times wondered that gifted and pious persons should have been capable of setting bounds to the goodness and the perfection of god. for to assert that he knows what is best, that he can do it and that he does it not, is to avow that it rested with his will only to make the world better than it is; but that is what one calls lacking goodness. it is acting against that axiom already quoted: _minus bonum habet rationem mali_. if some adduce experience to prove that god could have done better, they set themselves up as ridiculous critics of his works. to such will be given the answer given to all those who criticize god's course of action, and who from this same assumption, that is, the alleged defects of the world, would infer that there is an evil god, or at least a god neutral between good and evil. and if we hold the same opinion as king alfonso, we shall, i say, receive this answer: you have known the world only since the day before yesterday, you see scarce farther than your nose, and you carp at the world. wait until you know more of the world and consider therein especially the parts which present a complete whole (as do organic bodies); and you will find there a contrivance and a beauty transcending all imagination. let us thence draw conclusions as to the wisdom and the goodness of the author of things, even in things that we know not. we find in the universe some things which are not pleasing to us; but let us be aware that it is not made for us alone. it is nevertheless made for us if we are wise: it will serve us if we use it for our service; we shall be happy in it if we wish to be. [ ] . someone will say that it is impossible to produce the best, because there is no perfect creature, and that it is always possible to produce one which would be more perfect. i answer that what can be said of a creature or of a particular substance, which can always be surpassed by another, is not to be applied to the universe, which, since it must extend through all future eternity, is an infinity. moreover, there is an infinite number of creatures in the smallest particle of matter, because of the actual division of the _continuum_ to infinity. and infinity, that is to say, the accumulation of an infinite number of substances, is, properly speaking, not a whole any more than the infinite number itself, whereof one cannot say whether it is even or uneven. that is just what serves to confute those who make of the world a god, or who think of god as the soul of the world; for the world or the universe cannot be regarded as an animal or as a substance. . it is therefore not a question of a creature, but of the universe; and the adversary will be obliged to maintain that one possible universe may be better than the other, to infinity; but there he would be mistaken, and it is that which he cannot prove. if this opinion were true, it would follow that god had not produced any universe at all: for he is incapable of acting without reason, and that would be even acting against reason. it is as if one were to suppose that god had decreed to make a material sphere, with no reason for making it of any particular size. this decree would be useless, it would carry with it that which would prevent its effect. it would be quite another matter if god decreed to draw from a given point one straight line to another given straight line, without any determination of the angle, either in the decree or in its circumstances. for in this case the determination would spring from the nature of the thing, the line would be perpendicular, and the angle would be right, since that is all that is determined and distinguishable. it is thus one must think of the creation of the best of all possible universes, all the more since god not only decrees to create a universe, but decrees also to create the best of all. for god decrees nothing without knowledge, and he makes no separate decrees, which would be nothing but antecedent acts of will: and these we have sufficiently explained, distinguishing them from genuine decrees. . m. diroys, whom i knew in rome, theologian to cardinal d'estrées, wrote a book entitled _proofs and assumptions in favour of_ _the [ ] christian religion_, published in paris in the year . m. bayle (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ) recounts this objection brought up by m. diroys: 'there is one more difficulty', he says, 'which it is no less important to meet than those given earlier, since it causes more trouble to those who judge goods and evils by considerations founded on the purest and most lofty maxims. this is that god being the supreme wisdom and goodness, it seems to them that he ought to do all things as wise and virtuous persons would wish them to be done, following the rules of wisdom and of goodness which god has imprinted in them, and as they would be obliged themselves to do these things if they depended upon them. thus, seeing that the affairs of the world do not go so well as, in their opinion, they might go, and as they would go if they interfered themselves, they conclude that god, who is infinitely better and wiser than they, or rather wisdom and goodness itself, does not concern himself with these affairs.' . m. diroys makes some apt remarks concerning this, which i will not repeat, since i have sufficiently answered the objection in more than one passage, and that has been the chief end of all my discourse. but he makes one assertion with which i cannot agree. he claims that the objection proves too much. one must again quote his own words with m. bayle, p. : 'if it does not behove the supreme wisdom and goodness to fail to do what is best and most perfect, it follows that all beings are eternally, immutably and essentially as perfect and as good as they can be, since nothing can change except by passing either from a state less good to a better, or from a better to a less good. now that cannot happen if it does not behove god to fail to do that which is best and most perfect, when he can do it. it will therefore be necessary that all beings be eternally and essentially filled with a knowledge and a virtue as perfect as god can give them. now all that which is eternally and essentially as perfect as god can make it proceeds essentially from him; in a word, is eternally and essentially good as he is, and consequently it is god, as he is. that is the bearing of this maxim, that it is repugnant to supreme justice and goodness not to make things as good and perfect as they can be. for it is essential to essential wisdom and goodness to banish all that is repugnant to it altogether. one must therefore assert as a primary truth concerning the conduct of god in relation to creatures that there is nothing repugnant to this goodness and this wisdom in making things less perfect than [ ] they could be, or in permitting the goods that it has produced either completely to cease to be or to change and deteriorate. for it causes no offence to god that there should be other beings than he, that is beings who can be not what they are, and do not what they do or do what they do not.' . m. bayle calls this answer paltry, but i find his counter-objection involved. m. bayle will have those who are for the two principles to take their stand chiefly on the assumption of the supreme freedom of god: for if he were compelled to produce all that which he can, he would produce also sins and sorrows. thus the dualists could from the existence of evil conclude nothing contrary to the oneness of the principle, if this principle were as much inclined to evil as to good. there m. bayle carries the notion of freedom too far: for even though god be supremely free, it does not follow that he maintains an indifference of equipoise: and even though he be inclined to act, it does not follow that he is compelled by this inclination to produce all that which he can. he will produce only that which he wills, for his inclination prompts him to good. i admit the supreme freedom of god, but i do not confuse it with indifference of equipoise, as if he could act without reason. m. diroys therefore imagines that the dualists, in their insistence that the single good principle produce no evil, ask too much; for by the same reason, according to m. diroys, they ought also to ask that he should produce the greatest good, the less good being a kind of evil. i hold that the dualists are wrong in respect of the first point, and that they would be right in respect of the second, where m. diroys blames them without cause; or rather that one can reconcile the evil, or the less good, in some parts with the best in the whole. if the dualists demanded that god should do the best, they would not be demanding too much. they are mistaken rather in claiming that the best in the whole should be free from evil in the parts, and that therefore what god has made is not the best. . but m. diroys maintains that if god always produces the best he will produce other gods; otherwise each substance that he produced would not be the best nor the most perfect. but he is mistaken, through not taking into account the order and connexion of things. if each substance taken separately were perfect, all would be alike; which is neither fitting nor possible. if they were gods, it would not have been possible to [ ] produce them. the best system of things will therefore not contain gods; it will always be a system of bodies (that is, things arranged according to time and place) and of souls which represent and are aware of bodies, and in accordance with which bodies are in great measure directed. so, as the design of a building may be the best of all in respect of its purpose, of expense and of circumstances; and as an arrangement of some figured representations of bodies which is given to you may be the best that one can find, it is easy to imagine likewise that a structure of the universe may be the best of all, without becoming a god. the connexion and order of things brings it about that the body of every animal and of every plant is composed of other animals and of other plants, or of other living and organic beings; consequently there is subordination, and one body, one substance serves the other: thus their perfection cannot be equal. . m. bayle thinks (p. ) that m. diroys has confused two different propositions. according to the one, god must do all things as wise and virtuous persons would wish that they should be done, by the rules of wisdom and of goodness that god has imprinted in them, and as they would be obliged themselves to do them if those things depended upon them. the other is that it is not consistent with supreme wisdom and goodness to fail to do what is best and most perfect. m. diroys (in m. bayle's opinion) sets up the first proposition as an objection for himself, and replies to the second. but therein he is justified, as it seems to me. for these two propositions are connected, the second is a result of the first: to do less good than one could is to be lacking in wisdom or in goodness. to be the best, and to be desired by those who are most virtuous and wise, comes to the same thing. and it may be said that, if we could understand the structure and the economy of the universe, we should find that it is made and directed as the wisest and most virtuous could wish it, since god cannot fail to do thus. this necessity nevertheless is only of a moral nature: and i admit that if god were forced by a metaphysical necessity to produce that which he makes, he would produce all the possibles, or nothing; and in this sense m. bayle's conclusion would be fully correct. but as all the possibles are not compatible together in one and the same world-sequence, for that very reason all the possibles cannot be produced, and it must be said that god is not forced, metaphysically speaking, [ ] into the creation of this world. one may say that as soon as god has decreed to create something there is a struggle between all the possibles, all of them laying claim to existence, and that those which, being united, produce most reality, most perfection, most significance carry the day. it is true that all this struggle can only be ideal, that is to say, it can only be a conflict of reasons in the most perfect understanding, which cannot fail to act in the most perfect way, and consequently to choose the best. yet god is bound by a moral necessity, to make things in such a manner that there can be nothing better: otherwise not only would others have cause to criticize what he makes, but, more than that, he would not himself be satisfied with his work, he would blame himself for its imperfection; and that conflicts with the supreme felicity of the divine nature. this perpetual sense of his own fault or imperfection would be to him an inevitable source of grief, as m. bayle says on another occasion (p. ). . m. diroys' argument contains a false assumption, in his statement that nothing can change except by passing from a state less good to a better or from a better to a less good; and that thus, if god makes the best, what he has produced cannot be changed: it would be an eternal substance, a god. but i do not see why a thing cannot change its kind in relation to good or evil, without changing its degree. in the transition from enjoyment of music to enjoyment of painting, or _vice versa_ from the pleasure of the eyes to that of the ears, the degree of enjoyment may remain the same, the latter gaining no advantage over the former save that of novelty. if the quadrature of the circle should come to pass or (what is the same thing) the circulature of the square, that is, if the circle were changed into a square of the same size, or the square into a circle, it would be difficult to say, on the whole, without having regard to some special use, whether one would have gained or lost. thus the best may be changed into another which neither yields to it nor surpasses it: but there will always be an order among them, and that the best order possible. taking the whole sequence of things, the best has no equal; but one part of the sequence may be equalled by another part of the same sequence. besides it might be said that the whole sequence of things to infinity may be the best possible, although what exists all through the universe in each portion of time be not the best. it might be therefore that the universe became even [ ] better and better, if the nature of things were such that it was not permitted to attain to the best all at once. but these are problems of which it is hard for us to judge. . m. bayle says (p. ) that the question whether god could have made things more perfect than he made them is also very difficult, and that the reasons for and against are very strong. but it is, so it seems to me, as if one were to question whether god's actions are consistent with the most perfect wisdom and the greatest goodness. it is a very strange thing, that by changing the terms a little one throws doubt upon what is, if properly understood, as clear as anything can be. the reasons to the contrary have no force, being founded only on the semblance of defects; and m. bayle's objection, which tends to prove that the law of the best would impose upon god a true metaphysical necessity, is only an illusion that springs from the misuse of terms. m. bayle formerly held a different opinion, when he commended that of father malebranche, which was akin to mine on this subject. but m. arnauld having written in opposition to father malebranche, m. bayle altered his opinion; and i suppose that his tendency towards doubt, which increased in him with the years, was conducive to that result. m. arnauld was doubtless a great man, and his authority has great weight: he made sundry good observations in his writings against father malebranche, but he was not justified in contesting those of his statements that were akin to mine on the rule of the best. . the excellent author of _the search for truth_, having passed from philosophy to theology, published finally an admirable treatise on nature and grace. here he showed in his way (as m. bayle explained in his _divers thoughts on the comet_, ch. ) that the events which spring from the enforcement of general laws are not the object of a particular will of god. it is true that when one wills a thing one wills also in a sense everything that is necessarily attached to it, and in consequence god cannot will general laws without also willing in a sense all the particular effects that must of necessity be derived from them. but it is always true that these particular events are not willed for their own sake, and that is what is meant by the expression that they are not willed by a _particular_ and direct _will_. there is no doubt that when god resolved to act outside himself, he made choice of a manner of action which should be worthy [ ] of the supremely perfect being, that is, which should be infinitely simple and uniform, but yet of an infinite productivity. one may even suppose that this manner of action by _general acts of will_ appeared to him preferable--although there must thence result some superfluous events (and even bad if they are taken separately, that is my own addition)--to another manner more composed and more regular; such is father malebranche's opinion. nothing is more appropriate than this assumption (according to the opinion of m. bayle, when he wrote his _divers thoughts on the comet_) to solve a thousand difficulties which are brought up against divine providence: 'to ask god', he says, 'why he has made things which serve to render men more wicked, that would be to ask why god has carried out his plan (which can only be of infinite beauty) by the simplest and most uniform methods, and why, by a complexity of decrees that would unceasingly cut across one another, he has not prevented the wrong use of man's free will.' he adds 'that miracles being particular acts of will must have an end worthy of god'. . on these foundations he makes some good reflexions (ch. ) concerning the injustice of those who complain of the prosperity of the wicked. 'i shall have no scruples', he says, 'about saying that all those who are surprised at the prosperity of the wicked have pondered very little upon the nature of god, and that they have reduced the obligations of a cause which directs all things, to the scope of a providence altogether subordinate; and that is small-minded. what then! should god, after having made free causes and necessary causes, in a mixture infinitely well fitted to show forth the wonders of his infinite wisdom, have established laws consistent with the nature of free causes, but so lacking in firmness that the slightest trouble that came upon a man would overthrow them entirely, to the ruin of human freedom? a mere city governor will become an object of ridicule if he changes his regulations and orders as often as someone is pleased to murmur against him. and shall god, whose laws concern a good so universal that all of the world that is visible to us perchance enters into it as no more than a trifling accessary, be bound to depart from his laws, because they to-day displease the one and to-morrow the other? or again because a superstitious person, deeming wrongly that a monstrosity presages something deadly, proceeds from his error to a criminal sacrifice? or because a good soul, who yet does not value virtue highly enough to [ ] believe that to have none is punishment enough in itself, is shocked that a wicked man should become rich and enjoy vigorous health? can one form any falser notions of a universal providence? everyone agrees that this law of nature, the strong prevails over the weak, has been very wisely laid down, and that it would be absurd to maintain that when a stone falls on a fragile vase which is the delight of its owner, god should depart from this law in order to spare that owner vexation. should one then not confess that it is just as absurd to maintain that god must depart from the same law to prevent a wicked man from growing rich at the expense of a good man? the more the wicked man sets himself above the promptings of conscience and of honour, the more does he exceed the good man in strength, so that if he comes to grips with the good man he must, according to the course of nature, ruin him. if, moreover, they are both engaged in the business of finance, the wicked man must, according to the same course of nature, grow richer than the good man, just as a fierce fire consumes more wood than a fire of straw. those who would wish sickness for a wicked man are sometimes as unfair as those who would wish that a stone falling on a glass should not break it: for his organs being arranged as they are, neither the food that he takes nor the air that he breathes can, according to natural laws, be detrimental to his health. therefore those who complain about his health complain of god's failure to violate the laws which he has established. and in this they are all the more unfair because, through combinations and concatenations which were in the power of god alone, it happens often enough that the course of nature brings about the punishment of sin.' . it is a thousand pities that m. bayle so soon quitted the way he had so auspiciously begun, of reasoning on behalf of providence: for his work would have been fruitful, and in saying fine things he would have said good things as well. i agree with father malebranche that god does things in the way most worthy of him. but i go a little further than he, with regard to 'general and particular acts of will'. as god can do nothing without reasons, even when he acts miraculously, it follows that he has no will about individual events but what results from some general truth or will. thus i would say that god never has a _particular will_ such as this father implies, that is to say, _a particular primitive will_. [ ] . i think even that miracles have nothing to distinguish them from other events in this regard: for reasons of an order superior to that of nature prompt god to perform them. thus i would not say, with this father, that god departs from general laws whenever order requires it: he departs from one law only for another law more applicable, and what order requires cannot fail to be in conformity with the rule of order, which is one of the general laws. the distinguishing mark of miracles (taken in the strictest sense) is that they cannot be accounted for by the natures of created things. that is why, should god make a general law causing bodies to be attracted the one to the other, he could only achieve its operation by perpetual miracles. and likewise, if god willed that the organs of human bodies should conform to the will of the soul, according to the _system of occasional causes_, this law also would come into operation only through perpetual miracles. . thus one must suppose that, among the general rules which are not absolutely necessary, god chooses those which are the most natural, which it is easiest to explain, and which also are of greatest service for the explanation of other things. that is doubtless the conclusion most excellent and most pleasing; and even though the system of pre-established harmony were not necessary otherwise, because it banishes superfluous miracles, god would have chosen it as being the most harmonious. the ways of god are those most simple and uniform: for he chooses rules that least restrict one another. they are also the most _productive_ in proportion to the _simplicity of ways and means_. it is as if one said that a certain house was the best that could have been constructed at a certain cost. one may, indeed, reduce these two conditions, simplicity and productivity, to a single advantage, which is to produce as much perfection as is possible: thus father malebranche's system in this point amounts to the same as mine. even if the effect were assumed to be greater, but the process less simple, i think one might say that, when all is said and done, the effect itself would be less great, taking into account not only the final effect but also the mediate effect. for the wisest mind so acts, as far as it is possible, that the _means_ are also in a sense _ends_, that is, they are desirable not only on account of what they do, but on account of what they are. the more intricate processes take up too much ground, too much space, too much place, too much time that might have been better employed. [ ] . now since everything resolves itself into this greatest perfection, we return to my law of the best. for perfection includes not only the _moral good_ and the _physical good_ of intelligent creatures, but also the good which is purely _metaphysical_, and concerns also creatures devoid of reason. it follows that the evil that is in rational creatures happens only by concomitance, not by antecedent will but by a consequent will, as being involved in the best possible plan; and the metaphysical good which includes everything makes it necessary sometimes to admit physical evil and moral evil, as i have already explained more than once. it so happens that the ancient stoics were not far removed from this system. m. bayle remarked upon this himself in his _dictionary_ in the article on 'chrysippus', rem. t. it is of importance to give his own words, in order sometimes to face him with his own objections and to bring him back to the fine sentiments that he had formerly pronounced: 'chrysippus', he says (p. ), 'in his work on providence examined amongst other questions this one: did the nature of things, or the providence that made the world and the human kind, make also the diseases to which men are subject? he answers that the chief design of nature was not to make them sickly, that would not be in keeping with the cause of all good; but nature, in preparing and producing many great things excellently ordered and of great usefulness, found that some drawbacks came as a result, and thus these were not in conformity with the original design and purpose; they came about as a sequel to the work, they existed only as consequences. for the formation of the human body, chrysippus said, the finest idea as well as the very utility of the work demanded that the head should be composed of a tissue of thin, fine bones; but because of that it was bound to have the disadvantage of not being able to resist blows. nature made health, and at the same time it was necessary by a kind of concomitance that the source of diseases should be opened up. the same thing applies with regard to virtue; the direct action of nature, which brought it forth, produced by a counter stroke the brood of vices. i have not translated literally, for which reason i give here the actual latin of aulus gellius, for the benefit of those who understand that language (aul. gellius, lib. , cap. ): "idem chrysippus in eod. lib. (quarto, [greek: peri pronoias]) tractat consideratque, dignumque esse id quaeri putat, [greek: ei hai tôn anthrôpôn nosoi kata physin gignontai]. id est, naturane ipsa rerum, vel providentia quae compagem hanc mundi et [ ] genus hominum fecit, morbos quoque et debilitates et aegritudines corporum, quas patiuntur homines, fecerit. existimat autem non fuisse hoc principale naturae consilium, ut faceret homines morbis obnoxios. nunquam enim hoc convenisse naturae auctori parentique rerum omnium bonarum. sed quum multa, inquit, atque magna gigneret, pareretque aptissima et utilissima, alia quoque simul agnata sunt incommoda iis ipsis, quae faciebat, cohaerentia: eaque non per naturam, sed per sequelas quasdam necessarias facta dicit, quod ipse appellat [greek: kata parakolouthêsin]. sicut, inquit, quum corpora hominum natura fingeret, ratio subtilior et utilitas ipsa operis postulavit ut tenuissimis minutisque ossiculis caput compingeret. sed hanc utilitatem rei majoris alia quaedam incommoditas extrinsecus consecuta est, ut fieret caput tenuiter munitum et ictibus offensionibusque parvis fragile. proinde morbi quoque et aegritudines partae sunt, dum salus paritur. sic hercle, inquit, dum virtus hominibus per consilium naturae gignitur, vitia ibidem per affinitatem contrariam nata sunt." i do not think that a pagan could have said anything more reasonable, considering his ignorance of the first man's fall, the knowledge of which has only reached us through revelation, and which indeed is the true cause of our miseries. if we had sundry like extracts from the works of chrysippus, or rather if we had his works, we should have a more favourable idea than we have of the beauty of his genius.' . let us now see the reverse of the medal in the altered m. bayle. after having quoted in his _reply to the questions of a provincial_ (vol. iii, ch. , p. ) these words of m. jacquelot, which are much to my liking: 'to change the order of the universe is something of infinitely greater consequence than the prosperity of a good man,' he adds: 'this thought has something dazzling about it: father malebranche has placed it in the best possible light; and he has persuaded some of his readers that a system which is simple and very productive is more consistent with god's wisdom than a system more composite and less productive in proportion, but more capable of averting irregularities. m. bayle was one of those who believed that father malebranche in that way gave a wonderful solution.' (it is m. bayle himself speaking.) 'but it is almost impossible to be satisfied with it after having read m. arnauld's books against this system, and after having contemplated the vast and boundless idea of the supremely [ ] perfect being. this idea shows us that nothing is easier for god than to follow a plan which is simple, productive, regular and opportune for all creatures simultaneously.' . while i was in france i showed to m. arnauld a dialogue i had composed in latin on the cause of evil and the justice of god; it was not only before his disputes with father malebranche, but even before the book on _the search for truth_ appeared. that principle which i uphold here, namely that sin had been permitted because it had been involved in the best plan for the universe, was already applied there; and m. arnauld did not seem to be startled by it. but the slight contentions which he has since had with father malebranche have given him cause to examine this subject with closer attention, and to be more severe in his judgement thereof. yet i am not altogether pleased with m. bayle's manner of expression here on this subject, and i am not of the opinion 'that a more composite and less productive plan might be more capable of averting irregularities'. rules are the expression of general will: the more one observes rules, the more regularity there is; simplicity and productivity are the aim of rules. i shall be met with the objection that a uniform system will be free from irregularities. i answer that it would be an irregularity to be too uniform, that would offend against the rules of harmony. _et citharoedus ridetur chorda qui semper oberrat eadem_. i believe therefore that god can follow a simple, productive, regular plan; but i do not believe that the best and the most regular is always opportune for all creatures simultaneously; and i judge _a posteriori_, for the plan chosen by god is not so. i have, however, also shown this _a priori_ in examples taken from mathematics, and i will presently give another here. an origenist who maintains that all rational creatures become happy in the end will be still easier to satisfy. he will say, in imitation of st. paul's saying about the sufferings of this life, that those which are finite are not worthy to be compared with eternal bliss. . what is deceptive in this subject, as i have already observed, is that one feels an inclination to believe that what is the best in the whole is also the best possible in each part. one reasons thus in geometry, when it is a question _de maximis et minimis_. if the road from a to b that one proposes to take is the shortest possible, and if this road passes by c, then the road from a to c, part of the first, must also be the shortest possible. but the inference from _quantity_ to _quality_ is not always[ ] right, any more than that which is drawn from equals to similars. for _equals_ are those whose quantity is the same, and _similars_ are those not differing according to qualities. the late herr sturm, a famous mathematician in altorf, while in holland in his youth published there a small book under the title of _euclides catholicus_. here he endeavoured to give exact and general rules in subjects not mathematical, being encouraged in the task by the late herr erhard weigel, who had been his tutor. in this book he transfers to similars what euclid had said of equals, and he formulates this axiom: _si similibus addas similia, tota sunt similia_. but so many limitations were necessary to justify this new rule, that it would have been better, in my opinion, to enounce it at the outset with a reservation, by saying, _si similibus similia addas similiter, tota sunt similia_. moreover, geometricians often require _non tantum similia, sed et similiter posita_. . this difference between quantity and quality appears also in our case. the part of the shortest way between two extreme points is also the shortest way between the extreme points of this part; but the part of the best whole is not of necessity the best that one could have made of this part. for the part of a beautiful thing is not always beautiful, since it can be extracted from the whole, or marked out within the whole, in an irregular manner. if goodness and beauty always lay in something absolute and uniform, such as extension, matter, gold, water, and other bodies assumed to be homogeneous or similar, one must say that the part of the good and the beautiful would be beautiful and good like the whole, since it would always have resemblance to the whole: but this is not the case in things that have mutual relations. an example taken from geometry will be appropriate to explain my idea. . there is a kind of geometry which herr jung of hamburg, one of the most admirable men of his time, called 'empiric'. it makes use of conclusive experiments and proves various propositions of euclid, but especially those which concern the equality of two figures, by cutting the one in pieces, and putting the pieces together again to make the other. in this manner, by cutting carefully in parts the squares on the two sides of the right-angled triangle, and arranging these parts carefully, one makes from them the square on the hypotenuse; that is demonstrating empirically the th proposition of the first book of euclid. now supposing that some of these pieces taken from the two smaller squares are lost, something[ ] will be lacking in the large square that is to be formed from them; and this defective combination, far from pleasing, will be disagreeably ugly. if then the pieces that remained, composing the faulty combination, were taken separately without any regard to the large square to whose formation they ought to contribute, one would group them together quite differently to make a tolerably good combination. but as soon as the lost pieces are retrieved and the gap in the faulty combination is filled, there will ensue a beautiful and regular thing, the complete large square: this perfect combination will be far more beautiful than the tolerably good combination which had been made from the pieces one had not mislaid alone. the perfect combination corresponds to the universe in its entirety, and the faulty combination that is a part of the perfect one corresponds to some part of the universe, where we find defects which the author of things has allowed, because otherwise, if he had wished to re-shape this faulty part and make thereof a tolerably good combination, the whole would not then have been so beautiful. for the parts of the faulty combination, grouped better to make a tolerably good combination, could not have been used properly to form the whole and perfect combination. thomas aquinas had an inkling of these things when he said: _ad prudentem gubernatorem pertinet, negligere aliquem defectum bonitatis in parte, ut faciat augmentum bonitatis in toto_ (thom., _contra gentiles_, lib. , c. ). thomas gatacre, in his notes on the book of marcus aurelius (lib. , cap. , with m. bayle), cites also passages from authors who say that the evil of the parts is often the good of the whole. . let us return to m. bayle's illustrations. he imagines a prince (p. ) who is having a city built, and who, in bad taste, aims rather at airs of magnificence therein, and a bold and unusual style of architecture, than at the provision of conveniences of all kinds for the inhabitants. but if this prince has true magnanimity he will prefer the convenient to the magnificent architecture. that is m. bayle's judgement. i consider, however, that there are cases where one will justifiably prefer beauty of construction in a palace to the convenience of a few domestics. but i admit that the construction would be bad, however beautiful it might be, if it were a cause of diseases to the inhabitants; provided it was possible to make one that would be better, taking into account beauty, convenience and health all together. it may be, indeed, that one cannot have all these[ ] advantages at once. thus, supposing one wished to build on the northern and more bracing side of the mountain, if the castle were then bound to be of an unendurable construction, one would prefer to make it face southward. . m. bayle raises the further objection, that it is true that our legislators can never invent regulations such as are convenient for all individuals, 'nulla lex satis commoda omnibus est; id modo quaeritur, si majori parti et in summam prodest. (cato apud livium, l. , circa init.)' but the reason is that the limited condition of their knowledge compels them to cling to laws which, when all is taken into account, are more advantageous than harmful. nothing of all that can apply to god, who is as infinite in power and understanding as in goodness and true greatness. i answer that since god chooses the best possible, one cannot tax him with any limitation of his perfections; and in the universe not only does the good exceed the evil, but also the evil serves to augment the good. . he observes also that the stoics derived a blasphemy from this principle, saying that evils must be endured with patience, or that they were necessary, not only to the well-being and completeness of the universe, but also to the felicity, perfection and conservation of god, who directs it. the emperor marcus aurelius gave expression to that in the eighth chapter of the fifth book of his _meditations_. 'duplici ratione', he says, 'diligas oportet, quidquid evenerit tibi; altera quod tibi natum et tibi coordinatum et ad te quodammodo affectum est; altera quod universi gubernatori prosperitatis et consummationis atque adeo permansionis ipsius procurandae ([greek: tês euodias kai tês synteleias kai tês symmonês autês]) ex parte causa est.' this precept is not the most reasonable of those stated by that great emperor. a _diligas oportet_ ([greek: stergein chrê]) is of no avail; a thing does not become pleasing just because it is necessary, and because it is destined for or attached to someone: and what for me would be an evil would not cease to be such because it would be my master's good, unless this good reflected back on me. one good thing among others in the universe is that the general good becomes in reality the individual good of those who love the author of all good. but the principal error of this emperor and of the stoics was their assumption that the good of the universe must please god himself, because they imagined god as the soul of the world. this error has nothing in common with my dogma, [ ] according to which god is _intelligentia extramundana_, as martianus capella calls him, or rather _supramundana_. further, he acts to do good, and not to receive it. _melius est dare quam accipere_; his bliss is ever perfect and can receive no increase, either from within or from without. . i come now to the principal objection m. bayle, after m. arnauld, brings up against me. it is complicated: they maintain that god would be under compulsion, that he would act of necessity, if he were bound to create the best; or at least that he would have been lacking in power if he could not have found a better expedient for excluding sins and other evils. that is in effect denying that this universe is the best, and that god is bound to insist upon the best. i have met this objection adequately in more than one passage: i have proved that god cannot fail to produce the best; and from that assumption it follows that the evils we experience could not have been reasonably excluded from the universe, since they are there. let us see, however, what these two excellent men bring up, or rather let us see what m. bayle's objection is, for he professes to have profited by the arguments of m. arnauld. . 'would it be possible', he says, _reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. , 'that a nature whose goodness, holiness, wisdom, knowledge and power are infinite, who loves virtue supremely, and hates vice supremely, as our clear and distinct idea of him shows us, and as well-nigh every page of scripture assures us, could have found in virtue no means fitting and suited for his ends? would it be possible that vice alone had offered him this means? one would have thought on the contrary that nothing beseemed this nature more than to establish virtue in his work to the exclusion of all vice.' m. bayle here exaggerates things. i agree that some vice was connected with the best plan of the universe, but i do not agree with him that god could not find in virtue any means suited for his ends. this objection would have been valid if there were no virtue, if vice took its place everywhere. he will say it suffices that vice prevails and that virtue is trifling in comparison. but i am far from agreeing with him there, and i think that in reality, properly speaking, there is incomparably more moral good than moral evil in rational creatures; and of these we have knowledge of but few. . this evil is not even so great in men as it is declared to be. it[ ] is only people of a malicious disposition or those who have become somewhat misanthropic through misfortunes, like lucian's timon, who find wickedness everywhere, and who poison the best actions by the interpretations they give to them. i speak of those who do it in all seriousness, to draw thence evil conclusions, by which their conduct is tainted; for there are some who only do it to show off their own acumen. people have found that fault in tacitus, and that again is the criticism m. descartes (in one of his letters) makes of mr. hobbes's book _de cive_, of which only a few copies had at that time been printed for distribution among friends, but to which some notes by the author were added in the second edition which we have. for although m. descartes acknowledges that this book is by a man of talent, he observes therein some very dangerous principles and maxims, in the assumption there made that all men are wicked, or the provision of them with motives for being so. the late herr jacob thomasius said in his admirable _tables of practical philosophy_ that the [greek: prôton pseudos], the primary cause of errors in this book by mr. hobbes, was that he took _statum legalem pro naturali_, that is to say that the corrupt state served him as a gauge and rule, whereas it is the state most befitting human nature which aristotle had had in view. for according to aristotle, that is termed _natural_ which conforms most closely to the perfection of the nature of the thing; but mr. hobbes applies the term _natural state_ to that which has least art, perhaps not taking into account that human nature in its perfection carries art with it. but the question of name, that is to say, of what may be called natural, would not be of great importance were it not that aristotle and hobbes fastened upon it the notion of natural right, each one following his own signification. i have said here already that i found in the book on the falsity of human virtues the same defect as m. descartes found in mr. hobbes's _de cive_. . but even if we assume that vice exceeds virtue in the human kind, as it is assumed the number of the damned exceeds that of the elect, it by no means follows that vice and misery exceed virtue and happiness in the universe: one should rather believe the opposite, because the city of god must be the most perfect of all possible states, since it was formed and is perpetually governed by the greatest and best of all monarchs. this answer confirms the observation i made earlier, when speaking of the conformity of faith with reason, namely, that one of the greatest sources of fallacy[ ] in the objections is the confusion of the apparent with the real. and here by the apparent i mean not simply such as would result from an exact discussion of facts, but that which has been derived from the small extent of our experiences. it would be senseless to try to bring up appearances so imperfect, and having such slight foundation, in opposition to the proofs of reason and the revelations of faith. . finally, i have already observed that love of virtue and hatred of vice, which tend in an undefined way to bring virtue into existence and to prevent the existence of vice, are only antecedent acts of will, such as is the will to bring about the happiness of all men and to save them from misery. these acts of antecedent will make up only a portion of all the antecedent will of god taken together, whose result forms the consequent will, or the decree to create the best. through this decree it is that love for virtue and for the happiness of rational creatures, which is undefined in itself and goes as far as is possible, receives some slight limitations, on account of the heed that must be paid to good in general. thus one must understand that god loves virtue supremely and hates vice supremely, and that nevertheless some vice is to be permitted. . m. arnauld and m. bayle appear to maintain that this method of explaining things and of establishing a best among all the plans for the universe, one such as may not be surpassed by any other, sets a limit to god's power. 'have you considered', says m. arnauld to father malebranche (in his _reflexions on the new system of nature and grace_, vol. ii, p. ), 'that in making such assumptions you take it upon yourself to subvert the first article of the creed, whereby we make profession of believing in god the father almighty?' he had said already (p. ): 'can one maintain, without trying to blind oneself, that a course of action which could not fail to have this grievous result, namely, that the majority of men perish, bears the stamp of god's goodness more than a different course of action, which would have caused, if god had followed it, the salvation of all men?' and, as m. jacquelot does not differ from the principles i have just laid down, m. bayle raises like objections in his case (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ): 'if one adopts such explanations', he says, 'one sees oneself constrained to renounce the most obvious notions on the nature of the supremely perfect being. these teach us that all things not implying contradiction are possible for him, [ ] that consequently it is possible for him to save people whom he does not save: for what contradiction would result supposing the number of the elect were greater than it is? they teach us besides that, since he is supremely happy, he has no will which he cannot carry out. how, then, shall we understand that he wills to save all men and that he cannot do so? we sought some light to help us out of the perplexities we feel in comparing the idea of god with the state of the human kind, and lo! we are given elucidations that cast us into darkness more dense.' . all these obstacles vanish before the exposition i have just given. i agree with m. bayle's principle, and it is also mine, that everything implying no contradiction is possible. but as for me, holding as i do that god did the best that was possible, or that he could not have done better than he has done, deeming also that to pass any other judgement upon his work in its entirety would be to wrong his goodness or his wisdom, i must say that to make something which surpasses in goodness the best itself, that indeed would imply contradiction. that would be as if someone maintained that god could draw from one point to another a line shorter than the straight line, and accused those who deny this of subverting the article of faith whereby we believe in god the father almighty. . the infinity of possibles, however great it may be, is no greater than that of the wisdom of god, who knows all possibles. one may even say that if this wisdom does not exceed the possibles extensively, since the objects of the understanding cannot go beyond the possible, which in a sense is alone intelligible, it exceeds them intensively, by reason of the infinitely infinite combinations it makes thereof, and its many deliberations concerning them. the wisdom of god, not content with embracing all the possibles, penetrates them, compares them, weighs them one against the other, to estimate their degrees of perfection or imperfection, the strong and the weak, the good and the evil. it goes even beyond the finite combinations, it makes of them an infinity of infinites, that is to say, an infinity of possible sequences of the universe, each of which contains an infinity of creatures. by this means the divine wisdom distributes all the possibles it had already contemplated separately, into so many universal systems which it further compares the one with the other. the result of all these comparisons and deliberations is the choice of the best from among all these possible systems, which wisdom makes in [ ] order to satisfy goodness completely; and such is precisely the plan of the universe as it is. moreover, all these operations of the divine understanding, although they have among them an order and a priority of nature, always take place together, no priority of time existing among them. . the careful consideration of these things will, i hope, induce a different idea of the greatness of the divine perfections, and especially of the wisdom and goodness of god, from any that can exist in the minds of those who make god act at random, without cause or reason. and i do not see how they could avoid falling into an opinion so strange, unless they acknowledged that there are reasons for god's choice, and that these reasons are derived from his goodness: whence it follows of necessity that what was chosen had the advantage of goodness over what was not chosen, and consequently that it is the best of all the possibles. the best cannot be surpassed in goodness, and it is no restriction of the power of god to say that he cannot do the impossible. is it possible, said m. bayle, that there is no better plan than that one which god carried out? one answers that it is very possible and indeed necessary, namely that there is none: otherwise god would have preferred it. . it seems to me that i have proved sufficiently that among all the possible plans of the universe there is one better than all the rest, and that god has not failed to choose it. but m. bayle claims to infer thence that god is therefore not free. this is how he speaks on that question (_ubi supra_, ch. , p. ): 'i thought to argue with a man who assumed as i do that the goodness and the power of god are infinite, as well as his wisdom; and now i see that in reality this man assumes that god's goodness and power are enclosed within rather narrow bounds.' as to that, the objection has already been met: i set no bounds to god's power, since i recognize that it extends _ad maximum, ad omnia_, to all that implies no contradiction; and i set none to his goodness, since it attains to the best, _ad optimum_. but m. bayle goes on: 'there is therefore no freedom in god; he is compelled by his wisdom to create, and then to create precisely such a work, and finally to create it precisely in such ways. these are three servitudes which form a more than stoic _fatum_, and which render impossible all that is not within their sphere. it seems that, according to this system, god could have said, even before shaping his decrees: i [ ] cannot save such and such a man, nor condemn such and such another, _quippe vetor fatis_, my wisdom permits it not.' . i answer that it is goodness which prompts god to create with the purpose of communicating himself; and this same goodness combined with wisdom prompts him to create the best: a best that includes the whole sequence, the effect and the process. it prompts him thereto without compelling him, for it does not render impossible that which it does not cause him to choose. to call that _fatum_ is taking it in a good sense, which is not contrary to freedom: _fatum_ comes from _fari_, to speak, to pronounce; it signifies a judgement, a decree of god, the award of his wisdom. to say that one cannot do a thing, simply because one does not will it, is to misuse terms. the wise mind wills only the good: is it then a servitude when the will acts in accordance with wisdom? and can one be less a slave than to act by one's own choice in accordance with the most perfect reason? aristotle used to say that that man is in a natural servitude (_natura servus_) who lacks guidance, who has need of being directed. slavery comes from without, it leads to that which offends, and especially to that which offends with reason: the force of others and our own passions enslave us. god is never moved by anything outside himself, nor is he subject to inward passions, and he is never led to that which can cause him offence. it appears, therefore, that m. bayle gives odious names to the best things in the world, and turns our ideas upside-down, applying the term slavery to the state of the greatest and most perfect freedom. . he had also said not long before (ch. , p. ): 'if virtue, or any other good at all, had been as appropriate as vice for the creator's ends, vice would not have been given preference; it must therefore have been the only means that the creator could have used; it was therefore employed purely of necessity. as therefore he loves his glory, not with a freedom of indifference, but by necessity, he must by necessity love all the means without which he could not manifest his glory. now if vice, as vice, was the only means of attaining to this end, it will follow that god of necessity loves vice as vice, a thought which can only inspire us with horror; and he has revealed quite the contrary to us.' he observes at the same time that certain doctors among the supralapsarians (like rutherford, for example) denied that god wills sin as sin, whilst they admitted [ ] that he wills sin permissively in so far as it is punishable and pardonable. but he urges in objection, that an action is only punishable and pardonable in so far as it is vicious. . m. bayle makes a false assumption in these words that we have just read, and draws from them false conclusions. it is not true that god loves his glory by necessity, if thereby it is understood that he is led by necessity to acquire his glory through his creatures. for if that were so, he would acquire his glory always and everywhere. the decree to create is free: god is prompted to all good; the good, and even the best, inclines him to act; but it does not compel him, for his choice creates no impossibility in that which is distinct from the best; it causes no implication of contradiction in that which god refrains from doing. there is therefore in god a freedom that is exempt not only from constraint but also from necessity. i mean this in respect of metaphysical necessity; for it is a moral necessity that the wisest should be bound to choose the best. it is the same with the means which god chooses to attain his glory. and as for vice, it has been shown in preceding pages that it is not an object of god's decree as _means_, but as _conditio sine qua non_, and that for that reason alone it is permitted. one is even less justified in saying that vice is _the only means_; it would be at most one of the means, but one of the least among innumerable others. . 'another frightful consequence,' m. bayle goes on, 'the fatality of all things, ensues: god will not have been free to arrange events in a different way, since the means he chose to show forth his glory was the only means befitting his wisdom.' this so-called fatality or necessity is only moral, as i have just shown: it does not affect freedom; on the contrary, it assumes the best use thereof; it does not render impossible the objects set aside by god's choice. 'what, then, will become', he adds, 'of man's free will? will there not have been necessity and fatality for adam to sin? for if he had not sinned, he would have overthrown the sole plan that god had of necessity created.' that is again a misuse of terms. adam sinning freely was seen of god among the ideas of the possibles, and god decreed to admit him into existence as he saw him. this decree does not change the nature of the objects: it does not render necessary that which was contingent in itself, or impossible that which was possible. [ ] . m. bayle goes on (p. ): 'the subtle scotus asserts with much discernment that if god had no freedom of indifference no creature could have this kind of freedom.' i agree provided it is not meant as an indifference of equipoise, where there is no reason inclining more to one side than the other. m. bayle acknowledges (farther on in chapter , p. ) that what is termed indifference does not exclude prevenient inclinations and pleasures. it suffices therefore that there be no metaphysical necessity in the action which is termed free, that is to say, it suffices that a choice be made between several courses possible. . he goes on again in the said chapter , p. : 'if god is not determined to create the world by a free motion of his goodness, but by the interests of his glory, which he loves by necessity, and which is the only thing he loves, for it is not different from his substance; and if the love that he has for himself has compelled him to show forth his glory through the most fitting means, and if the fall of man was this same means, it is evident that this fall happened entirely by necessity and that the obedience of eve and adam to god's commands was impossible.' still the same error. the love that god bears to himself is essential to him, but the love for his glory, or the will to acquire his glory, is not so by any means: the love he has for himself did not impel him by necessity to actions without; they were free; and since there were possible plans whereby the first parents should not sin, their sin was therefore not necessary. finally, i say in effect what m. bayle acknowledges here, 'that god resolved to create the world by a free motion of his goodness'; and i add that this same motion prompted him to the best. . the same answer holds good against this statement of m. bayle's (ch. , p. ): 'the means most appropriate for attaining an end is of necessity one alone' (that is very well said, at least for the cases where god has chosen). 'therefore if god was prompted irresistibly to employ this means, he employed it by necessity.' (he was certainly prompted thereto, he was determined, or rather he determined himself thereto: but that which is certain is not always necessary, or altogether irresistible; the thing might have gone otherwise, but that did not happen, and with good reason. god chose between different courses all possible: thus, metaphysically speaking, he could have chosen or done what was not the best; but he could not morally speaking have done so. let us make use of a comparison [ ] from geometry. the best way from one point to another (leaving out of account obstacles and other considerations accidental to the medium) is one alone: it is that one which passes by the shortest line, which is the straight line. yet there are innumerable ways from one point to another. there is therefore no necessity which binds me to go by the straight line; but as soon as i choose the best, i am determined to go that way, although this is only a moral necessity in the wise. that is why the following conclusions fail.) 'therefore he could only do that which he did. therefore that which has not happened or will never happen is absolutely impossible.' (these conclusions fail, i say: for since there are many things which have never happened and never will happen, and which nevertheless are clearly conceivable, and imply no contradiction, how can one say they are altogether impossible? m. bayle has refuted that himself in a passage opposing the spinozists, which i have already quoted here, and he has frequently acknowledged that there is nothing impossible except that which implies contradiction: now he changes style and terminology.) 'therefore adam's perseverance in innocence was always impossible; therefore his fall was altogether inevitable, and even antecedently to god's decree, for it implied contradiction that god should be able to will a thing opposed to his wisdom: it is, after all, the same thing to say, that it is impossible for god, as to say, god could do it, if he so willed, but he cannot will it.' (it is misusing terms in a sense to say here: one can will, one will will; 'can' here concerns the actions that one does will. nevertheless it implies no contradiction that god should will--directly or permissively--a thing not implying contradiction, and in this sense it is permitted to say that god can will it.) . in a word, when one speaks of the _possibility_ of a thing it is not a question of the causes that can bring about or prevent its actual existence: otherwise one would change the nature of the terms, and render useless the distinction between the possible and the actual. this abelard did, and wyclif appears to have done after him, in consequence of which they fell needlessly into unsuitable and disagreeable expressions. that is why, when one asks if a thing is possible or necessary, and brings in the consideration of what god wills or chooses, one alters the issue. for god chooses among the possibles, and for that very reason he chooses [ ] freely, and is not compelled; there would be neither choice nor freedom if there were but one course possible. . one must also answer m. bayle's syllogisms, so as to neglect none of the objections of a man so gifted: they occur in chapter of his _reply to the questions of a provincial_ (vol. iii, pp. , ). first syllogism 'god can will nothing that is opposed to the necessary love which he has for his wisdom. 'now the salvation of all men is opposed to the necessary love which god has for his wisdom. 'therefore god cannot will the salvation of all men.' the major is self-evident, for one can do nothing whereof the opposite is necessary. but the minor cannot be accepted, for, albeit god loves his wisdom of necessity, the actions whereto his wisdom prompts him cannot but be free, and the objects whereto his wisdom does not prompt him do not cease to be possible. moreover, his wisdom has prompted him to will the salvation of all men, but not by a consequent and decretory will. yet this consequent will, being only a result of free antecedent acts of will, cannot fail to be free also. second syllogism 'the work most worthy of god's wisdom involves amongst other things the sin of all men and the eternal damnation of the majority of men. 'now god wills of necessity the work most worthy of his wisdom. 'he wills therefore of necessity the work that involves amongst other things the sin of all men and the eternal damnation of the majority of men.' the major holds good, but the minor i deny. the decrees of god are always free, even though god be always prompted thereto by reasons which lie in the intention towards good: for to be morally compelled by wisdom, to be bound by the consideration of good, is to be free; it is not compulsion in the metaphysical sense. and metaphysical necessity alone, as i have observed so many times, is opposed to freedom. . i shall not examine the syllogisms that m. bayle urges in objection in the following chapter (ch. ), against the system of the supralapsarians, and particularly against the oration made by theodore de bèze at the [ ] conference of montbéliard in the year . this conference also only served to increase the acrimony of the parties. 'god created the world to his glory: his glory is not known (according to bèze), if his mercy and his justice are not declared; for this cause simply by his grace he decreed for some men life eternal, and for others by a just judgement eternal damnation. mercy presupposes misery, justice presupposes guilt.' (he might have added that misery also supposes guilt.) 'nevertheless god being good, indeed goodness itself, he created man good and righteous, but unstable, and capable of sinning of his own free will. man did not fall at random or rashly, or through causes ordained by some other god, as the manichaeans hold, but by the providence of god; in such a way notwithstanding, that god was not involved in the fault, inasmuch as man was not constrained to sin.' . this system is not of the best conceived: it is not well fitted to show forth the wisdom, the goodness and the justice of god; and happily it is almost abandoned to-day. if there were not other more profound reasons capable of inducing god to permit guilt, the source of misery, there would be neither guilt nor misery in the world, for the reasons alleged here do not suffice. he would declare his mercy better in preventing misery, and he would declare his justice better in preventing guilt, in advancing virtue, in recompensing it. besides, one does not see how he who not only causes a man to be capable of falling, but who so disposes circumstances that they contribute towards causing his fall, is not culpable, if there are no other reasons compelling him thereto. but when one considers that god, altogether good and wise, must have produced all the virtue, goodness, happiness whereof the best plan of the universe is capable, and that often an evil in some parts may serve the greater good of the whole, one readily concludes that god may have given room for unhappiness, and even permitted guilt, as he has done, without deserving to be blamed. it is the only remedy that supplies what all systems lack, however they arrange the decrees. these thoughts have already been favoured by st. augustine, and one may say of eve what the poet said of the hand of mucius scaevola: _si non errasset, fecerat illa minus_. . i find that the famous english prelate who wrote an ingenious book on the origin of evil, some passages of which were disputed by m. bayle [ ] in the second volume of his _reply to the questions of a provincial_, while disagreeing with some of the opinions that i have upheld here and appearing to resort sometimes to a despotic power, as if the will of god did not follow the rules of wisdom in relation to good or evil, but decreed arbitrarily that such and such a thing must be considered good or evil; and as if even the will of the creature, in so far as it is free, did not choose because the object appears good to him, but by a purely arbitrary determination, independent of the representation of the object; this bishop, i say, in other passages nevertheless says things which seem more in favour of my doctrine than of what appears contrary thereto in his own. he says that what an infinitely wise and free cause has chosen is better than what it has not chosen. is not that recognizing that goodness is the object and the reason of his choice? in this sense one will here aptly say: _sic placuit superis; quaerere plura, nefas_. [ ] * * * * * essays on the justice of god and the freedom of man in the origin of evil * * * * * part three . now at last i have disposed of the cause of moral evil; _physical evil_, that is, sorrows, sufferings, miseries, will be less troublesome to explain, since these are results of moral evil. _poena est malum passionis, quod infligitur ob malum actionis_, according to grotius. one suffers because one has acted; one suffers evil because one does evil. _nostrorum causa malorum_ _nos sumus_. it is true that one often suffers through the evil actions of others; but when one has no part in the offence one must look upon it as a certainty that these sufferings prepare for us a greater happiness. the question of _physical evil_, that is, of the origin of sufferings, has difficulties in common with that of the origin of _metaphysical evil_, examples whereof are furnished by the monstrosities and other apparent irregularities of the universe. but one must believe that even sufferings and monstrosities are part of order; and it is well to bear in mind not only that it was better to admit these defects and these monstrosities than to violate general laws, as father malebranche sometimes argues, but also that these very monstrosities are in the rules, and are in conformity with general acts of will, though we be not capable of discerning this conformity. it is [ ] just as sometimes there are appearances of irregularity in mathematics which issue finally in a great order when one has finally got to the bottom of them: that is why i have already in this work observed that according to my principles all individual events, without exception, are consequences of general acts of will. . it should be no cause for astonishment that i endeavour to elucidate these things by comparisons taken from pure mathematics, where everything proceeds in order, and where it is possible to fathom them by a close contemplation which grants us an enjoyment, so to speak, of the vision of the ideas of god. one may propose a succession or series of numbers perfectly irregular to all appearance, where the numbers increase and diminish variably without the emergence of any order; and yet he who knows the key to the formula, and who understands the origin and the structure of this succession of numbers, will be able to give a rule which, being properly understood, will show that the series is perfectly regular, and that it even has excellent properties. one may make this still more evident in lines. a line may have twists and turns, ups and downs, points of reflexion and points of inflexion, interruptions and other variations, so that one sees neither rhyme nor reason therein, especially when taking into account only a portion of the line; and yet it may be that one can give its equation and construction, wherein a geometrician would find the reason and the fittingness of all these so-called irregularities. that is how we must look upon the irregularities constituted by monstrosities and other so-called defects in the universe. . in this sense one may apply that fine adage of st. bernard (ep. , ad eugen., iii): 'ordinatissimum est, minus interdum ordinate fieri aliquid.' it belongs to the great order that there should be some small disorder. one may even say that this small disorder is apparent only in the whole, and it is not even apparent when one considers the happiness of those who walk in the ways of order. . when i mention monstrosities i include numerous other apparent defects besides. we are acquainted with hardly anything but the surface of our globe; we scarce penetrate into its interior beyond a few hundred fathoms. that which we find in this crust of the globe appears to be the effect of some great upheavals. it seems that this globe was once on fire, and that the rocks forming the base of this crust of the earth are scoria remaining from a great fusion. in their entrails are found metal and mineral [ ] products, which closely resemble those emanating from our furnaces: and the entire sea may be a kind of _oleum per deliquium_, just as tartaric oil forms in a damp place. for when the earth's surface cooled after the great conflagration the moisture that the fire had driven into the air fell back upon the earth, washed its surface and dissolved and absorbed the solid salt that was left in the cinders, finally filling up this great cavity in the surface of our globe, to form the ocean filled with salt water. . but, after the fire, one must conclude that earth and water made ravages no less. it may be that the crust formed by the cooling, having below it great cavities, fell in, so that we live only on ruins, as among others thomas burnet, chaplain to the late king of great britain, aptly observed. sundry deluges and inundations have left deposits, whereof traces and remains are found which show that the sea was in places that to-day are most remote from it. but these upheavals ceased at last, and the globe assumed the shape that we see. moses hints at these changes in few words: the separation of light from darkness indicates the melting caused by the fire; and the separation of the moist from the dry marks the effects of inundations. but who does not see that these disorders have served to bring things to the point where they now are, that we owe to them our riches and our comforts, and that through their agency this globe became fit for cultivation by us. these disorders passed into order. the disorders, real or apparent, that we see from afar are sunspots and comets; but we do not know what uses they supply, nor the rules prevailing therein. time was when the planets were held to be wandering stars: now their motion is found to be regular. peradventure it is the same with the comets: posterity will know. . one does not include among the disorders inequality of conditions, and m. jacquelot is justified in asking those who would have everything equally perfect, why rocks are not crowned with leaves and flowers? why ants are not peacocks? and if there must needs be equality everywhere, the poor man would serve notice of appeal against the rich, the servant against the master. the pipes of an organ must not be of equal size. m. bayle will say that there is a difference between a privation of good and a disorder; between a disorder in inanimate things, which is purely metaphysical, and a disorder in rational creatures, which is composed of crime and [ ] sufferings. he is right in making a distinction between them, and i am right in combining them. god does not neglect inanimate things: they do not feel, but god feels for them. he does not neglect animals: they have not intelligence, but god has it for them. he would reproach himself for the slightest actual defect there were in the universe, even though it were perceived of none. . it seems m. bayle does not approve any comparison between the disorders which may exist in inanimate things and those which trouble the peace and happiness of rational creatures; nor would he agree to our justifying the permission of vice on the pretext of the care that must be taken to avoid disturbing the laws of motion. one might thence conclude, according to him (posthumous reply to m. jacquelot, p. ), 'that god created the world only to display his infinite skill in architecture and mechanics, whilst his property of goodness and love of virtue took no part in the construction of this great work. this god would pride himself only on skill; he would prefer to let the whole human kind perish rather than suffer some atoms to go faster or more slowly than general laws require.' m. bayle would not have made this antithesis if he had been informed on the system of general harmony which i assume, which states that the realm of efficient causes and that of final causes are parallel to each other; that god has no less the quality of the best monarch than that of the greatest architect; that matter is so disposed that the laws of motion serve as the best guidance for spirits; and that consequently it will prove that he has attained the utmost good possible, provided one reckon the metaphysical, physical and moral goods together. . but (m. bayle will say) god having power to avert innumerable evils by one small miracle, why did he not employ it? he gives so much extraordinary help to fallen men; but slight help of such a kind given to eve would have prevented her fall and rendered the temptation of the serpent ineffective. i have sufficiently met objections of this sort with this general answer, that god ought not to make choice of another universe since he has chosen the best, and has only made use of the miracles necessary thereto. i had answered m. bayle that miracles change the natural order of the universe. he replies, that that is an illusion, and that the miracle of the wedding at cana (for instance) made no change in the air of the room, except that instead of receiving into its pores some corpuscles of water, it [ ] received corpuscles of wine. but one must bear in mind that once the best plan of things has been chosen nothing can be changed therein. . as for miracles (concerning which i have already said something in this work), they are perhaps not all of one and the same kind: there are many, to all appearances, which god brings about through the ministry of invisible substances, such as the angels, as father malebranche also believes. these angels or these substances act according to the ordinary laws of their nature, being combined with bodies more rarefied and more vigorous than those we have at our command. and such miracles are only so by comparison, and in relation to us; just as our works would be considered miraculous amongst animals if they were capable of remarking upon them. the changing of water into wine might be a miracle of this kind. but the creation, the incarnation and some other actions of god exceed all the power of creatures and are truly miracles, or indeed mysteries. if, nevertheless, the changing of water into wine at cana was a miracle of the highest kind, god would have thereby changed the whole course of the universe, because of the connexion of bodies; or else he would have been bound to prevent this connexion miraculously also, and cause the bodies not concerned in the miracle to act as if no miracle had happened. after the miracle was over, it would have been necessary to restore all things in those very bodies concerned to the state they would have reached without the miracle: whereafter all would have returned to its original course. thus this miracle demanded more than at first appears. . as for physical evil in creatures, to wit their sufferings, m. bayle contends vigorously against those who endeavour to justify by means of particular reasons the course of action pursued by god in regard to this. here i set aside the sufferings of animals, and i see that m. bayle insists chiefly on those of men, perhaps because he thinks that brute beasts have no feeling. it is on account of the injustice there would be in the sufferings of beasts that divers cartesians wished to prove that they are only machines, _quoniam sub deo justo nemo innocens miser est_: it is impossible that an innocent creature should be unhappy under such a master as god. the principle is good, but i do not think it warrants the inference that beasts have no feeling, because i think that, properly speaking, perception is not sufficient to cause misery if it is not accompanied [ ] by reflexion. it is the same with happiness: without reflexion there is none. _o fortunatos nimium, sua qui bona norint!_ one cannot reasonably doubt the existence of pain among animals; but it seems as if their pleasures and their pains are not so keen as they are in man: for animals, since they do not reflect, are susceptible neither to the grief that accompanies pain, nor to the joy that accompanies pleasure. men are sometimes in a state approaching that of the beasts, when they act almost on instinct alone and simply on the impressions made by the experience of the senses: and, in this state, their pleasures and their pains are very slight. . but let us pass from the beasts and return to rational creatures. it is with regard to them that m. bayle discusses this question: whether there is more physical evil than physical good in the world? (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. ii, ch. .) to settle it aright, one must explain wherein these goods and evils lie. we are agreed that physical evil is simply displeasure and under that heading i include pain, grief, and every other kind of discomfort. but does physical good lie solely in pleasure? m. bayle appears to be of this opinion; but i consider that it lies also in a middle state, such as that of health. one is well enough when one has no ill; it is a degree of wisdom to have no folly: _sapientia prima est,_ _stultitia caruisse_. in the same way one is worthy of praise when one cannot with justice be blamed: _si non culpabor, sat mihi laudis erit_. that being the case, all the sensations not unpleasing to us, all the exercises of our powers that do not incommode us, and whose prevention would incommode us, are physical goods, even when they cause us no pleasure; for privation of them is a physical evil. besides we only perceive the good of health, and other like goods, when we are deprived of them. on those terms i would dare to maintain that even in this life goods exceed evils, that our comforts exceed our discomforts, and that m. descartes was justified in writing (vol. i, letter ) 'that natural reason teaches us that we have more goods than evils in this life'. [ ] . it must be added that pleasures enjoyed too often and to excess would be a very great evil. there are some which hippocrates compared to the falling sickness, and scioppius doubtless only made pretence of envying the sparrows in order to be agreeably playful in a learned and far from playful work. highly seasoned foods are injurious to health and impair the niceness of a delicate sense; and in general bodily pleasures are a kind of expenditure of the spirit, though they be made good in some better than in others. . as proof, however, that the evil exceeds the good is quoted the instance of m. de la motte le vayer (letter ), who would not have been willing to return to the world, supposing he had had to play the same part as providence had already assigned to him. but i have already said that i think one would accept the proposal of him who could re-knot the thread of fate if a new part were promised to us, even though it should not be better than the first. thus from m. de la motte le vayer's saying it does not follow that he would not have wished for the part he had already played, provided it had been new, as m. bayle seems to take it. . the pleasures of the mind are the purest, and of greatest service in making joy endure. cardan, when already an old man, was so content with his state that he protested solemnly that he would not exchange it for the state of the richest of young men who at the same time was ignorant. m. de la motte le vayer quotes the saying himself without criticizing it. knowledge has doubtless charms which cannot be conceived by those who have not tasted them. i do not mean a mere knowledge of facts without that of reasons, but knowledge like that of cardan, who with all his faults was a great man, and would have been incomparable without those faults. _felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas!_ _ille metus omnes et inexorabile fatum_ _subjecit pedibus._ it is no small thing to be content with god and with the universe, not to fear what destiny has in store for us, nor to complain of what befalls us. acquaintance with true principles gives us this advantage, quite other than that the stoics and the epicureans derived from their philosophy. there is as much difference between true morality and theirs as there is [ ] between joy and patience: for their tranquillity was founded only on necessity, while ours must rest upon the perfection and beauty of things, upon our own happiness. . what, then, shall we say of bodily sufferings? may they not be sufficiently acute to disturb the sage's tranquillity? aristotle assents; the stoics were of a different opinion, and even the epicureans likewise. m. descartes revived the doctrine of these philosophers; he says in the letter just quoted: 'that even amid the worst misfortunes and the most overwhelming sufferings one may always be content, if only one knows how to exercise reason'. m. bayle says concerning this (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ) 'that it is saying nothing, that it is prescribing for us a remedy whose preparation hardly anyone understands'. i hold that the thing is not impossible, and that men could attain it by dint of meditation and practice. for apart from the true martyrs and those who have been aided in wonderful wise from on high, there have been counterfeits who imitated them. that spanish slave who killed the carthaginian governor in order to avenge his master and who evinced great joy in his deed, even in the greatest tortures, may shame the philosophers. why should not one go as far as he? one may say of an advantage, as of a disadvantage: _cuivis potest accidere, quod cuiquam potest_. . but even to-day entire tribes, such as the hurons, the iroquois, the galibis and other peoples of america teach us a great lesson on this matter: one cannot read without astonishment of the intrepidity and well-nigh insensibility wherewith they brave their enemies, who roast them over a slow fire and eat them by slices. if such people could retain their physical superiority and their courage, and combine them with our acquirements, they would surpass us in every way, _extat ut in mediis turris aprica casis_. they would be, in comparison with us, as a giant to a dwarf, a mountain to a hill: _quantus eryx, et quantus athos, gaudetque nivali_ _vertice se attollens pater apenninus ad auras._ [ ] . all that which is effected by a wonderful vigour of body and mind in these savages, who persist obstinately in the strangest point of honour, might be acquired in our case by training, by well-seasoned mortifications, by an overmastering joy founded on reason, by great practice in preserving a certain presence of mind in the midst of the distractions and impressions most liable to disturb it. something of this kind is related of the ancient assassins, subjects and pupils of the old man or rather the seigneur (_senior_) of the mountain. such a school (for a better purpose) would be good for missionaries who would wish to return to japan. the gymnosophists of the ancient indians had perhaps something resembling this, and that calanus, who provided for alexander the great the spectacle of his burning alive, had doubtless been encouraged by the great examples of his masters and trained by great sufferings not to fear pain. the wives of these same indians, who even to-day ask to be burned with the bodies of their husbands, seem still to keep something of the courage of those ancient philosophers of their country. i do not expect that there should straightway be founded a religious order whose purpose would be to exalt man to that high pitch of perfection: such people would be too much above the rest, and too formidable for the authorities. as it rarely happens that people are exposed to extremes where such great strength of mind would be needed, one will scarce think of providing for it at the expense of our usual comforts, albeit incomparably more would be gained than lost thereby. . nevertheless the very fact that one has no need of that great remedy is a proof that the good already exceeds the evil. euripides also said: [greek: pleiô ta chrêsta tôn kakôn einai brotois]. _mala nostra longe judico vinci a bonis._ homer and divers other poets were of another mind, and men in general agree with them. the reason for this is that the evil arouses our attention rather than the good: but this same reason proves that the evil is more rare. one must therefore not credit the petulant expressions of pliny, who would have it that nature is a stepmother, and who maintains that man is the most unhappy and most vain of all creatures. these two epithets do not agree: one is not so very unhappy, when one is full of oneself. it is [ ] true that men hold human nature only too much in contempt, apparently because they see no other creatures capable of arousing their emulation; but they have all too much self-esteem, and individually are but too easily satisfied. i therefore agree with meric casaubon, who in his notes on the xenophanes of diogenes laertius praises exceedingly the admirable sentiments of euripides, going so far as to credit him with having said things _quae spirant_ [greek: theopneuston] _pectus_. seneca (lib. , c. , _de benefic._) speaks eloquently of the blessings nature has heaped upon us. m. bayle in his _dictionary_, article 'xenophanes', brings up sundry authorities against this, and among others that of the poet diphilus in the collections of stobaeus, whose greek might be thus expressed in latin: _fortuna cyathis bibere nos datis jubens,_ _infundit uno terna pro bono mala._ . m. bayle believes that if it were a question only of the evil of guilt, or of moral evil among men, the case would soon be terminated to the advantage of pliny, and euripides would lose his action. to that i am not opposed; our vices doubtless exceed our virtues, and this is the effect of original sin. it is nevertheless true that also on that point men in general exaggerate things, and that even some theologians disparage man so much that they wrong the providence of the author of mankind. that is why i am not in favour of those who thought to do great honour to our religion by saying that the virtues of the pagans were only _splendida peccata_, splendid vices. it is a sally of st. augustine's which has no foundation in holy scripture, and which offends reason. but here we are only discussing a physical good and evil, and one must compare in detail the prosperities and the adversities of this life. m. bayle would wish almost to set aside the consideration of health; he likens it to the rarefied bodies, which are scarcely felt, like air, for example; but he likens pain to the bodies that have much density and much weight in slight volume. but pain itself makes us aware of the importance of health when we are bereft of it. i have already observed that excess of physical pleasures would be a real evil, and the matter ought not to be otherwise; it is too important for the spirit to be free. lactantius (_divin. instit._, lib. , cap. ) had said that men are so squeamish that they complain of the slightest ill, as if it swallowed up all the goods they have enjoyed. m. bayle says, concerning this, that the very fact that men have this feeling warrants the [ ] judgement that they are in evil case, since it is feeling which measures the extent of good or evil. but i answer that present feeling is anything rather than the true measure of good and evil past and future. i grant that one is in evil case while one makes these peevish reflexions; but that does not exclude a previous state of well-being, nor imply that, everything reckoned in and all allowance made, the good does not exceed the evil. . i do not wonder that the pagans, dissatisfied with their gods, made complaints against prometheus and epimetheus for having forged so weak an animal as man. nor do i wonder that they acclaimed the fable of old silenus, foster-father of bacchus, who was seized by king midas, and as the price of his deliverance taught him that ostensibly fine maxim that the first and the greatest of goods was not to be born, and the second, to depart from this life with dispatch (cic., _tuscul._, lib. ). plato believed that souls had been in a happier state, and many of the ancients, amongst others cicero in his consolation (according to the account of lactantius), believed that for their sins they were confined in bodies as in a prison. they rendered thus a reason for our ills, and asserted their prejudices against human life: for there is no such thing as a beautiful prison. but quite apart from the consideration that, even according to these same pagans, the evils of this life would be counterbalanced and exceeded by the goods of past and future lives, i make bold to say that we shall find, upon unbiassed scrutiny of the facts, that taking all in all human life is in general tolerable. and adding thereto the motives of religion, we shall be content with the order god has set therein. moreover, for a better judgement of our goods and our evils, it will be well to read cardan, _de utilitate ex adversis capienda_, and novarini, _de occultis dei beneficiis_. . m. bayle dilates upon the misfortunes of the great, who are thought to be the most fortunate: the constant experience of the fair aspect of their condition renders them unaware of good, but greatly aware of evil. someone will say: so much the worse for them; if they know not how to enjoy the advantages of nature and fortune, is that the fault of either? there are nevertheless great men possessed of more wisdom, who know how to profit by the favours god has shown them, who are easily consoled for their misfortunes, and who even turn their own faults to account. m. bayle [ ] pays no heed to that: he prefers to listen to pliny, who thinks that augustus, one of the princes most favoured by fortune, experienced at least as much evil as good. i admit that he found great causes of trouble in his family and that remorse for having crushed the republic may have tormented him; but i think that he was too wise to grieve over the former, and that maecenas apparently made him understand that rome had need of a master. had not augustus been converted on this point, vergil would never have said of a lost soul: _vendidit hic auro patriam dominumque potentem_ _imposuit, fixit leges pretio atque refixit._ augustus would have thought that he and caesar were alluded to in these lines, which speak of a master given to a free state. but there is every indication that he applied it just as little to his dominion, which he regarded as compatible with liberty and as a necessary remedy for public evils, as the princes of to-day apply to themselves the words used of the kings censured in m. de cambray's _telemachus_. each one considers himself within his rights. tacitus, an unbiassed writer, justifies augustus in two words, at the beginning of his _annals_. but augustus was better able than anyone to judge of his good fortune. he appears to have died content, as may be inferred from a proof he gave of contentedness with his life: for in dying he repeated to his friends a line in greek, which has the signification of that _plaudite_ that was wont to be spoken at the conclusion of a well-acted play. suetonius quotes it: [greek: dote kroton kai pantes hymeis meta charas ktypêsate.] . but even though there should have fallen to the lot of the human kind more evil than good, it is enough where god is concerned that there is incomparably more good than evil in the universe. rabbi maimonides (whose merit is not sufficiently recognized in the statement that he is the first of the rabbis to have ceased talking nonsense) also gave wise judgement on this question of the predominance of good over evil in the world. here is what he says in his _doctor perplexorum_ (cap. , p. ): 'there arise often in the hearts of ill-instructed persons thoughts which persuade them there is more evil than good in the world: and one often finds in the poems and songs of the pagans that it is as it were a miracle when something good comes to pass, whereas evils are usual and constant. this error has [ ] taken hold not of the common herd only, those very persons who wish to be considered wise have been beguiled thereby. a celebrated writer named alrasi, in his _sepher elohuth_, or theosophy, amongst other absurdities has stated that there are more evils than goods, and that upon comparison of the recreations and the pleasures man enjoys in times of tranquillity with the pains, the torments, the troubles, faults, cares, griefs and afflictions whereby he is overwhelmed our life would prove to be a great evil, and an actual penalty inflicted upon us to punish us.' maimonides adds that the cause of their extravagant error is their supposition that nature was made for them only, and that they hold of no account what is separate from their person; whence they infer that when something unpleasing to them occurs all goes ill in the universe. . m. bayle says that this observation of maimonides is not to the point, because the question is whether among men evil exceeds good. but, upon consideration of the rabbi's words, i find that the question he formulates is general, and that he wished to refute those who decide it on one particular motive derived from the evils of the human race, as if all had been made for man; and it seems as though the author whom he refutes spoke also of good and evil in general. maimonides is right in saying that if one took into account the littleness of man in relation to the universe one would comprehend clearly that the predominance of evil, even though it prevailed among men, need not on that account occur among the angels, nor among the heavenly bodies, nor among the elements and inanimate compounds, nor among many kinds of animals. i have shown elsewhere that in supposing that the number of the damned exceeds that of the saved (a supposition which is nevertheless not altogether certain) one might admit that there is more evil than good in respect of the human kind known to us. but i pointed out that that neither precludes the existence of incomparably more good than evil, both moral and physical, in rational creatures in general, nor prevents the city of god, which contains all creatures, from being the most perfect state. so also on consideration of the metaphysical good and evil which is in all substances, whether endowed with or devoid of intelligence, and which taken in such scope would include physical good and moral good, one must say that the universe, such as it actually is, must be the best of all systems. [ ] . moreover, m. bayle will not have it that our transgression should have anything to do with the consideration of our sufferings. he is right when it is simply a matter of appraising these sufferings; but the case is not the same when one asks whether they should be ascribed to god, this indeed being the principal cause of m. bayle's difficulties when he places reason or experience in opposition to religion. i know that he is wont to say that it is of no avail to resort to our free will, since his objections tend also to prove that the misuse of free will must no less be laid to the account of god, who has permitted it and who has co-operated therein. he states it as a maxim that for one difficulty more or less one must not abandon a system. this he advances especially in favour of the methods of the strict and the dogma of the supralapsarians. for he supposes that one can subscribe to their opinion, although he leaves all the difficulties in their entirety, because the other systems, albeit they put an end to some of the difficulties, cannot meet them all. i hold that the true system i have expounded satisfies all. nevertheless, even were that not so, i confess that i cannot relish this maxim of m. bayle's, and i should prefer a system which would remove a great portion of the difficulties, to one which would meet none of them. and the consideration of the wickedness of men, which brings upon them well-nigh all their misfortunes, shows at least that they have no right to complain. no justice need trouble itself over the origin of a scoundrel's wickedness when it is only a question of punishing him: it is quite another matter when it is a question of prevention. one knows well that disposition, upbringing, conversation, and often chance itself, have much share in that origin: is the man any the less deserving of punishment? . i confess that there still remains another difficulty. if god is not bound to account to the wicked for their wickedness, it seems as if he owes to himself, and to those who honour him and love him, justification for his course of action with regard to the permission of vice and crime. but god has already given that satisfaction, as far as it is needed here on earth: by granting us the light of reason he has bestowed upon us the means whereby we may meet all difficulties. i hope that i have made it plain in this discourse, and have elucidated the matter in the preceding portion of these essays, almost as far as it can be done through general arguments. thereafter, the permission of sin being justified, the other evils [ ] that are a consequence thereof present no further difficulty. thus also i am justified in restricting myself here to the evil of guilt to account for the evil of punishment, as holy scripture does, and likewise well-nigh all the fathers of the church and the preachers. and, to the end that none may say that is only good _per la predica_, it is enough to consider that, after the solutions i have given, nothing must seem more right or more exact than this method. for god, having found already among things possible, before his actual decrees, man misusing his freedom and bringing upon himself his misfortune, yet could not avoid admitting him into existence, because the general plan required this. wherefore it will no longer be necessary to say with m. jurieu that one must dogmatize like st. augustine and preach like pelagius. . this method, deriving the evil of punishment from the evil of guilt, cannot be open to censure, and serves especially to account for the greatest physical evil, which is damnation. ernst sonner, sometime professor of philosophy at altorf (a university established in the territory of the free city of nuremberg), who was considered an excellent aristotelian, but was finally recognized as being secretly a socinian, had composed a little discourse entitled: _demonstration against the eternity of punishment_. it was founded on this somewhat trite principle, that there is no proportion between an infinite punishment and a finite guilt. it was conveyed to me, printed (so it seemed) in holland; and i replied that there was one thing to be considered which had escaped the late herr sonner: namely that it was enough to say that the duration of the guilt caused the duration of the penalty. since the damned remained wicked they could not be withdrawn from their misery; and thus one need not, in order to justify the continuation of their sufferings, assume that sin has become of infinite weight through the infinite nature of the object offended, who is god. this thesis i had not explored enough to pass judgement thereon. i know that the general opinion of the schoolmen, according to the master of the sentences, is that in the other life there is neither merit nor demerit; but i do not think that, taken literally, it can pass for an article of faith. herr fecht, a famous theologian at rostock, well refuted that in his book on _the state of the damned_. it is quite wrong, he says (§ ); god cannot change his nature; justice is essential to him; death has closed the door of grace, but not that of justice. [ ] . i have observed that sundry able theologians have accounted for the duration of the pains of the damned as i have just done. johann gerhard, a famous theologian of the augsburg confession (in _locis theol._, loco de inferno, § ), brings forward amongst other arguments that the damned have still an evil will and lack the grace that could render it good. zacharias ursinus, a theologian of heidelberg, who follows calvin, having formulated this question (in his treatise _de fide_) why sin merits an eternal punishment, advances first the common reason, that the person offended is infinite, and then also this second reason, _quod non cessante peccato non potest cessare poena_. and the jesuit father drexler says in his book entitled _nicetas, or incontinence overcome_ (book , ch. , § ): 'nec mirum damnatos semper torqueri, continue blasphemant, et sic quasi semper peccant, semper ergo plectuntur.' he declares and approves the same reason in his work on _eternity_ (book , ch. ) saying: 'sunt qui dicant, nec displicet responsum: scelerati in locis infernis semper peccant, ideo semper puniuntur.' and he indicates thereby that this opinion is very common among learned men in the roman church. he alleges, it is true, another more subtle reason, derived from pope gregory the great (lib. , dial. c. ), that the damned are punished eternally because god foresaw by a kind of _mediate knowledge_ that they would always have sinned if they had always lived upon earth. but it is a hypothesis very much open to question. herr fecht quotes also various eminent protestant theologians for herr gerhard's opinion, although he mentions also some who think differently. . m. bayle himself in various places has supplied me with passages from two able theologians of his party, which have some reference to these statements of mine. m. jurieu in his book on the _unity of the church_, in opposition to that written by m. nicole on the same subject, gives the opinion (p. ) 'that reason tells us that a creature which cannot cease to be criminal can also not cease to be miserable'. m. jacquelot in his book on _the conformity of faith with reason_ (p. ) is of opinion 'that the damned must remain eternally deprived of the glory of the blessed, and that this deprivation might well be the origin and the cause of all their pains, through the reflexions these unhappy creatures make upon their crimes which have deprived them of an eternal bliss. one knows what burning regrets, what pain envy causes to those who see themselves deprived of a good, of a notable honour which had been offered to them, and which [ ] they rejected, especially when they see others invested with it.' this position is a little different from that of m. jurieu, but both agree in this sentiment, that the damned are themselves the cause of the continuation of their torments. m. le clerc's origenist does not entirely differ from this opinion when he says in the _select library_ (vol. , p. ): 'god, who foresaw that man would fall, does not condemn him on that account, but only because, although he has the power to recover himself, he yet does not do so, that is, he freely retains his evil ways to the end of his life.' if he carries this reasoning on beyond this life, he will ascribe the continuation of the pains of the wicked to the continuation of their guilt. . m. bayle says (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, ch. , p. ) 'that this dogma of the origenist is heretical, in that it teaches that damnation is not founded simply on sin, but on voluntary impenitence': but is not this voluntary impenitence a continuation of sin? i would not simply say, however, that it is because man, having the power to recover himself, does not; and would wish to add that it is because man does not take advantage of the succour of grace to aid him to recover himself. but after this life, though one assume that the succour ceases, there is always in the man who sins, even when he is damned, a freedom which renders him culpable, and a power, albeit remote, of recovering himself, even though it should never pass into action. and there is no reason why one may not say that this degree of freedom, exempt from necessity, but not exempt from certainty, remains in the damned as well as in the blessed. moreover, the damned have no need of a succour that is needed in this life, for they know only too well what one must believe here. . the illustrious prelate of the anglican church who published recently a book on the origin of evil, concerning which m. bayle made some observations in the second volume of his _reply_, speaks with much subtlety about the pains of the damned. this prelate's opinion is presented (according to the author of the _nouvelles de la république des lettres_, june ) as if he made 'of the damned just so many madmen who will feel their miseries acutely, but who will nevertheless congratulate themselves on their own behaviour, and who will rather choose to be, and to be that which they are, than not to be at all. they will love their state, unhappy as it will be, even as angry people, lovers, the ambitious, the [ ] envious take pleasure in the very things that only augment their misery. furthermore the ungodly will have so accustomed their mind to wrong judgements that they will henceforth never make any other kind, and will perpetually pass from one error into another. they will not be able to refrain from desiring perpetually things whose enjoyment will be denied them, and, being deprived of which, they will fall into inconceivable despair, while experience can never make them wiser for the future. for by their own fault they will have altogether corrupted their understanding, and will have rendered it incapable of passing a sound judgement on any matter.' . the ancients already imagined that the devil dwells remote from god voluntarily, in the midst of his torments, and that he is unwilling to redeem himself by an act of submission. they invented a tale that an anchorite in a vision received a promise from god that he would receive into grace the prince of the bad angels if he would acknowledge his fault; but that the devil rebuffed this mediator in a strange manner. at the least, the theologians usually agree that the devils and the damned hate god and blaspheme him; and such a state cannot but be followed by continuation of misery. concerning that, one may read the learned treatise of herr fecht on the _state of the damned_. . there were times when the belief was held that it was not impossible for a lost soul to be delivered. the story told of pope gregory the great is well known, how by his prayers he had withdrawn from hell the soul of the emperor trajan, whose goodness was so renowned that to new emperors the wish was offered that they should surpass augustus in good fortune and trajan in goodness. it was this that won for the latter the pity of the holy father. god acceded to his prayers (it is said), but he forbade him to make the like prayers in future. according to this fable, the prayers of st. gregory had the force of the remedies of aesculapius, who recalled hippolytus from hades; and, if he had continued to make such prayers, god would have waxed wroth, like jupiter in vergil: _at pater omnipotens aliquem indignatus ab umbris_ _mortalem infernis ad lumina surgere vitae,_ _ipse repertorem medicinae talis et artis_ _fulmine phoebigenam stygias detrusit ad undas._ [ ] godescalc, a monk of the ninth century, who set at variance the theologians of his day, and even those of our day, maintained that the reprobate should pray god to render their pains more bearable; but one is never justified in believing oneself reprobate so long as one is alive. the passage in the mass for the dead is more reasonable: it asks for the abatement of the torments of the damned, and, according to the hypothesis that i have just stated, one must wish for them _meliorem mentem_. origen having applied the passage from psalm lxxvii, verse : god will not forget to be gracious, neither will he shut up his loving-kindness in displeasure, st. augustine replies _(enchirid._, c. ) that it is possible that the pains of the damned last eternally, and that they may nevertheless be mitigated. if the text implied that, the abatement would, as regards its duration, go on to infinity; and yet that abatement would, as regards its extent, have a _non plus ultra_. even so there are asymptote figures in geometry where an infinite length makes only a finite progress in breadth. if the parable of the wicked rich man represented the state of a definitely lost soul, the hypothesis which makes these souls so mad and so wicked would be groundless. but the charity towards his brothers attributed to him in the parable does not seem to be consistent with that degree of wickedness which is ascribed to the damned. st. gregory the great (ix _mor._, ) thinks that the rich man was afraid lest their damnation should increase his: but it seems as though this fear is not sufficiently consistent with the disposition of a perfectly wicked will. bonaventura, on the master of the sentences, says that the wicked rich man would have desired to see everyone damned; but since that was not to be, he desired the salvation of his brothers rather than that of the rest. this reply is by no means sound. on the contrary, the mission of lazarus that he desired would have served to save many people; and he who takes so much pleasure in the damnation of others that he desires it for everyone will perhaps desire that damnation for some more than others; but, generally speaking, he will have no inclination to gain salvation for anyone. however that may be, one must admit that all this detail is problematical, god having revealed to us all that is needed to put us in fear of the greatest of misfortunes, and not what is needed for our understanding thereof. . now since it is henceforth permitted to have recourse to the misuse of free will, and to evil will, in order to account for other evils, [ ] since the divine permission of this misuse is plainly enough justified, the ordinary system of the theologians meets with justification at the same time. now we can seek with confidence _the origin of evil in the freedom of creatures_. the first wickedness is well known to us, it is that of the devil and his angels: the devil sinneth from the beginning, and for this purpose the son of god was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil ( john iii. ). the devil is the father of wickedness, he was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth (john viii. ). and therefore god spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them down to hell, and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto judgement ( pet. ii. ). and the angels which kept not their own habitation, he hath reserved in _eternal_ (that is to say everlasting) chains under darkness unto the judgement of the great day (jude i. ). whence it is easy to observe that one of these two letters must have been seen by the author of the other. . it seems as if the author of the apocalypse wished to throw light upon what the other canonical writers had left obscure: he gives us an account of a battle that took place in heaven. michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon fought and his angels. 'but they prevailed not, neither was their place found any more in heaven. and the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the devil, and satan, which deceiveth the whole world: and he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him' (rev. xii. , , ). for although this account is placed after the flight of the woman into the wilderness, and it may have been intended to indicate thereby some revulsion favourable to the church, it appears as though the author's design was to show simultaneously the old fall of the first enemy and a new fall of a new enemy. . lying or wickedness springs from the devil's own nature, [greek: ek tôn idiôn] from his will, because it was written in the book of the eternal verities, which contains the things possible before any decree of god, that this creature would freely turn toward evil if it were created. it is the same with eve and adam; they sinned freely, albeit the devil tempted them. god gives the wicked over to a reprobate mind (rom. i. ), abandoning them to themselves and denying them a grace which he owes them not, and indeed ought to deny to them. . it is said in the scriptures that god hardeneth (exod. iv. and[ ] vii. ; isa. lxiii. ); that god sendeth a lying spirit ( kings xxii. ); strong delusion that they should believe a lie ( thess. ii. ); that he deceived the prophet (ezek. xiv. ); that he commanded shimei to curse ( sam xvi. ); that the children of eli hearkened not unto the voice of their father, because the lord would slay them ( sam. ii. ); that the lord took away job's substance, even although that was done through the malice of brigands (job i. ); that he raised up pharaoh, to show his power in him (exod. ix. ; rom. ix. ) that he is like a potter who maketh a vessel unto dishonour (rom. ix. ); that he hideth the truth from the wise and prudent (matt. xi. ); that he speaketh in parables unto them that are without, that seeing they may see and not perceive, and hearing they may hear and not understand, lest at any time they might be converted, and their sins might be forgiven them (mark iv. ; luke viii. ); that jesus was delivered by the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of god (acts ii. ); that pontius pilate and herod with the gentiles and the people of israel did that which the hand and the counsel of god had determined before to be done (acts iv. , ); that it was of the lord to harden the hearts of the enemy, that they should come against israel in battle, that he might destroy them utterly, and that they might have no favour (joshua xi. ); that the lord mingled a perverse spirit in the midst of egypt, and caused it to err in all its works, like a drunken man (isa. xix. ); that rehoboam hearkened not unto the word of the people, for the cause was from the lord ( kings xii. ); that he turned the hearts of the egyptians to hate his people (ps. cv. ). but all these and other like expressions suggest only that the things god has done are used as occasion for ignorance, error, malice and evil deeds, and contribute thereto, god indeed foreseeing this, and intending to use it for his ends, since superior reasons of perfect wisdom have determined him to permit these evils, and even to co-operate therein. 'sed non sineret bonus fieri male, nisi omnipotens etiam de malo posset facere bene', in st. augustine's words. but this has been expounded more fully in the preceding part. . god made man in his image (gen. i. ); he made him upright (eccles. vii. ). but also he made him free. man has behaved badly, he has fallen; but there remains still a certain freedom after the fall. moses said as from god: 'i call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that i have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore [ ] choose life' (deut. xxx. ). 'thus saith the lord: behold, i set before you the way of life, and the way of death' (jer. xxi. ). he has left man in the power of his counsel, giving him his ordinances and his commandments. 'if thou wilt, thou shalt keep the commandments' (or they shall keep thee). 'he hath set before thee fire and water, to stretch forth thine hand to whichever thou wilt' (sirach xv. , , ). fallen and unregenerate man is under the domination of sin and of satan, because it pleases him so to be; he is a voluntary slave through his evil lust. thus it is that free will and will in bondage are one and the same thing. . 'let no man say, i am tempted of god'; 'but every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust and enticed' (jas. i. , ). and satan contributes thereto. he 'blindeth the minds of them which believe not' ( cor. iv. ). but man is delivered up to the devil by his covetous desire: the pleasure he finds in evil is the bait that hooks him. plato has said so already, and cicero repeats it: 'plato voluptatem dicebat escam malorum.' grace sets over against it a greater pleasure, as st. augustine observed. all _pleasure_ is a feeling of some perfection; one _loves_ an object in proportion as one feels its perfections; nothing surpasses the divine perfections. whence it follows that charity and love of god give the greatest pleasure that can be conceived, in that proportion in which one is penetrated by these feelings, which are not common among men, busied and taken up as men are with the objects that are concerned with their passions. . now as our corruption is not altogether invincible and as we do not necessarily sin even when we are under the bondage of sin, it must likewise be said that we are not aided invincibly; and, however efficacious divine grace may be, there is justification for saying that one can resist it. but when it indeed proves victorious, it is certain and infallible beforehand that one will yield to its allurements, whether it have its strength of itself or whether it find a way to triumph through the congruity of circumstances. thus one must always distinguish between the infallible and the necessary. . the system of those who call themselves disciples of st. augustine is not far removed from this, provided one exclude certain obnoxious things, whether in the expressions or in the dogmas themselves. in the _expressions_ i find that it is principally the use of terms like [ ] 'necessary' or 'contingent', 'possible' or 'impossible', which sometimes gives a handle and causes much ado. that is why, as herr löscher the younger aptly observed in a learned dissertation on the _paroxysms of the absolute decree_, luther desired, in his book _on the will in bondage_, to find a word more fitting for that which he wished to express than the word necessity. speaking generally, it appears more reasonable and more fitting to say that obedience to god's precepts is always _possible_, even for the unregenerate; that the grace of god is always _resistible_, even in those most holy, and that _freedom_ is exempt not only from _constraint_ but also from _necessity_, although it be never without infallible _certainty_ or without inclining _determination_. . nevertheless there is on the other hand a sense wherein it would be permitted to say, in certain conjunctures, that the _power_ to do good is often lacking, even in the just; that sins are often _necessary_, even in the regenerate; that it is _impossible_ sometimes for one not to sin; that grace is _irresistible_; that freedom is not exempt from _necessity_. but these expressions are less exact and less pleasing in the circumstances that prevail about us to-day. they are also in general more open to misuse; and moreover they savour somewhat of the speech of the people, where terms are employed with great latitude. there are, however, circumstances which render them acceptable and even serviceable. it is the case that sacred and orthodox writers, and even the holy scriptures, have made use of expressions on both sides, and no real contradiction has arisen, any more than between st. paul and st. james, or any error on either side that might be attributable to the ambiguity of the terms. one is so well accustomed to these various ways of speaking that often one is put to it to say precisely which sense is the more ordinary and the more natural, and even that more intended by the author (_quis sensus magis naturalis, obvius, intentus_). for the same writer has different aims in different passages, and the same ways of speaking are more or less accepted or acceptable before or after the decision of some great man or of some authority that one respects and follows. as a result of this one may well authorize or ban, as opportunity arises and at certain times, certain expressions; but it makes no difference to the sense, or to the content of faith, if sufficient explanations of the terms are not added. . it is therefore only necessary to understand fully some distinctions, such as that i have very often urged between the necessary and the [ ] certain, and between metaphysical necessity and moral necessity. it is the same with possibility and impossibility, since the event whose opposite is possible is contingent, even as that whose opposite is impossible is necessary. a distinction is rightly drawn also between a proximate potency and a remote potency; and, according to these different senses, one says now that a thing may be and now that it may not be. it may be said in a certain sense that it is necessary that the blessed should not sin; that the devils and the damned should sin; that god himself should choose the best; that man should follow the course which after all attracts him most. but this necessity is not opposed to contingency; it is not of the kind called logical, geometrical or metaphysical, whose opposite implies contradiction. m. nicole has made use somewhere of a comparison which is not amiss. it is considered impossible that a wise and serious magistrate, who has not taken leave of his senses, should publicly commit some outrageous action, as it would be, for instance, to run about the streets naked in order to make people laugh. it is the same, in a sense, with the blessed; they are still less capable of sinning, and the necessity that forbids them to sin is of the same kind. finally i also hold that 'will' is a term as equivocal as potency and necessity. for i have already observed that those who employ this axiom, that one does not fail to do what one wills when one can, and who thence infer that god therefore does not will the salvation of all, imply a _decretory will_. only in that sense can one support this proposition, that wisdom never wills what it knows to be among the things that shall not happen. on the other hand, one may say, taking will in a sense more general and more in conformity with customary use, that the wise will is _inclined_ antecedently to all good, although it _decrees_ finally to do that which is most fitting. thus one would be very wrong to deny to god the serious and strong inclination to save all men, which holy scripture attributes to him; or even to attribute to him an original distaste which diverts him from the salvation of a number of persons, _odium antecedaneum_. one should rather maintain that the wise mind tends towards all good, as good, in proportion to his knowledge and his power, but that he only produces the best that can be achieved. those who admit that, and yet deny to god the antecedent will to save all men, are wrong only in their misuse of the term, provided that they acknowledge, besides, that god gives to all help sufficient to enable them to win [ ] salvation if only they have the will to avail themselves thereof. . in the _dogmas_ themselves held by the disciples of st. augustine i cannot approve the damnation of unregenerate children, nor in general damnation resulting from original sin alone. nor can i believe that god condemns those who are without the necessary light. one may believe, with many theologians, that men receive more aid than we are aware of, were it only when they are at the point of death. it does not appear necessary either that all those who are saved should always be saved through a grace efficacious of itself, independently of circumstances. also i consider it unnecessary to say that all the virtues of the pagans were false or that all their actions were sins; though it be true that what does not spring from faith, or from the uprightness of the soul before god, is infected with sin, at least virtually. finally i hold that god cannot act as if at random by an absolutely absolute decree, or by a will independent of reasonable motives. and i am persuaded that he is always actuated, in the dispensation of his grace, by reasons wherein the nature of the objects participates. otherwise he would not act in accordance with wisdom. i grant nevertheless that these reasons are not of necessity bound up with the good or the less evil natural qualities of men, as if god gave his grace only according to these good qualities. yet i hold, as i have explained already here, that these qualities are taken into consideration like all the other circumstances, since nothing can be neglected in the designs of supreme wisdom. . save for these points, and some few others, where st. augustine appears obscure or even repellent, it seems as though one can conform to his system. he states that from the substance of god only a god can proceed, and that thus the creature is derived from nothingness (augustine _de lib. arb._, lib. , c. ). that is what makes the creature imperfect, faulty and corruptible (_de genesi ad lit._, c. , _contra epistolam manichaei_, c. ). evil comes not from nature, but from evil will (augustine, in the whole book _on the nature of good_). god can command nothing that would be impossible. 'firmissime creditur deum justum et bonum impossibilia non potuisse praecipere' (_lib. de nat. et grat._, c. , p. ). nemo peccat in eo, quod caveri non potest (lib. , _de lib. arb._, c. , , _lib._ _retract._ c. , , ). under a just god, none can be unhappy who deserves not so to be, 'neque sub deo justo miser esse [ ] quisquam, nisi mereatur, potest' (lib. , c. ). free will cannot carry out god's commands without the aid of grace (_ep. ad hilar. caesaraugustan._). we know that grace is not given according to deserts (ep. , , ). man in the state of innocence had the aid necessary to enable him to do good if he wished; but the wish depended on free will, 'habebat adjutorium, per quod posset, et sine quo non vellet, sed non adjutorium quo vellet' (_lib. de corrept._, c. et c. , ). god let angels and men try what they could do by their free will, and after that what his grace and his justice could achieve (ibid., c. , , ). sin turned man away from god, to turn him towards creatures (lib. , qu. , _ad simplicium_). to take pleasure in sinning is the freedom of a slave (_enchirid._, c. ). 'liberum arbitrium usque adeo in peccatore non periit, ut per illud peccent maxime omnes, qui cum delectatione peccant' (lib. , _ad bonifac._, c. , ). . god said to moses: 'i will be gracious to whom i will be gracious, and will shew mercy on whom i will shew mercy' (exod. xxxiii. ). 'so then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of god that sheweth mercy' (rom. ix. , ). that does not prevent all those who have good will, and who persevere therein, from being saved. but god gives them the willing and the doing. 'therefore hath he mercy on whom he will have mercy, and whom he will he hardeneth' (rom. ix. ). and yet the same apostle says that god willeth that all men should be saved, and come to the knowledge of the truth; which i would not interpret in accordance with some passages of st. augustine, as if it signified that no men are saved except those whose salvation he wills, or as if he would save _non singulos generum, sed genera singulorum_. but i would rather say that there is none whose salvation he willeth not, in so far as this is permitted by greater reasons. for these bring it about that god only saves those who accept the faith he has offered to them and who surrender themselves thereto by the grace he has given them, in accordance with what was consistent with the plan of his works in its entirety, than which none can be better conceived. . as for predestination to salvation, it includes also, according to st. augustine, the ordinance of the means that shall lead to salvation. 'praedestinatio sanctorum nihil aliud est, quam praescientia et praeparatio beneficiorum dei, quibus certissime liberantur quicunque liberantur' (_lib. de persev._, c. ). he does not then understand it there as an [ ] absolute decree; he maintains that there is a grace which is not rejected by any hardened heart, because it is given in order to remove especially the hardness of hearts (_lib. de praedest._, c. ; _lib. de grat._, c. , ). i do not find, however, that st. augustine conveys sufficiently that this grace, which subdues the heart, is always efficacious of itself. and one might perhaps have asserted without offence to him that the same degree of inward grace is victorious in the one, where it is aided by outward circumstances, but not in the other. . will is proportionate to the sense we have of the good, and follows the sense which prevails. 'si utrumque tantundem diligimus, nihil horum dabimus. item: quod amplius nos delectat, secundum id operemur necesse est' (in c. , _ad gal._). i have explained already how, despite all that, we have indeed a great power over our will. st. augustine takes it somewhat differently, and in a way that does not go far, when he says that nothing is so much within our power as the action of our will. and he gives a reason which is almost tautological: for (he says) this action is ready at the moment when we will. 'nihil tam in nostra potestate est, quam ipsa voluntas, ea enim mox ut volumus praesto est' (lib. , _de lib. arb._, c. ; lib. , _de civ. dei_, c. ). but that only means that we will when we will, and not that we will that which we wish to will. there is more reason for saying with him: '_aut voluntas non est, aut libera dicenda est_' (d. , , c. ); and that what inclines the will towards good infallibly, or certainly, does not prevent it from being free. 'perquam absurdum est, ut ideo dicamus non pertinere ad voluntatem [libertatem] nostram, quod beati esse volumus, quia id omnino nolle non possumus, nescio qua bona constrictione naturae. nec dicere audemus ideo deum non voluntatem [libertatem], sed necessitatem habere justitiae, quia non potest velle peccare. certe deus ipse numquid quia peccare non potest, ideo liberum arbitrium habere negandus est?' (_de nat. et grat._, c. , , , ). he also says aptly, that god gives the first good impulse, but that afterwards man acts also. 'aguntur ut agant, non ut ipsi nihil agant' (_de corrept._, c. ). . i have proved that free will is the proximate cause of the evil of guilt, and consequently of the evil of punishment; although it is true that the original imperfection of creatures, which is already presented in the eternal ideas, is the first and most remote cause. m. bayle [ ] nevertheless always disputes this use of the notion of free will; he will not have the cause of evil ascribed to it. one must listen to his objections, but first it will be well to throw further light on the nature of freedom. i have shown that freedom, according to the definition required in the schools of theology, consists in intelligence, which involves a clear knowledge of the object of deliberation, in spontaneity, whereby we determine, and in contingency, that is, in the exclusion of logical or metaphysical necessity. intelligence is, as it were, the soul of freedom, and the rest is as its body and foundation. the free substance is self-determining and that according to the motive of good perceived by the understanding, which inclines it without compelling it: and all the conditions of freedom are comprised in these few words. it is nevertheless well to point out that the imperfection present in our knowledge and our spontaneity, and the infallible determination that is involved in our contingency, destroy neither freedom nor contingency. . our knowledge is of two kinds, distinct or confused. distinct knowledge, or _intelligence_, occurs in the actual use of reason; but the senses supply us with confused thoughts. and we may say that we are immune from bondage in so far as we act with a distinct knowledge, but that we are the slaves of passion in so far as our perceptions are confused. in this sense we have not all the freedom of spirit that were to be desired, and we may say with st. augustine that being subject to sin we have the freedom of a slave. yet a slave, slave as he is, nevertheless has freedom to choose according to the state wherein he is, although more often than not he is under the stern necessity of choosing between two evils, because a superior force prevents him from attaining the goods whereto he aspires. that which in a slave is effected by bonds and constraint in us is effected by passions, whose violence is sweet, but none the less pernicious. in truth we will only that which pleases us: but unhappily what pleases us now is often a real evil, which would displease us if we had the eyes of the understanding open. nevertheless that evil state of the slave, which is also our own, does not prevent us, any more than him, from making a free choice of that which pleases us most, in the state to which we are reduced, in proportion to our present strength and knowledge. . as for spontaneity, it belongs to us in so far as we have within us the source of our actions, as aristotle rightly conceived. the [ ] impressions of external things often, indeed, divert us from our path, and it was commonly believed that, at least in this respect, some of the sources of our actions were outside ourselves. i admit that one is bound to speak thus, adapting oneself to the popular mode of expression, as one may, in a certain sense, without doing violence to truth. but when it is a question of expressing oneself accurately i maintain that our spontaneity suffers no exception and that external things have no physical influence upon us, i mean in the strictly philosophical sense. . for better understanding of this point, one must know that true spontaneity is common to us and all simple substances, and that in the intelligent or free substance this becomes a mastery over its actions. that cannot be better explained than by the system of pre-established harmony, which i indeed propounded some years ago. there i pointed out that by nature every simple substance has perception, and that its individuality consists in the perpetual law which brings about the sequence of perceptions that are assigned to it, springing naturally from one another, to represent the body that is allotted to it, and through its instrumentality the entire universe, in accordance with the point of view proper to this simple substance and without its needing to receive any physical influence from the body. even so the body also for its part adapts itself to the wishes of the soul by its own laws, and consequently only obeys it according to the promptings of these laws. whence it follows that the soul has in itself a perfect spontaneity, so that it depends only upon god and upon itself in its actions. . as this system was not known formerly, other ways were sought for emerging from this labyrinth, and the cartesians themselves were in difficulties over the subject of free will. they were no longer satisfied by the 'faculties' of the schoolmen, and they considered that all the actions of the soul appear to be determined by what comes from without, according to the impressions of the senses, and that, ultimately, all is controlled in the universe by the providence of god. thence arose naturally the objection that there is therefore no freedom. to that m. descartes replied that we are assured of god's providence by reason; but that we are likewise assured of our freedom by experience thereof within ourselves; and that we must believe in both, even though we see not how it is possible to reconcile them. [ ] . that was cutting the gordian knot, and answering the conclusion of an argument not by refuting it but by opposing thereto a contrary argument. which procedure does not conform to the laws for philosophical disputes. notwithstanding, most of the cartesians contented themselves with this, albeit the inward experience they adduce does not prove their assertion, as m. bayle has clearly shown. m. regis (_philos._, vol. , metaph., book , part , c. ) thus paraphrases m. descartes' doctrine: 'most philosophers', he says, 'have fallen into error. some, not being able to understand the relation existing between free actions and the providence of god, have denied that god was the first efficient cause of free will: but that is sacrilegious. the others, not being able to apprehend the relation between god's efficacy and free actions, have denied that man was endowed with freedom: and that is a blasphemy. the mean to be found between these two extremes is to say' (id. ibid., p. ) 'that, even though we were not able to understand all the relations existing between freedom and god's providence, we should nevertheless be bound to acknowledge that we are free and dependent upon god. for both these truths are equally known, the one through experience, and the other through reason; and prudence forbids one to abandon truths whereof one is assured, under the pretext that one cannot apprehend all the relations existing between them and other truths well known.' . m. bayle here remarks pertinently in the margin, 'that these expressions of m. regis fail to point out that we are aware of relations between man's actions and god's providence, such as appear to us to be incompatible with our freedom.' he adds that these expressions are over-circumspect, weakening the statement of the problem. 'authors assume', he says, 'that the difficulty arises solely from our lack of enlightenment; whereas they ought to say that it arises in the main from the enlightenment which we have, and cannot reconcile' (in m. bayle's opinion) 'with our mysteries.' that is exactly what i said at the beginning of this work, that if the mysteries were irreconcilable with reason, and if there were unanswerable objections, far from finding the mystery incomprehensible, we should comprehend that it was false. it is true that here there is no question of a mystery, but only of natural religion. . this is how m. bayle combats those inward experiences, whereon [ ] the cartesians make freedom rest: but he begins by reflexions with which i cannot agree. 'those who do not make profound examination', he says (_dictionary_, art. 'helen.', lit. [greek: td]), 'of that which passes within them easily persuade themselves that they are free, and that, if their will prompts them to evil, it is their fault, it is through a choice whereof they are the masters. those who judge otherwise are persons who have studied with care the springs and the circumstances of their actions, and who have thought over the progress of their soul's impulses. those persons usually have doubts about their free will, and even come to persuade themselves that their reason and mind are slaves, without power to resist the force that carries them along where they would not go. it was principally persons of this kind who ascribed to the gods the cause of their evil deeds.' . these words remind me of those of chancellor bacon, who says that a little philosophy inclineth us away from god, but that depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds about to him. it is the same with those who reflect upon their actions: it appears to them at first that all we do is only impulsion from others, and that all we apprehend comes from without through the senses, and is traced upon the void of our mind _tanquam in tabula rasa_. but more profound meditation shows us that all (even perceptions and passions) comes to us from our own inner being, with complete spontaneity. . yet m. bayle cites poets who pretend to exonerate men by laying the blame upon the gods. medea in ovid speaks thus: _frustra, medea, repugnas,_ _nescio quid deus obstat, ait._ and a little later ovid makes her add: _sed trahit invitam nova vis, aliudque cupido,_ _mens aliud suadet; video meliora proboque,_ _deteriora sequor_. but one could set against that a passage from vergil, who makes nisus say with far more reason: _di ne hunc ardorem mentibus addunt,_ _euryale, an sua cuique deus fit dira cupido?_ . herr wittich seems to have thought that in reality our independence is only apparent. for in his _diss. de providentia dei actuali_ (n. ) [ ] he makes free will consist in our being inclined towards the objects that present themselves to our soul for affirmation or denial, love or hate, in such a way that we _do not feel_ we are being determined by any outward force. he adds that it is when god himself causes our volitions that we act with most freedom; and that the more efficacious and powerful god's action is upon us, the more we are masters of our actions. 'quia enim deus operatur ipsum velle, quo efficacius operatur, eo magis volumus; quod autem, cum volumus, facimus, id maxime habemus in nostra potestate.' it is true that when god causes a volition in us he causes a free action. but it seems to me that the question here is not of the universal cause or of that production of our will which is proper to it in so far as it is a created effect, whose positive elements are actually created continually through god's co-operation, like all other absolute reality of things. we are concerned here with the reasons for willing, and the means god uses when he gives us a good will or permits us to have an evil will. it is always we who produce it, good or evil, for it is our action: but there are always reasons that make us act, without impairing either our spontaneity or our freedom. grace does no more than give impressions which are conducive to making will operate through fitting motives, such as would be an attention, _a dic cur hic_, a prevenient pleasure. and it is quite evident that that does not interfere with freedom, any more than could a friend who gives counsel and furnishes motives. thus herr wittich has not supplied an answer to the question, any more than m. bayle, and recourse to god is of no avail here. . but let me give another much more reasonable passage from the same m. bayle, where he disputes with greater force the so-called lively sense of freedom, which according to the cartesians is a proof of freedom. his words are indeed full of wit, and worthy of consideration, and occur in the _reply to the questions of a provincial_ (vol. iii, ch. , p. _seqq._). here they are: 'by the clear and distinct sense we have of our existence we do not discern whether we exist through ourselves or derive our being from another. we discern that only by reflexion, that is, through meditation upon our powerlessness in the matter of conserving ourselves as much as we would, and of freeing ourselves from dependence upon the beings that surround us, etc. it is indeed certain that the pagans (the same must be said of the socinians, since they deny the creation) never attained[ ] to the knowledge of that true dogma that we were created from nothing, and that we are derived from nothingness at every moment of our continuance. they therefore thought erroneously that all substances in the universe exist of themselves and can never be reduced to nothing, and that thus they depend upon no other thing save in respect of their modifications, which are liable to be destroyed by the action of an external cause. does not this error spring from the fact that we are unconscious of the creative action which conserves us, and that we are only conscious of our existence? that we are conscious of it, i say, in such a way that we should for ever remain ignorant of the cause of our being if other knowledge did not aid us? let us say also, that the clear and distinct sense we have of the acts of our will cannot make us discern whether we give them ourselves to ourselves or receive them from that same cause which gives us existence. we must have recourse to reflexion or to meditation in order to effect this discrimination. now i assert that one can never by purely philosophical meditations arrive at an established certainty that we are the efficient cause of our volitions: for every person who makes due investigation will recognize clearly, that if we were only passive subjects with regard to will we should have the same sensations of experience as we have when we think that we are free. assume, for the sake of argument, that god so ordered the laws of the union between soul and body that all the modalities of the soul, without a single exception, are of necessity linked together with the interposition of the modalities of the brain. you will then understand that nothing will happen to us except that of which we are conscious: there will be in our soul the same sequence of thoughts from the perception of objects of the senses, which is its first step, up to the most definite volitions, which are its final step. there will be in this sequence the consciousness of ideas, that of affirmations, that of irresolutions, that of velleities and that of volitions. for whether the act of willing be impressed upon us by an external cause or we bring it about ourselves, it will be equally true that we will, and that we feel that we will. moreover, as this external cause can blend as much pleasure as it will with the volition which it impresses upon us, we shall be able to feel at times that the acts of our will please us infinitely, and that they lead us according to the bent of our strongest inclinations. we shall feel no constraint; you know the maxim: _voluntas non potest cogi_. do[ ] you not clearly understand that a weather-vane, always having communicated to it simultaneously (in such a way, however, that priority of nature or, if one will, a real momentary priority, should attach to the desire for motion) movement towards a certain point on the horizon, and the wish to turn in that direction, would be persuaded that it moved of itself to fulfil the desires which it conceived? i assume that it would not know that there were winds, or that an external cause changed everything simultaneously, both its situation and its desires. that is the state we are in by our nature: we know not whether an invisible cause makes us pass sufficiently from one thought to another. it is therefore natural that men are persuaded that they determine their own acts. but it remains to be discovered whether they are mistaken in that, as in countless other things they affirm by a kind of instinct and without having made use of philosophic meditation. since therefore there are two hypotheses as to what takes place in man: the one that he is only a passive subject, the other that he has active virtues, one cannot in reason prefer the second to the first, so long as one can only adduce proofs of feeling. for we should feel with an equal force that we wish this or that, whether all our volitions were imprinted upon our soul by an exterior and invisible cause, or we formed them ourselves.' . there are here excellent arguments, which are valid against the usual systems; but they fail in respect of the system of pre-established harmony, which takes us further than we were able to go formerly. m. bayle asserts, for instance, 'that by purely philosophical meditations one can never attain to an established certainty that we are the efficient cause of our volitions'. but this is a point which i do not concede to him: for the establishment of this system demonstrates beyond a doubt that in the course of nature each substance is the sole cause of all its actions, and that it is free of all physical influence from every other substance, save the customary co-operation of god. and this system shows that our spontaneity is real, and not only apparent, as herr wittich believed it to be. m. bayle asserts also on the same reasons (ch. , p. ) that if there were a _fatum astrologicum_ this would not destroy freedom; and i would concede that to him, if freedom consisted only in an apparent spontaneity. . the spontaneity of our actions can therefore no longer be questioned; and aristotle has defined it well, saying that an action is [ ] _spontaneous_ when its source is in him who acts. 'spontaneum est, cujus principium est in agente.' thus it is that our actions and our wills depend entirely upon us. it is true that we are not directly the masters of our will, although we be its cause; for we do not choose volitions, as we choose our actions by our volitions. yet we have a certain power also over our will, because we can contribute indirectly towards willing another time that which we would fain will now, as i have here already shown: that, however, is no _velleity_, properly speaking. there also we have a mastery, individual and even perceptible, over our actions and our wills, resulting from a combination of spontaneity with intelligence. . up to this point i have expounded the two conditions of freedom mentioned by aristotle, that is, _spontaneity_ and _intelligence_, which are found united in us in deliberation, whereas beasts lack the second condition. but the schoolmen demand yet a third, which they call _indifference_. and indeed one must admit it, if indifference signifies as much as 'contingency'; for i have already said here that freedom must exclude an absolute and metaphysical or logical necessity. but, as i have declared more than once, this indifference, this contingency, this non-necessity, if i may venture so to speak, which is a characteristic attribute of freedom, does not prevent one from having stronger inclinations towards the course one chooses; nor does it by any means require that one be absolutely and equally indifferent towards the two opposing courses. . i therefore admit indifference only in the one sense, implying the same as contingency, or non-necessity. but, as i have declared more than once, i do not admit an indifference of equipoise, and i do not think that one ever chooses when one is absolutely indifferent. such a choice would be, as it were, mere chance, without determining reason, whether apparent or hidden. but such a chance, such an absolute and actual fortuity, is a chimera which never occurs in nature. all wise men are agreed that chance is only an apparent thing, like fortune: only ignorance of causes gives rise to it. but if there were such a vague indifference, or rather if we were to choose without having anything to prompt us to the choice, chance would then be something actual, resembling what, according to epicurus, took place in that little deviation of the atoms, occurring without cause or reason. epicurus had introduced it in order to evade necessity, and[ ] cicero with good reason ridiculed it. . this deviation had a final cause in the mind of epicurus, his aim being to free us from fate; but it can have no efficient cause in the nature of things, it is one of the most impossible of chimeras. m. bayle himself refutes it admirably, as we shall see presently. and yet it is surprising that he appears to admit elsewhere himself something of like nature with this supposed deviation: here is what he says, when speaking of buridan's ass (_dictionary_, art. 'buridan', lit. ): 'those who advocate free will properly so called admit in man a power of determining, either to the right hand or the left, even when the motives are perfectly uniform on the side of each of the two opposing objects. for they maintain that our soul can say, without having any reason other than that of using its freedom: "i prefer this to that, although i see nothing more worthy of my choice in the one than the other".' . all those who admit a free will properly so called will not for that reason concede to m. bayle this determination springing from an indeterminate cause. st. augustine and the thomists believe that all is determined. and one sees that their opponents resort also to the circumstances which contribute to our choice. experience by no means approves the chimera of an indifference of equipoise; and one can employ here the argument that m. bayle himself employed against the cartesians' manner of proving freedom by the lively sense of our independence. for although i do not always see the reason for an inclination which makes me choose between two apparently uniform courses, there will always be some impression, however imperceptible, that determines us. the mere desire to make use of one's freedom has no effect of specifying, or determining us to the choice of one course or the other. . m. bayle goes on: 'there are at the very least two ways whereby man can extricate himself from the snares of equipoise. one, which i have already mentioned, is for a man to flatter himself with the pleasing fancy that he is master in his own house, and that he does not depend upon objects.' this way is blocked: for all that one might wish to play master in one's own house, that has no determining effect, nor does it favour one course more than the other. m. bayle goes on: 'he would make this act: i will prefer this to that, because it pleases me to behave thus.' but [ ] these words, 'because it pleases me', 'because such is my pleasure', imply already a leaning towards 'the object that pleases'. . there is therefore no justification for continuing thus: 'and so that which determined him would not be taken from the object; the motive would be derived only from the ideas men have of their own perfections, or of their natural faculties. the other way is that of the lot or chance: the short straw would decide.' this way has an outlet, but it does not reach the goal: it would alter the issue, for in such a case it is not man who decides. or again if one maintains that it is still the man who decides by lot, man himself is no longer in equipoise, because the lot is not, and the man has attached himself to it. there are always reasons in nature which cause that which happens by chance or through the lot. i am somewhat surprised that a mind so shrewd as m. bayle's could have allowed itself to be so misled on this point. i have set out elsewhere the true rejoinder to the buridan sophism: it is that the case of perfect equipoise is impossible, since the universe can never be halved, so as to make all impressions equivalent on both sides. . let us see what m. bayle himself says elsewhere against the chimerical or absolutely undefined indifference. cicero had said (in his book _de fato_) that carneades had found something more subtle than the deviation of atoms, attributing the cause of a so-called absolutely undefined indifference to the voluntary motions of souls, because these motions have no need of an external cause, coming as they do from our nature. but m. bayle (_dictionary_, art. 'epicurus', p. ) aptly replies that all that which springs from the nature of a thing is determined: thus determination always remains, and carneades' evasion is of no avail. . he shows elsewhere (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, ch. , l. , p. ) 'that a freedom far removed from this so-called equipoise is incomparably more beneficial. i mean', he says, 'a freedom such as may always follow the judgements of the mind, and such as cannot resist objects clearly recognized as good. i know of no people who do not agree that truth clearly recognized necessitates' (determines rather, unless one speak of a moral necessity) 'the assent of the soul; experience teaches us that. in the schools they teach constantly that as the true is the object of [ ] the understanding, so the good is the object of the will. so likewise they teach that as the understanding can never affirm anything save that which is shown to it under the semblance of truth, the will can never love anything which to it does not appear to be good. one never believes the false as such, and one never loves evil as evil. there is in the understanding a natural determination towards the true in general, and towards each individual truth clearly recognized. there is in the will a natural determination towards good in general; whence many philosophers conclude that from the moment when individual goods are clearly recognized by us we are of necessity compelled to love them. the understanding suspends its actions only when its objects show themselves obscurely, so that there is cause for doubt as to whether they are false or true. that leads many persons to the conclusion that the will remains in equipoise only when the soul is uncertain whether the object presented to it is a good with regard to it; but that also, the moment the soul decides in the affirmative, it of necessity clings to that object until other judgements of the mind determine it otherwise. those who expound freedom in this fashion think to find therein plentiful enough material for merit or demerit. for they assume that these judgements of the mind proceed from a free attention of the soul in examining the objects, comparing them together, and discriminating between them. i must not forget that there are very learned men' (such as bellarmine, lib. , _de gratia et libero arbitrio_, c. , et , and cameron, in _responsione ad epistolam viri docti, id est episcopii_) 'who maintain with very cogent reasons that the will always of necessity follows the last practical act of the understanding.' . one must make some observations on this discourse. a very clear recognition of the best _determines_ the will; but it does not necessitate it, properly speaking. one must always distinguish between the necessary and the certain or infallible, as i have already observed more than once, and distinguish metaphysical necessity from moral necessity. i think also that it is only god's will which always follows the judgements of the understanding: all intelligent creatures are subject to some passions, or to perceptions at least, that are not composed entirely of what i call _adequate ideas_. and although in the blessed these passions always tend towards the true good, by virtue of the laws of nature and the system of things pre-established in relation to them, yet this does not always [ ] happen in such a way that they have a perfect knowledge of that good. it is the same with them as with us, who do not always understand the reason for our instincts. the angels and the blessed are created beings, even as we are, in whom there is always some confused perception mingled with distinct knowledge. suarez said something similar concerning them. he thinks (_treatise on prayer_, book i, ch. ) that god has so ordered things beforehand that their prayers, when they are made with a full will, always succeed: that is an example of a pre-established harmony. as for us, in addition to the judgement of the understanding, of which we have an express knowledge, there are mingled therewith confused perceptions of the senses, and these beget passions and even imperceptible inclinations, of which we are not always aware. these movements often thwart the judgement of the practical understanding. . as for the parallel between the relation of the understanding to the true and that of the will to the good, one must know that a clear and distinct perception of a truth contains within it actually the affirmation of this truth: thus the understanding is necessitated in that direction. but whatever perception one may have of the good, the effort to act in accordance with the judgement, which in my opinion forms the essence of the will, is distinct from it. thus, since there is need of time to raise this effort to its climax, it may be suspended, and even changed, by a new perception or inclination which passes athwart it, which diverts the mind from it, and which even causes it sometimes to make a contrary judgement. hence it comes that our soul has so many means of resisting the truth which it knows, and that the passage from mind to heart is so long. especially is this so when the understanding to a great extent proceeds only by faint _thoughts_, which have only slight power to affect, as i have explained elsewhere. thus the connexion between judgement and will is not so necessary as one might think. . m. bayle goes on to say, with truth (p. ): 'indeed, it cannot be a fault in man's soul that it has no freedom of indifference as regards good in general. it would be rather a disorder, an inordinate imperfection, if one could say truthfully: it is all one to me whether i am happy or unhappy; i have no more determination to love the good than to hate it; i can do both equally. now if it is a praiseworthy and advantageous quality to be determinate as regards good in general, it cannot be a fault if [ ] one is necessitated as regards each individual good recognized plainly as for our good. it seems even as though it were a necessary conclusion, that if the soul has no freedom of indifference as regards good in general, it also has none in respect of particular goods which after due examination it judges to be goods in relation to it. what should we think of a soul which, having formed that judgement, had, and prided itself on having, the power not to love these goods, and even to hate them, and which said: i recognize clearly that these are goods for me, i have all the enlightenment necessary on that point; nevertheless i will not love them, i will hate them; my decision is made, i act upon it; it is not that any reason' (that is, any other reason than that which is founded upon 'such is my good pleasure') 'urges me thereto, but it pleases me so to behave: what should we think, i say, of such a soul? should we not find it more imperfect and more unhappy than if it had not this freedom of indifference? . 'not only does the doctrine that subjects the will to the final acts of the understanding give a more favourable idea of the state of the soul, but it shows also that it is easier to lead man to happiness along that road than along the road of indifference. it will suffice to enlighten his mind upon his true interests, and straightway his will will comply with the judgements that reason shall have pronounced. but if he has a freedom independent of reason and of the quality of objects clearly recognized, he will be the most intractable of all animals, and it will never be possible to rely upon making him choose the right course. all the counsels, all the arguments in the world may prove unavailing; you will give him explanations, you will convince his mind, and yet his will will play the haughty madam and remain motionless as a rock. vergil, _aen_., lib. , v. : _non magis incepto vultum sermone movetur,_ _quam si dura silex, aut stet marpesia cautes_. a caprice, an empty whim will make her stiffen against reasons of all kinds; it will not please her to love her clearly recognized good, it will please her to hate it. do you consider such a faculty, sir, to be the richest present god can have made to man, and the sole instrument of our happiness? is it not rather an obstacle to our felicity? is there cause for boasting in being able to say: "i have scorned all the judgements of [ ] my reason, and i have followed an altogether different path, simply from considerations of my own good pleasure?" with what regrets would one not be torn, in that case, if the determination made had an ill result? such a freedom would therefore be more harmful than profitable to men, because the understanding would not present all the goodness of the objects clearly enough to deprive the will of the power of rejection. it would be therefore infinitely better for man to be always of necessity determined by the judgement of the understanding, than to permit the will to suspend its action. for by this means it would achieve its aim with greater ease and certainty.' . upon this discourse i make the further observation, that it is very true that a freedom of indifference, undefined and without any determining reason, would be as harmful, and even objectionable, as it is impracticable and chimerical. the man who wished to behave thus, or at the least appear to be acting without due cause, would most certainly be looked upon as irrational. but it is very true also that the thing is impossible, when it is taken strictly in accordance with the assumption. as soon as one tries to give an example of it one misses one's aim and stumbles upon the case of a man who, while he does not come to a decision without cause, does so rather under the influence of inclination or passion than of judgement. as soon as one says: 'i scorn the judgements of my reason simply from considerations of my own good pleasure, it pleases me to behave thus', it is as if one were to say: i prefer my inclination to my interest, my pleasure to my profit. . even so some capricious man, fancying that it is ignominious for him to follow the advice of his friends or his servants, might prefer the satisfaction of contradicting them to the profit he could derive from their counsel. it may happen, however, that in a matter of small moment a wise man acts irregularly and against his own interest in order to thwart another who tries to restrain him or direct him, or that he may disconcert those who watch his steps. it is even well at times to imitate brutus by concealing one's wit, and even to feign madness, as david did before the king of the philistines. . m. bayle admirably supplements his remarks with the object of showing that to act against the judgement of the understanding would be a great imperfection. he observes (p. ) that, even according to the [ ] molinists, 'the understanding which does its duty well indicates that which is the best'. he introduces god (ch. , p. ) saying to our first parents in the garden of eden: 'i have given you my knowledge, the faculty of judging things, and full power to dispose your wills. i shall give you instructions and orders; but the free will that i have bestowed upon you is of such a nature that you have equal power (according to circumstances) to obey me and to disobey me. you will be tempted: if you make a good use of your freedom you will be happy; and if you use it ill you will be unhappy. it is for you to see if you wish to ask of me, as a new grace, either that i permit you to abuse your freedom when you shall make resolve to do so, or that i prevent you from doing so. consider carefully, i give you four and twenty hours. do you not clearly understand' (adds m. bayle) 'that their reason, which had not yet been obscured by sin, would have made them conclude that they must ask god, as the crowning point of the favours wherewith he had honoured them, not to permit them to destroy themselves by an ill use of their powers? and must one not admit that if adam, through wrongly making it a point of honour to order his own goings, had refused a divine direction that would have safeguarded his happiness, he would have been the prototype of all such as phaeton and icarus? he would have been well-nigh as ungodly as the ajax of sophocles, who wished to conquer without the aid of the gods, and who said that the most craven would put their enemies to flight with such aid.' . m. bayle also shows (ch. ) that one congratulates oneself no less, or even takes more credit to oneself, for having been aided from above, than for owing one's happiness to one's own choice. and if one does well through having preferred a tumultuous instinct, which arose suddenly, to reasons maturely considered, one feels an extraordinary joy in this; for one assumes that either god, or our guardian angel, or something or other which one pictures to oneself under the vague name of _good luck_ has impelled us thereto. indeed, sulla and caesar boasted more of their good luck than of their prudence. the pagans, and particularly the poets (homer especially), determined their heroes' acts by divine promptings. the hero of the _aeneid_ proceeds only under the direction of a god. it was very great praise offered to the emperors if one said that they were victorious both through their troops and through their gods whom they lent to [ ] their generals: 'te copias, te consilium et tuos praebente divos,' said horace. the generals fought under the auspices of the emperors, as if trusting to the emperor's good luck, for subordinate officers had no rights regarding the auspices. one takes credit to oneself for being a favourite of heaven, one rates oneself more highly for the possession of good fortune than of talent. there are no people that think themselves more fortunate than the mystics, who imagine that they keep still while god acts within them. . 'on the other hand', m. bayle adds (ch. ), 'a stoic philosopher, who attaches to everything an inevitable necessity, is as susceptible as another man to the pleasure of having chosen well. and every man of sense will find that, far from taking pleasure in the thought of having deliberated long and finally chosen the most honourable course, one feels incredible satisfaction in persuading oneself that one is so firmly rooted in the love of virtue that without the slightest resistance one would repel a temptation. a man to whom is suggested the doing of a deed contrary to his duty, his honour and his conscience, who answers forthwith that he is incapable of such a crime, and who is certainly not capable of it, is far more contented with himself than if he asked for time to consider it, and were for some hours in a state of indecision as to which course to take. one is on many occasions regretful over not being able to make up one's mind between two courses, and one would be well pleased that the counsel of a good friend, or some succour from above, should impel us to make a good choice.' all that demonstrates for us the advantage a determinate judgement has over that vague indifference which leaves us in uncertainty. but indeed i have proved sufficiently that only ignorance or passion has power to keep us in doubt, and have thus given the reason why god is never in doubt. the nearer one comes to him, the more perfect is freedom, and the more it is determined by the good and by reason. the character of cato, of whom velleius said that it was impossible for him to perform a dishonourable action, will always be preferred to that of a man who is capable of wavering. . i have been well pleased to present and to support these arguments of m. bayle against vague indifference, as much for the elucidation of the subject as to confront him with himself, and to demonstrate that he ought therefore not to complain of the alleged necessity imposed upon god, [ ] of choosing the best way that is possible. for either god will act through a vague indifference and at random, or again he will act on caprice or through some other passion, or finally he must act through a prevailing inclination of reason which prompts him to the best. but passions, which come from the confused perception of an apparent good, cannot occur in god; and vague indifference is something chimerical. it is therefore only the strongest reason that can regulate god's choice. it is an imperfection in our freedom that makes us capable of choosing evil instead of good, a greater evil instead of the lesser evil, the lesser good instead of the greater good. that arises from the appearances of good and evil, which deceive us; whereas god is always prompted to the true and the greatest good, that is, to the absolutely true good, which he cannot fail to know. . this false idea of freedom, conceived by those who, not content with exempting it, i do not say from constraint, but from necessity itself, would also exempt it from certainty and determination, that is, from reason and perfection, nevertheless pleased some schoolmen, people who often become entangled in their own subtleties, and take the straw of terms for the grain of things. they assume some chimerical notion, whence they think to derive some use, and which they endeavour to maintain by quibblings. complete indifference is of this nature: to concede it to the will is to grant it a privilege of the kind that some cartesians and some mystics find in the divine nature, of being able to do the impossible, to produce absurdities, to cause two contradictory propositions to be true simultaneously. to claim that a determination comes from a complete indifference absolutely indeterminate is to claim that it comes naturally from nothing. let it be assumed that god does not give this determination: it has accordingly no fountainhead in the soul, nor in the body, nor in circumstances, since all is assumed to be indeterminate; and yet there it is, appearing and existing without preparation, nothing making ready for it, no angel, not even god himself, being able to see or to show how it exists. that would be not only the emergence of something from nothing, but its emergence thence _of itself_. this doctrine introduces something as preposterous as the theory already mentioned, of the deviation of atoms, whereby epicurus asserted that one of these small bodies, going in a straight line, would turn aside all at once from its path, without any[ ] reason, simply because the will so commands. take note moreover that he resorted to that only to justify this alleged freedom of complete indifference, a chimerical notion which appears to be of very ancient origin; and one may with good reason say: _chimaera chimaeram parit_. . this is the way signor marchetti has expressed it in his admirable translation of lucretius into italian verse, which has not yet been published (book ): _mà ch'i principii poi non corran punto_ _della lor dritta via, chi veder puote?_ _sì finalmente ogni lor moto sempre_ _insieme s'aggruppa, e dall' antico_ _sempre con ordin certo il nuovo nasce;_ _ne tracciando i primi semi, fanno_ _di moto un tal principio, il qual poi rompa_ _i decreti del fato, acciò non segua_ _l'una causa dell' altra in infinito;_ _onde han questa, dich' io_, del fato sciolta libera voluntà, _per cui ciascuno_ _va dove più l'agrada? i moti ancora_ _si declinan sovente, e non in tempo_ _certo, ne certa region, mà solo_ _quando e dove commanda il nostro arbitrio;_ _poiche senz' alcun dubbio à queste cose_ _dà sol principio il voler proprio, e quindi_ _van poi scorrendo per le membra i moti._ it is comical that a man like epicurus, after having discarded the gods and all incorporeal substances, could have supposed that the will, which he himself takes as composed of atoms, could have had control over the atoms, and diverted them from their path, without its being possible for one to say how. . carneades, not going so far back as to the atoms, claimed to find at once in the soul of man the reason for the so-called vague indifference, assuming as reason for the thing just that for which epicurus sought a reason. carneades gained nothing thereby, except that he more easily deceived careless people, in transferring the absurdity from one subject, where it is somewhat too evident, to another subject where it is easier to confuse matters, that is to say, from the body to the soul. for most philosophers had not very distinct notions of the nature of the soul. [ ] epicurus, who composed it of atoms, was at least right in seeking the origin of its determination in that which he believed to be the origin of the soul itself. that is why cicero and m. bayle were wrong to find so much fault with him, and to be indulgent towards, and even praise, carneades, who is no less irrational. i do not understand how m. bayle, who was so clear-sighted, was thus satisfied by a disguised absurdity, even to the extent of calling it the greatest effort the human mind can make on this matter. it is as if the soul, which is the seat of reason, were more capable than the body of acting without being determined by some reason or cause, internal or external; or as if the great principle which states that nothing comes to pass without cause only related to the body. . it is true that the form or the soul has this advantage over matter, that it is the source of action, having within itself the principle of motion or of change, in a word, [greek: to autokinêton], as plato calls it; whereas matter is simply passive, and has need of being impelled to act, _agitur, ut agat_. but if the soul is active of itself (as it indeed is), for that very reason it is not of itself absolutely indifferent to the action, like matter, and it must find in itself a ground of determination. according to the system of pre-established harmony the soul finds in itself, and in its ideal nature anterior to existence, the reasons for its determinations, adjusted to all that shall surround it. that way it was determined from all eternity in its state of mere possibility to act freely, as it does, when it attains to existence. . m. bayle himself remarks aptly that freedom of indifference (such as must be admitted) does not exclude inclinations and does not demand equipoise. he demonstrates amply enough (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, ch. , p. _seqq_.) that the soul may be compared to a balance, where reasons and inclinations take the place of weights. according to him, one can explain what passes in our resolutions by the hypothesis that the will of man is like a balance which is at rest when the weights of its two pans are equal, and which always inclines either to one side or the other according to which of the pans is the more heavily laden. a new reason makes a heavier weight, a new idea shines more brightly than the old; the fear of a heavy penalty prevails over some pleasure; when two passions dispute the ground, it is always the stronger which gains the mastery, unless the other be assisted by reason or by some other [ ] contributing passion. when one flings away merchandise in order to save oneself, the action, which the schoolmen call mixed, is voluntary and free; and yet love of life indubitably prevails over love of possessions. grief arises from remembrance of lost possessions, and one has all the greater difficulty in making one's resolve, the nearer the approach to even weight in the opposing reasons, as also we see that the balance is determined more promptly when there is a great difference between the weights. . nevertheless, as very often there are divers courses to choose from, one might, instead of the balance, compare the soul with a force which puts forth effort on various sides simultaneously, but which acts only at the spot where action is easiest or there is least resistance. for instance, air if it is compressed too firmly in a glass vessel will break it in order to escape. it puts forth effort at every part, but finally flings itself upon the weakest. thus do the inclinations of the soul extend over all the goods that present themselves: they are antecedent acts of will; but the consequent will, which is their result, is determined in the direction of that which touches most closely. . this ascendancy of inclinations, however, does not prevent man from being master in his own domain, provided that he knows how to make use of his power. his dominion is that of reason: he has only to prepare himself in good time to resist the passions, and he will be capable of checking the vehemence of the most furious. let us assume that augustus, about to give orders for putting to death fabius maximus, acts, as is his wont, upon the advice a philosopher had given him, to recite the greek alphabet before doing anything in the first heat of his anger: this reflexion will be capable of saving the life of fabius and the glory of augustus. but without some fortunate reflexion, which one owes sometimes to a special divine mercy, or without some skill acquired beforehand, like that of augustus, calculated to make us reflect fittingly as to time and place, passion will prevail over reason. the driver is master over the horses if he controls them as he should, and as he can; but there are occasions when he becomes negligent, and then for a time he will have to let go the reins: _fertur equis auriga, nec audit currus habenas_. . one must admit that there is always within us enough power over [ ] our will, but we do not always bethink ourselves of employing it. that shows, as i have observed more than once, that the power of the soul over its inclinations is a control which can only be exercised in an _indirect_ manner, almost as bellarmine would have had the popes exercise rights over the temporal power of kings. in truth, the external actions that do not exceed our powers depend absolutely upon our will; but our volitions depend upon our will only through certain artful twists which give us means of suspending our resolutions, or of changing them. we are masters in our own house, not as god is in the world, he having but to speak, but as a wise prince is in his dominions or as a good father of a family is in his home. m. bayle sometimes takes the matter differently, as though we must have, in order to boast of a free will, an absolute power over ourselves, independent of reasons and of means. but even god has not such a power, and must not have in this sense, in relation to his will: he cannot change his nature, nor act otherwise than according to method; and how could man transform himself all of a sudden? i have already said god's dominion, the dominion of wisdom, is that of reason. it is only god, however, who always wills what is most to be desired, and consequently he has no need of the power to change his will. . if the soul is mistress in its own house (says m. bayle, p. ) it has only to will, and straightway that vexation and pain which is attendant upon victory over the passions will vanish away. for this effect it would suffice, in his opinion, to give oneself indifference to the objects of the passions (p. ). why, then, do men not give themselves this indifference (he says), if they are masters in their own house? but this objection is exactly as if i were to ask why a father of a family does not give himself gold when he has need thereof? he can acquire some, but through skill, and not, as in the age of the fairies, or of king midas, through a mere command of the will or by his touch. it would not suffice to be master in one's own house; one must be master of all things in order to give oneself all that one wishes; for one does not find everything in one's own house. working thus upon oneself, one must do as in working upon something else; one must have knowledge of the constitution and the qualities of one's object, and adapt one's operations thereto. it is therefore not in a moment and by a mere act of the will that one corrects oneself, and that one acquires a better will. [ ] . nevertheless it is well to observe that the vexations and pains attendant upon victory over the passions in some people turn into pleasure, through the great satisfaction they find in the lively sense of the force of their mind, and of the divine grace. ascetics and true mystics can speak of this from experience; and even a true philosopher can say something thereof. one can attain to that happy state, and it is one of the principal means the soul can use to strengthen its dominion. . if the scotists and the molinists appear to favour vague indifference (appear, i say, for i doubt whether they do so in reality, once they have learnt to know it), the thomists and the disciples of augustine are for predetermination. for one must have either the one or the other. thomas aquinas is a writer who is accustomed to reason on sound principles, and the subtle scotus, seeking to contradict him, often obscures matters instead of throwing light upon them. the thomists as a general rule follow their master, and do not admit that the soul makes its resolve without the existence of some predetermination which contributes thereto. but the predetermination of the new thomists is not perhaps exactly that which one needs. durand de saint-pourçain, who often enough formed a party of his own, and who opposed the idea of the special co-operation of god, was nevertheless in favour of a certain predetermination. he believed that god saw in the state of the soul, and of its surroundings, the reason for his determinations. . the ancient stoics were in that almost of the same opinion as the thomists. they were at the same time in favour of determination and against necessity, although they have been accused of attaching necessity to everything. cicero says in his book _de fato_ that democritus, heraclitus, empedocles and aristotle believed that fate implied necessity; that others were opposed to that (he means perhaps epicurus and the academicians); and that chrysippus sought a middle course. i think that cicero is mistaken as regards aristotle, who fully recognized contingency and freedom, and went even too far, saying (inadvertently, as i think) that propositions on contingent futurities had no determinate truth; on which point he was justifiably abandoned by most of the schoolmen. even cleanthes, the teacher of chrysippus, although he upheld the determinate truth of future events, denied their necessity. had the schoolmen, so fully convinced of this [ ] determination of contingent futurities (as were for instance the fathers of coimbra, authors of a famous course of philosophy), seen the connexion between things in the form wherein the system of general harmony proclaims it, they would have judged that one cannot admit preliminary certainty, or determination of futurition, without admitting a predetermination of the thing in its causes and in its reasons. . cicero has endeavoured to expound for us the middle course taken by chrysippus; but justus lipsius observed, in his _stoic philosophy_, that the passage from cicero was mutilated, and that aulus gellius has preserved for us the whole argument of the stoic philosopher (_noct. att._, lib. , c. ). here it is in epitome. fate is the inevitable and eternal connexion of all events. against this is urged in objection, that it follows that the acts of the will would be necessary, and that criminals, being coerced into evil, should not be punished. chrysippus answers that evil springs from the original constitution of souls, which forms part of the destined sequence; that souls which are of a good natural disposition offer stronger resistance to the impressions of external causes; but that those whose natural defects had not been corrected by discipline allowed themselves to be perverted. next he distinguishes (according to cicero) between principal causes and accessary causes, and uses the comparison of a cylinder, whose rotatory force and speed or ease in motion comes chiefly from its shape, whereas it would be retarded by any roughness in formation. nevertheless it has need of impulsion, even as the soul needs to be acted upon by the objects of the senses, and receives this impression according to its own constitution. . cicero considers that chrysippus becomes so confused that, whether he will or no, he confirms the necessity of fate. m. bayle is almost of the same opinion (_dictionary_, art. 'chrysippus', lit. h). he says that this philosopher does not get out of the bog, since the cylinder is regular or uneven according to what the craftsman has made it; and thus god, providence, fate will be the causes of evil in such a way as to render it necessary. justus lipsius answers that, according to the stoics, evil came from matter. that is (to my mind) as if he had said that the stone on which the craftsman worked was sometimes too rough and too irregular to produce a good cylinder. m. bayle cites against chrysippus the fragments of onomaus and diogenianus that eusebius has preserved for us in the _praeparatio[ ] evangelica_ (lib. , c. , ); and above all he relies upon plutarch's refutation in his book against the stoics, quoted art. 'paulicians', lit. g. but this refutation does not amount to very much. plutarch maintains that it would be better to deny power to god than to impute to him the permission of evils; and he will not admit that evil may serve a greater good. i have already shown, on the contrary, that god cannot but be all-powerful, even though he can do no better than produce the best, which includes the permission of evil. moreover, i have pointed out repeatedly that what is to the disadvantage of a part taken separately may serve the perfection of the whole. . chrysippus had already made an observation to this effect, not only in his fourth book on providence, as given by aulus gellius (lib. , c. ) where he asserts that evil serves to bring the good to notice (a reason which is not sufficient here), but still better when he applies the comparison of a stage play, in his second book on nature (as plutarch quotes it himself). there he says that there are sometimes portions in a comedy which are of no worth in themselves and which nevertheless lend grace to the whole poem. he calls these portions epigrams or inscriptions. we have not enough acquaintance with the nature of the ancient comedy for full understanding of this passage from chrysippus; but since plutarch assents to the fact, there is reason to believe that this comparison was not a poor one. plutarch replies in the first place that the world is not like a play to provide entertainment. but that is a poor answer: the comparison lies in this point alone, that one bad part may make the whole better. he replies secondly that this bad passage is only a small part of the comedy, whereas human life swarms with evils. this reply is of no value either: for he ought to have taken into account that what we know is also a very small part of the universe. . but let us return to the cylinder of chrysippus. he is right in saying that vice springs from the original constitution of some minds. he was met with the objection that god formed them, and he could only reply by pointing to the imperfection of matter, which did not permit god to do better. this reply is of no value, for matter in itself is indifferent to all forms, and god made it. evil springs rather from the _forms_ themselves in their detached state, that is, from the ideas that god has not produced by an act of his will, any more than he thus produced numbers and [ ] figures, and all possible essences which one must regard as eternal and necessary; for they are in the ideal region of the possibles, that is, in the divine understanding. god is therefore not the author of essences in so far as they are only possibilities. but there is nothing actual to which he has not decreed and given existence; and he has permitted evil because it is involved in the best plan existing in the region of possibles, a plan which supreme wisdom could not fail to choose. this notion satisfies at once the wisdom, the power and the goodness of god, and yet leaves a way open for the entrance of evil. god gives perfection to creatures in so far as it is possible in the universe. one gives a turn to the cylinder, but any roughness in its shape restricts the swiftness of its motion. this comparison made by chrysippus does not greatly differ from mine, which was taken from a laden boat that is carried along by the river current, its pace becoming slower as the load grows heavier. these comparisons tend towards the same end; and that shows that if we were sufficiently informed concerning the opinions of ancient philosophers, we should find therein more reason than is supposed. . m. bayle himself commends the passage from chrysippus (art. 'chrysippus', lit. t) that aulus gellius quotes in the same place, where this philosopher maintains that evil has come _by concomitance._ that also is made clear by my system. for i have demonstrated that the evil which god permitted was not an object of his will, as an end or a means, but simply as a condition, since it had to be involved in the best. yet one must confess that the cylinder of chrysippus does not answer the objection of necessity. he ought to have added, in the first place, that it is by the free choice of god that some of the possibles exist; secondly, that rational creatures act freely also, in accordance with their original nature, which existed already in the eternal ideas; and lastly, that the motive power of good inclines the will without compelling it. . the advantage of freedom which is in the creature without doubt exists to an eminent degree in god. that must be understood in so far as it is genuinely an advantage and in so far as it presupposes no imperfection. for to be able to make a mistake and go astray is a disadvantage, and to have control over the passions is in truth an advantage, but one that presupposes an imperfection, namely passion itself, of which god is [ ] incapable. scotus was justified in saying that if god were not free and exempt from necessity, no creature would be so. but god is incapable of being indeterminate in anything whatsoever: he cannot be ignorant, he cannot doubt, he cannot suspend his judgement; his will is always decided, and it can only be decided by the best. god can never have a primitive particular will, that is, independent of laws or general acts of will; such a thing would be unreasonable. he cannot determine upon adam, peter, judas or any individual without the existence of a reason for this determination; and this reason leads of necessity to some general enunciation. the wise mind always acts _according to principles_; always _according to rules_, and never _according to exceptions_, save when the rules come into collision through opposing tendencies, where the strongest carries the day: or else, either they will stop one another or some third course will emerge as a result. in all these cases one rule serves as an exception to the other, and there are never any _original exceptions_ with one who always acts in a regular way. . if there are people who believe that election and reprobation are accomplished on god's part by a despotic absolute power, not only without any apparent reason but actually without any reason, even a concealed one, they maintain an opinion that destroys alike the nature of things and the divine perfections. such an _absolutely absolute decree_ (so to speak) would be without doubt insupportable. but luther and calvin were far from such a belief: the former hopes that the life to come will make us comprehend the just reasons of god's choice; and the latter protests explicitly that these reasons are just and holy, although they be unknown to us. i have already in that connexion quoted calvin's treatise on predestination, and here are the actual words: 'god before the fall of adam had reflected upon what he had to do, and that for causes concealed from us.... it is evident therefore that he had just causes for the reprobation of some of mankind, but causes to us unknown.' . this truth, that all god does is reasonable and cannot be better done, strikes at the outset every man of good sense, and extorts, so to speak, his approbation. and yet the most subtle of philosophers have a fatal propensity for offending sometimes without observing it, during the course and in the heat of disputes, against the first principles of good sense, when these are shrouded in terms that disguise them. we have here [ ] already seen how the excellent m. bayle, with all his shrewdness, has nevertheless combated this principle which i have just indicated, and which is a sure consequence of the supreme perfection of god. he thought to defend in that way the cause of god and to exempt him from an imaginary necessity, by leaving him the freedom to choose from among various goods the least. i have already spoken of m. diroys and others who have also been deluded by this strange opinion, one that is far too commonly accepted. those who uphold it do not observe that it implies a wish to preserve for, or rather bestow upon, god a false freedom, which is the freedom to act unreasonably. that is rendering his works subject to correction, and making it impossible for us to say or even to hope that anything reasonable can be said upon the permission of evil. . this error has much impaired m. bayle's arguments, and has barred his way of escape from many perplexities. that appears again in relation to the laws of the realm of nature: he believes them to be arbitrary and indifferent, and he objects that god could better have attained his end in the realm of grace if he had not clung to these laws, if he had more often dispensed with their observance, or even if he had made others. he believed this especially with regard to the law of the union between the soul and the body. for he is persuaded, with the modern cartesians, that the ideas of the perceptible qualities that god gives (according to them) to the soul, occasioned by movements of the body, have nothing representing these movements or resembling them. accordingly it was a purely arbitrary act on god's part to give us the ideas of heat, cold, light and other qualities which we experience, rather than to give us quite different ideas occasioned in the same way. i have often wondered that people so talented should have been capable of relishing notions so unphilosophic and so contrary to the fundamental maxims of reason. for nothing gives clearer indication of the imperfection of a philosophy than the necessity experienced by the philosopher to confess that something comes to pass, in accordance with his system, for which there is no reason. that applies to the idea of epicurus on the deviation of atoms. whether it be god or nature that operates, the operation will always have its reasons. in the operations of nature, these reasons will depend either upon necessary truths or upon the laws that god has found the most reasonable; and in the operations of god, they will depend upon the choice of the supreme [ ] reason which causes them to act. . m. regis, a famous cartesian, had asserted in his 'metaphysics' (part , book , c. ) that the faculties god has given to men are the most excellent that they were capable of in conformity with the general order of nature. 'considering only', he says, 'the power of god and the nature of man by themselves, it is very easy to conceive that god could have made man more perfect: but if one will consider man, not in himself and separately from all other creatures, but as a member of the universe and a portion which is subject to the general laws of motions, one will be bound to acknowledge that man is as perfect as he could have been.' he adds 'that we cannot conceive that god could have employed any other means more appropriate than pain for the conservation of our bodies'. m. regis is right in a general way in saying that god cannot do better than he has done in relation to all. and although there be apparently in some places in the universe rational animals more perfect than man, one may say that god was right to create every kind of species, some more perfect than others. it is perhaps not impossible that there be somewhere a species of animals much resembling man and more perfect than we are. it may be even that the human race will attain in time to a greater perfection than that which we can now envisage. thus the laws of motions do not prevent man from being more perfect: but the place god has assigned to man in space and in time limits the perfections he was able to receive. . i also doubt, with m. bayle, whether pain be necessary in order to warn men of peril. but this writer goes too far (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. ii, ch. , p. ): he seems to think that a feeling of pleasure could have the same effect, and that, in order to prevent a child from going too near the fire, god could give him ideas of pleasure in proportion to the distance he kept from it. this expedient does not appear very practicable with regard to all evils, unless a miracle were involved. it is more natural that what if it were too near would cause an evil should cause some foreboding of evil when it is a little less near. yet i admit that it is possible such a foreboding will be something less than pain, and usually this is the case. thus it indeed appears that pain is not necessary for causing one to shun present peril; it is wont rather to serve as a penalty for having actually plunged into evil, and a warning against [ ] further lapse. there are also many painful evils the avoidance whereof rests not with us. as a dissolution of the continuity of our body is a consequence of many accidents that may happen to us, it was natural that this imperfection of the body should be represented by some sense of imperfection in the soul. nevertheless i would not guarantee that there were no animals in the universe whose structure was cunning enough to cause a sense of indifference as accompaniment to this dissolution of continuity, as for instance when a gangrenous limb is cut off; or even a sense of pleasure, as if one were only scratching oneself. for the imperfection that attends the dissolution of the body might lead to the sense of a greater perfection, which was suspended or checked by the continuity which is now broken: and in this respect the body would be as it were a prison. . there is also nothing to preclude the existence in the universe of animals resembling that one which cyrano de bergerac encountered in the sun. the body of this animal being a sort of fluid composed of innumerable small animals, that were capable of ranging themselves in accordance with the desires of the great animal, by this means it transformed itself in a moment, just as it pleased; and the dissolution of continuity caused it no more hurt than the stroke of an oar can cause to the sea. but, after all, these animals are not men, they are not in our globe or in our present century; and god's plan ensured that there should not be lacking here on earth a rational animal clothed in flesh and bones, whose structure involves susceptibility to pain. . but m. bayle further opposes this on another principle, one which i have already mentioned. it seems that he thinks the ideas which the soul conceives in relation to the feelings of the body are arbitrary. thus god might have caused the dissolution of continuity to give us pleasure. he even maintains that the laws of motion are entirely arbitrary. 'i would wish to know', he says (vol. iii, ch. , p. ), 'whether god established by an act of his freedom of indifference general laws on the communication of movements, and the particular laws on the union of the human soul with an organic body? in this case, he could have established quite different laws, and adopted a system whose results involved neither moral evil nor physical evil. but if the answer is given that god was constrained by supreme wisdom to establish the laws that he has established, there we have neither more nor less than the _fatum_ of [ ] the stoics. wisdom will have marked out a way for god, the abandonment whereof will have been as impossible to him as his own self-destruction.' this objection has been sufficiently overthrown: it is only a moral necessity; and it is always a happy necessity to be bound to act in accordance with the rules of perfect wisdom. . moreover, it appears to me that the reason for the belief held by many that the laws of motion are arbitrary comes from the fact that few people have properly examined them. it is known now that m. descartes was much mistaken in his statement of them. i have proved conclusively that conservation of the same quantity of motion cannot occur, but i consider that the same quantity of force is conserved, whether absolute or directive and respective, whether total or partial. my principles, which carry this subject as far as it can go, have not yet been published in full; but i have communicated them to friends competent to judge of them, who have approved them, and have converted some other persons of acknowledged erudition and ability. i discovered at the same time that the laws of motion actually existing in nature, and confirmed by experiments, are not in reality absolutely demonstrable, as a geometrical proposition would be; but neither is it necessary that they be so. they do not spring entirely from the principle of necessity, but rather from the principle of perfection and order; they are an effect of the choice and the wisdom of god. i can demonstrate these laws in divers ways, but must always assume something that is not of an absolutely geometrical necessity. thus these admirable laws are wonderful evidence of an intelligent and free being, as opposed to the system of absolute and brute necessity, advocated by strato or spinoza. . i have found that one may account for these laws by assuming that the effect is always equal in force to its cause, or, which amounts to the same thing, that the same force is conserved always: but this axiom of higher philosophy cannot be demonstrated geometrically. one may again apply other principles of like nature, for instance the principle that action is always equal to reaction, one which assumes in things a distaste for external change, and cannot be derived either from extension or impenetrability; and that other principle, that a simple movement has the same properties as those which might belong to a compound movement such as would produce [ ] the same phenomena of locomotion. these assumptions are very plausible, and are successful as an explanation of the laws of motion: nothing is so appropriate, all the more since they are in accord with each other. but there is to be found in them no absolute necessity, such as may compel us to admit them, in the way one is compelled to admit the rules of logic, of arithmetic and geometry. . it seems, when one considers the indifference of matter to motion and to rest, that the largest body at rest could be carried along without any resistance by the smallest body in motion, in which case there would be action without reaction and an effect greater than its cause. there is also no necessity to say of the motion of a ball which runs freely on an even, horizontal plane, with a certain degree of speed, termed a, that this motion must have the properties of that motion which it would have if it were going with lesser speed in a boat, itself moving in the same direction with the residue of the speed, to ensure that the ball, seen from the bank, advance with the same degree a. for, although the same appearance of speed and of direction results through this medium of the boat, it is not because it is the same thing. nevertheless it happens that the effects of the collision of the balls in the boat, the motion in each one separately combined with that of the boat giving the appearance of that which goes on outside the boat, also give the appearance of the effects that these same balls colliding would have outside the boat. all that is admirable, but one does not see its absolute necessity. a movement on the two sides of the right-angled triangle composes a movement on the hypotenuse; but it does not follow that a ball moving on the hypotenuse must produce the effect of two balls of its own size moving on the two sides: yet that is true. nothing is so appropriate as this result, and god has chosen the laws that produce it: but one sees no geometrical necessity therein. yet it is this very lack of necessity which enhances the beauty of the laws that god has chosen, wherein divers admirable axioms exist in conjunction, and it is impossible for one to say which of them is the primary. . i have also shown that therein is observed that excellent law of continuity, which i have perhaps been the first to state, and which is a kind of touchstone whose test the rules of m. descartes, of father fabry, father pardies, father de malebranche and others cannot pass. in virtue of this law, one must be able to regard rest as a movement vanishing [ ] after having continually diminished, and likewise equality as an inequality that vanishes also, as would happen through the continual diminution of the greater of two unequal bodies, while the smaller retains its size. as a consequence of this consideration, the general rule for unequal bodies, or bodies in motion, must apply also to equal bodies or to bodies one of which is at rest, as to a particular case of the rule. this does result in the true laws of motion, and does not result in certain laws invented by m. descartes and by some other men of talent, which already on that score alone prove to be ill-concerted, so that one may predict that experiment will not favour them. . these considerations make it plain that the laws of nature regulating movements are neither entirely necessary nor entirely arbitrary. the middle course to be taken is that they are a choice of the most perfect wisdom. and this great example of the laws of motion shows with the utmost clarity how much difference there is between these three cases, to wit, firstly _an absolute necessity_, metaphysical or geometrical, which may be called blind, and which does not depend upon any but efficient causes; in the second place, _a moral necessity_, which comes from the free choice of wisdom in relation to final causes; and finally in the third place, _something absolutely arbitrary_, depending upon an indifference of equipoise, which is imagined, but which cannot exist, where there is no sufficient reason either in the efficient or in the final cause. consequently one must conclude how mistaken it is to confuse either that which is absolutely necessary with that which is determined by the reason of the best, or the freedom that is determined by reason with a vague indifference. . this also settles m. bayle's difficulty, for he fears that, if god is always determinate, nature could dispense with him and bring about that same effect which is attributed to him, through the necessity of the order of things. that would be true if the laws of motion for instance, and all the rest, had their source in a geometrical necessity of efficient causes; but in the last analysis one is obliged to resort to something depending upon final causes and upon what is fitting. this also utterly destroys the most plausible reasoning of the naturalists. dr. johann joachim becher, a german physician, well known for his books on chemistry, had composed a prayer which looked like getting him into trouble. it began: 'o sancta[ ] mater natura, aeterne rerum ordo'. and it ended by saying that this nature must forgive him his errors, since she herself was their cause. but the nature of things, if taken as without intelligence and without choice, has in it nothing sufficiently determinant. herr becher did not sufficiently take into account that the author of things (_natura naturans_) must be good and wise, and that we can be evil without complicity on his part in our acts of wickedness. when a wicked man exists, god must have found in the region of possibles the idea of such a man forming part of that sequence of things, the choice of which was demanded by the greatest perfection of the universe, and in which errors and sins are not only punished but even repaired to greater advantage, so that they contribute to the greatest good. . m. bayle, however, has extended the free choice of god a little too far. speaking of the peripatetic strato (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ), who asserted that everything had been brought forth by the necessity of a nature devoid of intelligence, he maintains that this philosopher, on being asked why a tree has not the power to form bones and veins, might have asked in his turn: why has matter precisely three dimensions? why should not two have sufficed for it? why has it not four? 'if one had answered that there can be neither more nor less than three dimensions he would have demanded the cause of this impossibility.' these words lead one to believe that m. bayle suspected that the number of the dimensions of matter depended upon god's choice, even as it depended upon him to cause or not to cause trees to produce animals. indeed, how do we know whether there are not planetary globes or earths situated in some more remote place in the universe where the fable of the barnacle-geese of scotland (birds that were said to be born of trees) proves true, and even whether there are not countries where one could say: _... populos umbrosa creavit_ _fraxinus, et foeta viridis puer excidit alno?_ but with the dimensions of matter it is not thus: the ternary number is determined for it not by the reason of the best, but by a geometrical necessity, because the geometricians have been able to prove that there are only three straight lines perpendicular to one another which can intersect at one and the same point. nothing more appropriate could have been [ ] chosen to show the difference there is between the moral necessity that accounts for the choice of wisdom and the brute necessity of strato and the adherents of spinoza, who deny to god understanding and will, than a consideration of the difference existing between the reason for the laws of motion and the reason for the ternary number of the dimensions: for the first lies in the choice of the best and the second in a geometrical and blind necessity. . having spoken of the laws of bodies, that is, of the rules of motion, let us come to the laws of the union between body and soul, where m. bayle believes that he finds again some vague indifference, something absolutely arbitrary. here is the way he speaks of it in his _reply_ (vol. ii, ch. , p. ): 'it is a puzzling question whether bodies have some natural property of doing harm or good to man's soul. if one answers yes, one plunges into an insane labyrinth: for, as man's soul is an immaterial substance, one will be bound to say that the local movement of certain bodies is an efficient cause of the thoughts in a mind, a statement contrary to the most obvious notions that philosophy imparts to us. if one answers no, one will be constrained to admit that the influence of our organs upon our thoughts depends neither upon the internal qualities of matter, nor upon the laws of motion, but upon an _arbitrary institution_ of the creator. one must then admit that it depended altogether upon god's freedom to combine particular thoughts of our soul with particular modifications of our body, even when he had once established all the laws for the action of bodies one upon another. whence it results that there is in the universe no portion of matter which by its proximity can harm us, save when god wills it; and consequently, that the earth is as capable as any other place of being the abode of the happy man.... in short it is evident that there is no need, in order to prevent the wrong choices of freedom, to transport man outside the earth. god could do on earth with regard to all the acts of the will what he does in respect of the good works of the predestined when he settles their outcome, whether by efficacious or by sufficient grace: and that grace, without in any way impairing freedom, is always followed by the assent of the soul. it would be as easy for him on earth as in heaven to bring about the determination of our souls to a good choice.' . i agree with m. bayle that god could have so ordered bodies and [ ] souls on this globe of earth, whether by ways of nature or by extraordinary graces, that it would have been a perpetual paradise and a foretaste of the celestial state of the blessed. there is no reason why there should not be worlds happier than ours; but god had good reasons for willing that ours should be such as it is. nevertheless, in order to prove that a better state would have been possible here, m. bayle had no need to resort to the system of occasional causes: it abounds in miracles and in hypotheses for which their very originators confess there is no justification; and these are two defects such as will most of all estrange a system from true philosophy. it is a cause for surprise, in the first place, that m. bayle did not bethink himself of the system of pre-established harmony which he had examined before, and which for this matter was so opportune. but as in this system all is connected and harmonious, all following from reasons and nothing being left incomplete or exposed to the rash discretion of perfect indifference, it seems that it was not pleasing to m. bayle: for he was here somewhat biassed in favour of such indifference, which, notwithstanding, he contested so strongly on other occasions. he was much given to passing from one extreme to the other, not with an ill intention or against his own conviction, but because there was as yet nothing settled in his mind on the question concerned. he contented himself with whatever suited him for frustrating the opponent he had in mind, his aim being only to perplex philosophers, and show the weakness of our reason; and never, in my opinion, did either arcesilaus or carneades argue for and against with more eloquence and more wit. but, after all, one must not doubt for the sake of doubting: doubts must serve us as a gangway to the truth. that is what i often said to the late abbé foucher, a few specimens of whose work prove that he designed to do with regard to the academicians what lipsius and scioppius had done for the stoics, and m. gassendi for epicurus, and what m. dacier has so well begun for plato. it must not be possible for us to offer true philosophers such a reproach as that implied in the celebrated casaubon's answer to those who, in showing him the hall of the sorbonne, told him that debate had been carried on there for some centuries. what conclusions have been reached? he said to them. . m. bayle goes on (p. ): 'it is true that since the laws of motion were instituted in such forms as we see now in the world, it is an inevitable necessity that a hammer striking a nut should break it, and[ ] that a stone falling on a man's foot should cause some bruise or some derangement of its parts. but that is all that can follow the action of this stone upon the human body. if you want it in addition to cause a feeling of pain, then one must assume the institution of a code other than that one which regulates the action and reaction of bodies one upon another; one must, i say, have recourse to the particular system of the laws of union between the soul and certain bodies. now as this system is not of necessity connected with the other, the indifference of god does not cease in relation to the one immediately upon his choice of the other. he therefore combined these two systems with a complete freedom, like two things which did not follow naturally the one from the other. thus it is by an arbitrary institution he has ordained that wounds in the body should cause pain in the soul which is united to this body. it therefore only rested with him to have chosen another system of union between soul and body: he was therefore able to choose one in accordance wherewith wounds only evoke the idea of the remedy and an intense but agreeable desire to apply it. he was able to arrange that all bodies which were on the point of breaking a man's head or piercing his heart should evoke a lively sense of danger, and that this sense should cause the body to remove itself promptly out of reach of the blow. all that would have come to pass without miracles, since there would have been general laws on this subject. the system which we know by experience teaches us that the determination of the movement of certain bodies changes in pursuance of our desires. it was therefore possible for a combination to be effected between our desires and the movement of certain bodies, whereby the nutritive juices were so modified that the good arrangement of our organs was never affected.' . it is evident that m. bayle believes that everything accomplished through general laws is accomplished without miracles. but i have shown sufficiently that if the law is not founded on reasons and does not serve to explain the event through the nature of things, it can only be put into execution by a miracle. if, for example, god had ordained that bodies must have a circular motion, he would have needed perpetual miracles, or the ministry of angels, to put this order into execution: for that is contrary to the nature of motion, whereby the body naturally abandons the circular line to continue in the tangent straight line if nothing holds it [ ] back. therefore it is not enough for god to ordain simply that a wound should excite an agreeable sensation: natural means must be found for that purpose. the real means whereby god causes the soul to be conscious of what happens in the body have their origin in the nature of the soul, which represents the bodies, and is so made beforehand that the representations which are to spring up one from another within it, by a natural sequence of thoughts, correspond to the changes in the body. . the representation has a natural relation to that which is to be represented. if god should have the round shape of a body represented by the idea of a square, that would be an unsuitable representation: for there would be angles or projections in the representation, while all would be even and smooth in the original. the representation often suppresses something in the objects when it is imperfect; but it can add nothing: that would render it, not more than perfect, but false. moreover, the suppression is never complete in our perceptions, and there is in the representation, confused as it is, more than we see there. thus there is reason for supposing that the ideas of heat, cold, colours, etc., also only represent the small movements carried out in the organs, when one is conscious of these qualities, although the multiplicity and the diminutive character of these movements prevents their clear representation. almost in the same way it happens that we do not distinguish the blue and the yellow which play their part in the representation as well as in the composition of the green, when the microscope shows that what appears to be green is composed of yellow and blue parts. . it is true that the same thing may be represented in different ways; but there must always be an exact relation between the representation and the thing, and consequently between the different representations of one and the same thing. the projections in perspective of the conic sections of the circle show that one and the same circle may be represented by an ellipse, a parabola and a hyperbola, and even by another circle, a straight line and a point. nothing appears so different nor so dissimilar as these figures; and yet there is an exact relation between each point and every other point. thus one must allow that each soul represents the universe to itself according to its point of view, and through a relation which is peculiar to it; but a perfect harmony always subsists therein. god, if he wished to effect representation of the dissolution of continuity of [ ] the body by an agreeable sensation in the soul, would not have neglected to ensure that this very dissolution should serve some perfection in the body, by giving it some new relief, as when one is freed of some burden or loosed from some bond. but organic bodies of such kinds, although possible, do not exist upon our globe, which doubtless lacks innumerable inventions that god may have put to use elsewhere. nevertheless it is enough that, due allowance being made for the place our world holds in the universe, nothing can be done for it better than what god does. he makes the best possible use of the laws of nature which he has established and (as m. regis also acknowledged in the same passage) 'the laws that god has established in nature are the most excellent it is possible to conceive'. . i will add to that the remark from the _journal des savants_ of the th march , which m. bayle has inserted in chapter of the _reply to the questions of a provincial_ (vol. iii, p. ). the matter in question is the extract from a very ingenious modern book on the origin of evil, to which i have already referred here. it is stated: 'that the general solution in respect of physical evil which this book gives is that the universe must be regarded as a work composed of various pieces which form a whole; that, according to the laws established in nature, some parts cannot be better unless others become worse, whence would result a system less perfect as a whole. this principle', the writer goes on, 'is good; but if nothing is added to it, it does not appear sufficient. why has god established laws that give rise to so many difficulties? philosophers who are somewhat precise will say. could he not have established others of a kind not subject to any defects? and to cut the matter short, how comes it that he has prescribed laws for himself? why does he not act without general laws, in accordance with all his power and all his goodness? the writer has not carried the difficulty as far as that. by disentangling his ideas one might indeed possibly find means of solving the difficulty, but there is no development of the subject in his work.' . i suppose that the gifted author of this extract, when he thought the difficulty could be solved, had in mind something akin to my principles on this matter. if he had vouchsafed to declare himself in this passage, he would to all appearance have replied, like m. regis, that the laws god established were the most excellent that could be established. he would have acknowledged, at the same time, that god could not have refrained[ ] from establishing laws and following rules, because laws and rules are what makes order and beauty; that to act without rules would be to act without reason; and that because god _called into action all his goodness_ the exercise of his omnipotence was consistent with the laws of wisdom, to secure as much good as was possible of attainment. finally, he would have said, the existence of certain particular disadvantages which strike us is a sure indication that the best plan did not permit of their avoidance, and that they assist in the achievement of the total good, an argument wherewith m. bayle in more than one place expresses agreement. . now that i have proved sufficiently that everything comes to pass according to determinate reasons, there cannot be any more difficulty over these principles of god's foreknowledge. although these determinations do not compel, they cannot but be certain, and they foreshadow what shall happen. it is true that god sees all at once the whole sequence of this universe, when he chooses it, and that thus he has no need of the connexion of effects and causes in order to foresee these effects. but since his wisdom causes him to choose a sequence in perfect connexion, he cannot but see one part of the sequence in the other. it is one of the rules of my system of general harmony, _that the present is big with the future_, and that he who sees all sees in that which is that which shall be. what is more, i have proved conclusively that god sees in each portion of the universe the whole universe, owing to the perfect connexion of things. he is infinitely more discerning than pythagoras, who judged the height of hercules by the size of his footprint. there must therefore be no doubt that effects follow their causes determinately, in spite of contingency and even of freedom, which nevertheless exist together with certainty or determination. . durand de saint-pourçain, among others, has indicated this clearly in saying that contingent futurities are seen determinately in their causes, and that god, who knows all, seeing all that shall have power to tempt or repel the will, will see therein the course it shall take. i could cite many other authors who have said the same thing, and reason does not allow the possibility of thinking otherwise. m. jacquelot implies also (_conformity of faith with reason_, p. _et seqq._), as m. bayle observes (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ), that the dispositions of the human heart and those of circumstances acquaint god unerringly with the choice that man shall make. m. bayle [ ] adds that some molinists say the same, and refers us to those who are quoted in the _suavis concordia_ of pierre de s. joseph, the feuillant (pp. , ). . those who have confused this determination with necessity have fabricated monsters in order to fight them. to avoid a reasonable thing which they had disguised under a hideous shape, they have fallen into great absurdities. for fear of being obliged to admit an imaginary necessity, or at least one different from that in question, they have admitted something which happens without the existence of any cause or reason for it. this amounts to the same as the absurd deviation of atoms, which according to epicurus happened without any cause. cicero, in his book on divination, saw clearly that if the cause could produce an effect towards which it was entirely indifferent there would be a true chance, a genuine luck, an actual fortuitous case, that is, one which would be so not merely in relation to us and our ignorance, according to which one may say: _sed te_ _nos facimus, fortuna, deam, caeloque locamus,_ but even in relation to god and to the nature of things. consequently it would be impossible to foresee events by judging of the future by the past. he adds fittingly in the same passage: 'qui potest provideri, quicquam futurum esse, quod neque causam habet ullam, neque notam cur futurum sit?' and soon after: 'nihil est tam contrarium rationi et constantiae, quam fortuna; ut mihi ne in deum quidem cadere videatur, ut sciat quid casu et fortuito futurum sit. si enim scit, certe illud eveniet: sin certe eveniet, nulla fortuna est.' if the future is certain, there is no such thing as luck. but he wrongly adds: 'est autum fortuna; rerum igitur fortuitarum nulla praesensio est.' there is luck, therefore future events cannot be foreseen. he ought rather to have concluded that, events being predetermined and foreseen, there is no luck. but he was then speaking against the stoics, in the character of an academician. . the stoics already derived from the decrees of god the prevision of events. for, as cicero says in the same book: 'sequitur porro nihil deos ignorare, quod omnia ab iis sint constituta.' and, according to my system, god, having seen the possible world that he desired to create, foresaw[ ] everything therein. thus one may say that the _divine knowledge of vision differs from the knowledge of simple intelligence_ only in that it adds to the latter the acquaintance with the actual decree to choose this sequence of things which simple intelligence had already presented, but only as possible; and this decree now makes the present universe. . thus the socinians cannot be excused for denying to god the certain knowledge of future events, and above all of the future resolves of a free creature. for even though they had supposed that there is a freedom of complete indifference, so that the will can choose without cause, and that thus this effect could not be seen in its cause (which is a great absurdity), they ought always to take into account that god was able to foresee this event in the idea of the possible world that he resolved to create. but the idea which they have of god is unworthy of the author of things, and is not commensurate with the skill and wit which the writers of this party often display in certain particular discussions. the author of the _reflexion on the picture of socinianism_ was not altogether mistaken in saying that the god of the socinians would be ignorant and powerless, like the god of epicurus, every day confounded by events and living from one day to the next, if he only knows by conjecture what the will of men is to be. . the whole difficulty here has therefore only come from a wrong idea of contingency and of freedom, which was thought to have need of a complete indifference or equipoise, an imaginary thing, of which neither a notion nor an example exists, nor ever can exist. apparently m. descartes had been imbued with the idea in his youth, at the college of la flèche. that caused him to say (part i of his _principles_, art. ): 'our thought is finite, and the knowledge and omnipotence of god, whereby he has not only known from all eternity everything that is, or that can be, but also has willed it, is infinite. thus we have enough intelligence to recognize clearly and distinctly that this power and this knowledge are in god; but we have not enough so to comprehend their extent that we can know how they leave the actions of men entirely free and indeterminate.' the continuation has already been quoted above. 'entirely free', that is right; but one spoils everything by adding 'entirely indeterminate'. one has no need of infinite knowledge in order to see that the foreknowledge and the providence of god allow freedom to our actions, since god has foreseen those actions in [ ] his ideas, just as they are, that is, free. laurentius valla indeed, in his _dialogue against boethius_ (which i will presently quote in epitome) ably undertakes to reconcile freedom with foreknowledge, but does not venture to hope that he can reconcile it with providence. yet there is no more difficulty in the one than the other, because the decree to give existence to this action no more changes its nature than does one's mere consciousness thereof. but there is no knowledge, however infinite it be, which can reconcile the knowledge and providence of god with actions of an indeterminate cause, that is to say, with a chimerical and impossible being. the actions of the will are determined in two ways, by the foreknowledge or providence of god, and also by the dispositions of the particular immediate cause, which lie in the inclinations of the soul. m. descartes followed the thomists on this point; but he wrote with his usual circumspection, so as not to come into conflict with some other theologians. . m. bayle relates (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ) that father gibieuf of the oratory published a latin treatise on the freedom of god and of the creature, in the year ; that he was met with protests, and was shown a collection of seventy contradictions taken from the first book of his work; and that, twenty years after, father annat, confessor to the king of france, reproached him in his book _de incoacta libertate_ (ed. rome, , in to.), for the silence he still maintained. who would not think (adds m. bayle), after the uproar of the _de auxiliis_ congregations, that the thomists taught things touching the nature of free will which were entirely opposed to the opinion of the jesuits? when, however, one considers the passages that father annat quoted from the works of the thomists (in a pamphlet entitled: _jansenius a thomistis, gratiae per se ipsam efficacis defensoribus, condemnatus_, printed in paris in the year in to.) one can in reality only see verbal controversies between the two sects. the grace efficacious of itself, according to the one side, leaves to free will quite as much power of resistance as the congruent grace of the others. m. bayle thinks one can say almost as much of jansenius himself. he was (so he says) an able man, of a methodical mind and of great assiduity. he worked for twenty-two years at his _augustinus_. one of his aims was to refute the jesuits on the dogma of free will; yet no decision has yet been reached as to whether he rejects or adopts freedom of indifference. from his work innumerable passages [ ] are quoted for and against this opinion, as father annat has himself shown in the work that has just been mentioned, _de incoacta libertate_. so easy is it to render this subject obscure, as m. bayle says at the conclusion of this discourse. as for father gibieuf, it must be admitted that he often alters the meaning of his terms, and that consequently he does not answer the question in the main, albeit he often writes with good sense. . indeed, confusion springs, more often than not, from ambiguity in terms, and from one's failure to take trouble over gaining clear ideas about them. that gives rise to these eternal, and usually mistaken, contentions on necessity and contingency, on the possible and the impossible. but provided that it is understood that necessity and possibility, taken metaphysically and strictly, depend solely upon this question, whether the object in itself or that which is opposed to it implies contradiction or not; and that one takes into account that contingency is consistent with the inclinations, or reasons which contribute towards causing determination by the will; provided also that one knows how to distinguish clearly between necessity and determination or certainty, between metaphysical necessity, which admits of no choice, presenting only one single object as possible, and moral necessity, which constrains the wisest to choose the best; finally, provided that one is rid of the chimera of complete indifference, which can only be found in the books of philosophers, and on paper (for they cannot even conceive the notion in their heads, or prove its reality by an example in things) one will easily escape from a labyrinth whose unhappy daedalus was the human mind. that labyrinth has caused infinite confusion, as much with the ancients as with those of later times, even so far as to lead men into the absurd error of the lazy sophism, which closely resembles fate after the turkish fashion. i do not wonder if in reality the thomists and the jesuits, and even the molinists and the jansenists, agree together on this matter more than is supposed. a thomist and even a wise jansenist will content himself with certain determination, without going on to necessity: and if someone goes so far, the error mayhap will lie only in the word. a wise molinist will be content with an indifference opposed to necessity, but such as shall not exclude prevalent inclinations. . these difficulties, however, have greatly impressed m. bayle, who[ ] was more inclined to dwell on them than to solve them, although he might perhaps have had better success than anyone if he had thought fit to turn his mind in that direction. here is what he says of them in his _dictionary_, art. 'jansenius', lit. g, p. : 'someone has said that the subject of grace is an ocean which has neither shore nor bottom. perhaps he would have spoken more correctly if he had compared it to the strait of messina, where one is always in danger of striking one reef while endeavouring to avoid another. _dextrum scylla latus, laevum implacata charybdis_ _obsidet._ everything comes back in the end to this: did adam sin freely? if you answer yes, then you will be told, his fall was not foreseen. if you answer no, then you will be told, he is not guilty. you may write a hundred volumes against the one or the other of these conclusions, and yet you will confess, either that the infallible prevision of a contingent event is a mystery impossible to conceive, or that the way in which a creature which acts without freedom sins nevertheless is altogether incomprehensible.' . either i am greatly mistaken or these two alleged incomprehensibilities are ended altogether by my solutions. would to god it were as easy to answer the question how to cure fevers, and how to avoid the perils of two chronic sicknesses that may originate, the one from not curing the fever, the other from curing it wrongly. when one asserts that a free event cannot be foreseen, one is confusing freedom with indetermination, or with indifference that is complete and in equipoise; and when one maintains that the lack of freedom would prevent man from being guilty, one means a freedom exempt, not from determination or from certainty, but from necessity and from constraint. this shows that the dilemma is not well expressed, and that there is a wide passage between the two perilous reefs. one will reply, therefore, that adam sinned freely, and that god saw him sinning in the possible state of adam, which became actual in accordance with the decree of the divine permission. it is true that adam was determined to sin in consequence of certain prevailing inclinations: but this determination destroys neither contingency nor freedom. moreover, the certain determination to sin which exists in man does not deprive him of the power to avoid sinning (speaking generally) or, since he does sin, prevent him from being guilty and deserving [ ] punishment. this is more especially so since the punishment may be of service to him or others, to contribute towards determining them another time not to sin. there is besides punitive justice, which goes beyond compensation and amendment, and wherein also there is nothing liable to be shaken by the certain determination of the contingent resolutions of the will. it may be said, on the contrary, that the penalties and rewards would be to some extent unavailing, and would fail in one of their aims, that of amendment, if they could not contribute towards determining the will to do better another time. . m. bayle continues: 'where freedom is concerned there are only two courses to take: one is to say that all the causes distinct from the soul, and co-operating with it, leave it the power to act or not to act; the other is to say that they so determine it to act that it cannot forbear to do so. the first course is that taken by the molinists, the other is that of the thomists and jansenists and the protestants of the geneva confession. yet the thomists have clamorously maintained that they were not jansenists; and the latter have maintained with equal warmth that where freedom was concerned they were not calvinists. on the other hand, the molinists have maintained that st. augustine did not teach jansenism. thus the one side not wishing to admit that they were in conformity with people who were considered heretics, and the other side not wishing to admit that they were in opposition to a learned saint whose opinions were always considered orthodox, have both performed a hundred feats of contortion, etc.' . the two courses which m. bayle distinguishes here do not exclude a third course, according to which the determination of the soul does not come solely from the co-operation of all the causes distinct from the soul, but also from the state of the soul itself and its inclinations which mingle with the impressions of the senses, strengthening or weakening them. now all the internal and external causes taken together bring it about that the soul is determined certainly, but not of necessity: for no contradiction would be implied if the soul were to be determined differently, it being possible for the will to be inclined, but not possible for it to be compelled by necessity. i will not venture upon a discussion of the difference existing between the jansenists and the reformed on this matter. they are not perhaps always fully in accord [ ] with themselves as regards things, or as regards expressions, on a matter where one often loses one's way in bewildering subtleties. father theophile raynaud, in his book entitled _calvinismus religio bestiarum_, wished to strike at the dominicans, without naming them. on the other hand, those who professed to be followers of st. augustine reproached the molinists with pelagianism or at the least semi-pelagianism. things were carried to excess at times by both sides, whether in their defence of a vague indifference and the granting of too much to man, or in their teaching _determinationem ad unum secundum qualitatem actus licet non quoad ejus substantiam_, that is to say, a determination to evil in the non-regenerate, as if they did nothing but sin. after all, i think one must not reproach any but the adherents of hobbes and spinoza with destroying freedom and contingency; for they think that that which happens is alone possible, and must happen by a brute geometrical necessity. hobbes made everything material and subjected it to mathematical laws alone; spinoza also divested god of intelligence and choice, leaving him a blind power, whence all emanates of necessity. the theologians of the two protestant parties are equally zealous in refuting an unendurable necessity. although those who follow the synod of dordrecht teach sometimes that it suffices for freedom to be exempt from constraint, it seems that the necessity they leave in it is only hypothetical, or rather that which is more appropriately termed certainty and infallibility. thus it results that very often the difficulties only lie in the terms. i say as much with regard to the jansenists, although i do not wish to make excuse for those people in everything. . with the hebrew cabalists, _malcuth_ or the kingdom, the last of the sephiroth, signified that god controls everything irresistibly, but gently and without violence, so that man thinks he is following his own will while he carries out god's. they said that adam's sin had been _truncatio malcuth a caeteris plantis_, that is to say, that adam had cut back the last of the sephiroth, by making a dominion for himself within god's dominion, and by assuming for himself a freedom independent of god, but that his fall had taught him that he could not subsist of himself, and that men must needs be redeemed by the messiah. this doctrine may receive a good interpretation. but spinoza, who was versed in the cabala of the writers of his race, and who says (_tractatus politicus_, c. , n. ) that men, conceiving of freedom as they do, establish a dominion within god's dominion, has [ ] gone too far. the dominion of god is with spinoza nothing but the dominion of necessity, and of a blind necessity (as with strato), whereby everything emanates from the divine nature, while no choice is left to god, and man's choice does not exempt him from necessity. he adds that men, in order to establish what is termed _imperium in imperio_, supposed that their soul was a direct creation of god, something which could not be produced by natural causes, furthermore that it had an absolute power of determination, a state of things contrary to experience. spinoza is right in opposing an absolute power of determination, that is, one without any grounds; it does not belong even to god. but he is wrong in thinking that a soul, that a simple substance, can be produced naturally. it seems, indeed, that the soul to him was only a transient modification; and when he pretends to make it lasting, and even perpetual, he substitutes for it the idea of the body, which is purely a notion and not a real and actual thing. . the story m. bayle relates of johan bredenburg, a citizen of rotterdam (_dictionary_, art. 'spinoza', lit. h, p. ) is curious. he published a book against spinoza, entitled: _enervatio tractatus theologico-politici, una cum demonstratione geometrico ordine disposita, naturam non esse deum, cujus effati contrario praedictus tractatus unice innititur_. one was surprised to see that a man who did not follow the profession of letters, and who had but slight education (having written his book in flemish, and had it translated into latin), had been able to penetrate with such subtlety all the principles of spinoza, and succeed in overthrowing them, after having reduced them by a candid analysis to a state wherein they could appear in their full force. i have been told (adds m. bayle) that this writer after copious reflexion upon his answer, and upon the principle of his opponent, finally found that this principle could be reduced to the form of a demonstration. he undertook therefore to prove that there is no cause of all things other than a nature which exists necessarily, and which acts according to an immutable, inevitable and irrevocable necessity. he examined the whole system of the geometricians, and after having constructed his demonstration he scrutinized it from every imaginable angle, he endeavoured to find its weak spot and was never able to discover any means of destroying it, or even of weakening it. that caused him real distress: he groaned over it and begged the most talented of his [ ] friends to help him in searching out the defects of this demonstration. for all that, he was not well pleased that copies of the book were made. franz cuper, a socinian (who had written _arcana atheismi revelata_ against spinoza, rotterdam, , in to.), having obtained a copy, published it just as it was, that is, in flemish, with some reflexions, and accused the author of being an atheist. the accused made his defence in the same tongue. orobio, a very able jewish physician (that one who was refuted by m. limbourg, and who replied, so i have heard say, in a work posthumously circulated, but unpublished), brought out a book opposing bredenburg's demonstration, entitled: _certamen philosophicum propugnatae veritatis divinae ac naturalis, adversus j.b. principia, amsterdam_, . m. aubert de versé also wrote in opposition to him the same year under the name of latinus serbattus sartensis. bredenburg protested that he was convinced of free will and of religion, and that he wished he might be shown a possibility of refuting his own demonstration. . i would desire to see this alleged demonstration, and to know whether it tended to prove that primitive nature, which produces all, acts without choice and without knowledge. in this case, i admit that his proof was spinozistic and dangerous. but if he meant perhaps that the divine nature is determined toward that which it produces, by its choice and through the motive of the best, there was no need for him to grieve about this so-called immutable, inevitable, irrevocable necessity. it is only moral, it is a happy necessity; and instead of destroying religion it shows divine perfection to the best advantage. . i take this opportunity to add that m. bayle quotes (p. ) the opinion of those who believe that the book entitled _lucii antistii constantis de jure ecclesiasticorum liber singularis_, published in , is by spinoza. but i have reason for doubting this, despite that m. colerus, who has passed on to me an account he wrote of the life of that famous jew, is also of that opinion. the initial letters l.a.c. lead me to believe that the author of this book was m. de la cour or van den hoof, famous for works on the _interest of holland, political equipoise_, and numerous other books that he published (some of them under the signature v.d.h.) attacking the power of the governor of holland, which was at that time considered a danger to the republic; for the memory of prince william the second's attempt upon the city of amsterdam was still quite fresh.[ ] most of the ecclesiastics of holland were on the side of this prince's son, who was then a minor, and they suspected m. de witt and what was called the lowenstein faction of favouring the arminians, the cartesians, and other sects that were feared still more, endeavouring to rouse the populace against them, and not without success, as the event proved. it was thus very natural that m. de la cour should publish this book. it is true that people seldom keep to the happy mean in works published to further party interests. i will say in passing that a french version of the _interest of holland_ by m. de la cour has just been published, under the deceptive title of _mémoires de m. le grand-pensionnaire de witt_; as if the thoughts of a private individual, who was, to be sure, of de witt's party, and a man of talent, but who had not enough acquaintance with public affairs or enough ability to write as that great minister of state might have written, could pass for the production of one of the first men of his time. . i saw m. de la cour as well as spinoza on my return from france by way of england and holland, and i learnt from them a few good anecdotes on the affairs of that time. m. bayle says, p. , that spinoza studied latin under a physician named franz van den ende. he tells at the same time, on the authority of sebastian kortholt (who refers to it in the preface to the second edition of the book by his late father, _de tribus impostoribus, herberto l. b. de cherbury, hobbio et spinoza_) that a girl instructed spinoza in latin, and that she afterwards married m. kerkering, who was her pupil at the same time as spinoza. in connexion with that i note that this young lady was a daughter of m. van den ende, and that she assisted her father in the work of teaching. van den ende, who was also called a. finibus, later went to paris, and there kept a boarding-school in the faubourg st. antoine. he was considered excellent as an instructor, and he told me, when i called upon him there, that he would wager that his audiences would always pay attention to his words. he had with him as well at that time a young girl who also spoke latin, and worked upon geometrical demonstrations. he had insinuated himself into m. arnauld's good graces, and the jesuits began to be jealous of his reputation. but he disappeared shortly afterwards, having been mixed up in the chevalier de rohan's conspiracy. . i think i have sufficiently proved that neither the foreknowledge nor the providence of god can impair either his justice or his goodness, [ ] or our freedom. there remains only the difficulty arising from god's co-operation with the actions of the creature, which seems to concern more closely both his goodness, in relation to our evil actions, and our freedom, in relation to good actions as well as to others. m. bayle has brought out this also with his usual acuteness. i will endeavour to throw light upon the difficulties he puts forward, and then i shall be in a position to conclude this work. i have already proved that the co-operation of god consists in giving us continually all that is real in us and in our actions, in so far as it involves perfection; but that all that is limited and imperfect therein is a consequence of the previous limitations which are originally in the creature. since, moreover, every action of the creature is a change of its modifications, it is obvious that action arises in the creature in relation to the limitations or negations which it has within itself, and which are diversified by this change. . i have already pointed out more than once in this work that evil is a consequence of privation, and i think that i have explained that intelligibly enough. st. augustine has already put forward this idea, and st. basil said something of the same kind in his _hexaëmeron_, homil. , 'that vice is not a living and animate substance, but an affection of the soul contrary to virtue, which arises from one's abandoning the good; and there is therefore no need to look for an original evil'. m. bayle, quoting this passage in his _dictionary_ (art. 'paulicians', lit. d, p. ) commends a remark by herr pfanner (whom he calls a german theologian, but he is a jurist by profession, counsellor to the dukes of saxony), who censures st. basil for not being willing to admit that god is the author of physical evil. doubtless god is its author, when the moral evil is assumed to be already in existence; but speaking generally, one might assert that god permitted physical evil by implication, in permitting moral evil which is its source. it appears that the stoics knew also how slender is the entity of evil. these words of epictetus are an indication: 'sicut aberrandi causa meta non ponitur, sic nec natura mali in mundo existit.' . there was therefore no need to have recourse to a principle of evil, as st. basil aptly observes. nor is it necessary either to seek the origin of evil in matter. those who believed that there was a chaos before god laid his hand upon it sought therein the source of disorder. it was an opinion which plato introduced into his _timaeus_. aristotle found fault with him for that (in his third book on heaven, ch. ) because, [ ] according to this doctrine, disorder would be original and natural, and order would have been introduced against nature. this anaxagoras avoided by making matter remain at rest until it was stirred by god; and aristotle in the same passage commends him for it. according to plutarch (_de iside et osiride_, and _tr. de animae procreatione ex timaeo_) plato recognized in matter a certain maleficent soul or force, rebellious against god: it was an actual blemish, an obstacle to god's plans. the stoics also believed that matter was the source of defects, as justus lipsius showed in the first book of the physiology of the stoics. . aristotle was right in rejecting chaos: but it is not always easy to disentangle the conceptions of plato, and such a task would be still less easy in respect of some ancient authors whose works are lost. kepler, one of the most excellent of modern mathematicians, recognized a species of imperfection in matter, even when there is no irregular motion: he calls it its 'natural inertia', which gives it a resistance to motion, whereby a greater mass receives less speed from one and the same force. there is soundness in this observation, and i have used it to advantage in this work, in order to have a comparison such as should illustrate how the original imperfection of the creatures sets bounds to the action of the creator, which tends towards good. but as matter is itself of god's creation, it only furnishes a comparison and an example, and cannot be the very source of evil and of imperfection. i have already shown that this source lies in the forms or ideas of the possibles, for it must be eternal, and matter is not so. now since god made all positive reality that is not eternal, he would have made the source of evil, if that did not rather lie in the possibility of things or forms, that which alone god did not make, since he is not the author of his own understanding. . yet even though the source of evil lies in the possible forms, anterior to the acts of god's will, it is nevertheless true that god co-operates in evil in the actual performance of introducing these forms into matter: and this is what causes the difficulty in question here. durand de saint-pourçain, cardinal aureolus, nicolas taurel, father louis de dole, m. bernier and some others, speaking of this co-operation, would have it only general, for fear of impairing the freedom of man and the holiness of god. they seem to maintain that god, having given to creatures the power to act, contents himself with conserving this power. on the [ ] other hand, m. bayle, according to some modern writers, carries the cooperation of god too far: he seems to fear lest the creature be not sufficiently dependent upon god. he goes so far as to deny action to creatures; he does not even acknowledge any real distinction between accident and substance. . he places great reliance especially on that doctrine accepted of the schoolmen, that conservation is a continued creation. the conclusion to be drawn from this doctrine would seem to be that the creature never exists, that it is ever newborn and ever dying, like time, movement and other transient beings. plato believed this of material and tangible things, saying that they are in a perpetual flux, _semper fluunt, nunquam sunt_. but of immaterial substances he judged quite differently, regarding them alone as real: nor was he in that altogether mistaken. yet continued creation applies to all creatures without distinction. sundry good philosophers have been opposed to this dogma, and m. bayle tells that david de rodon, a philosopher renowned among those of the french who have adhered to geneva, deliberately refuted it. the arminians also do not approve of it; they are not much in favour of these metaphysical subtleties. i will say nothing of the socinians, who relish them even less. . for a proper enquiry as to _whether conservation is a continued creation,_ it would be necessary to consider the reasons whereon this dogma is founded. the cartesians, after the example of their master, employ in order to prove it a principle which is not conclusive enough. they say that 'the moments of time having no necessary connexion with one another, it does not follow that because i am at this moment i shall exist at the moment which shall follow, if the same cause which gives me being for this moment does not also give it to me for the instant following.' the author of the _reflexion on the picture of socinianism_ has made use of this argument, and m. bayle (perhaps the author of this same _reflexion_) quotes it (_reply to the questions of a provincial_, vol. iii, ch. , p. ). one may answer that in fact it does not follow _of necessity_ that, because i am, i shall be; but this follows _naturally_, nevertheless, that is, of itself, _per se_, if nothing prevents it. it is the distinction that can be drawn between the essential and the natural. for the same movement endures naturally unless some new cause prevents it or changes it, because the reason which makes it cease at this instant, if it is no new reason, [ ] would have already made it cease sooner. . the late herr erhard weigel, a celebrated mathematician and philosopher at jena, well known for his _analysis euclidea_, his mathematical philosophy, some neat mechanical inventions, and finally the trouble he took to induce the protestant princes of the empire to undertake the last reform of the almanac, whose success, notwithstanding, he did not witness; herr weigel, i say, communicated to his friends a certain demonstration of the existence of god, which indeed amounted to this idea of continued creation. as he was wont to draw parallels between reckoning and reasoning--witness his arithmetical ethics (_rechenschaftliche sittenlehre_)--he said that the foundation of the demonstration was this beginning of the pythagorean table, _once one is one_. these repeated unities were the moments of the existence of things, each one of them depending upon god, who resuscitates, as it were, all things outside himself at each moment: falling away as they do at each moment, they must ever have one who shall resuscitate them, and that cannot be any other than god. but there would be need of a more exact proof if that is to be called a demonstration. it would be necessary to prove that the creature always emerges from nothingness and relapses thither forthwith. in particular it must be shown that the privilege of enduring more than a moment by its nature belongs to the necessary being alone. the difficulties on the composition of the _continuum_ enter also into this matter. this dogma appears to resolve time into moments, whereas others regard moments and points as mere modalities of the _continuum_, that is, as extremities of the parts that can be assigned to it, and not as constituent parts. but this is not the place for entering into that labyrinth. . what can be said for certain on the present subject is that the creature depends continually upon divine operation, and that it depends upon that no less after the time of its beginning than when it first begins. this dependence implies that it would not continue to exist if god did not continue to act; in short, that this action of god is free. for if it were a necessary emanation, like that of the properties of the circle, which issue from its essence, it must then be said that god in the beginning produced the creature by necessity; or else it must be shown how, in creating it once, he imposed upon himself the necessity of conserving it. now there is no reason why this conserving action should not be [ ] called production, and even creation, if one will: for the dependence being as great afterwards as at the beginning, the extrinsic designation of being new or not does not change the nature of that action. . let us then admit in such a sense that conservation is a continued creation, and let us see what m. bayle seems to infer thence (p. ) after the author of the _reflexion on the picture of socinianism_, in opposition to m. jurieu. 'it seems to me', this writer says, 'that one must conclude that god does all, and that in all creation there are no first or second or even occasional causes, as can be easily proved. at this moment when i speak, i am such as i am, with all my circumstances, with such thought, such action, whether i sit or stand, that if god creates me in this moment such as i am, as one must of necessity say in this system, he creates me with such thought, such action, such movement and such determination. one cannot say that god creates me in the first place, and that once i am created he produces with me my movements and my determinations. that is indefensible for two reasons. the first is, that when god creates me or conserves me at this instant, he does not conserve me as a being without form, like a species, or another of the universals of logic. i am an individual; he creates me and conserves me as such, and as being all that i am in this instant, with all my attendant circumstances. the second reason is that if god creates me in this instant, and one says that afterwards he produces with me my actions, it will be necessary to imagine another instant for action: for before acting one must exist. now that would be two instants where we only assume one. it is therefore certain in this hypothesis that creatures have neither more connexion nor more relation with their actions than they had with their production at the first moment of the first creation.' the author of this _reflexion_ draws thence very harsh conclusions which one can picture to oneself; and he testifies at the end that one would be deeply indebted to any man that should teach those who approve this system how to extricate themselves from these frightful absurdities. . m. bayle carries this still further. 'you know', he says (p. ), 'that it is demonstrated in the scholastic writings' (he cites arriaga, _disp_. , phys., sect. et praesertim, sub-sect. ) 'that the creature cannot be either the total cause or the partial cause of its conservation: for if it were, it would exist before existing, which is [ ] contradictory. you know that the argument proceeds like this: that which conserves itself acts; now that which acts exists, and nothing can act before it has attained complete existence; therefore, if a creature conserved itself, it would act before being. this argument is not founded upon probabilities, but upon the first principles of metaphysics, _non entis nulla sunt accidentia, operari sequitur esse_, axioms as clear as daylight. let us go further. if creatures co-operated with god (here is meant an active cooperation, and not co-operation by a passive instrument) to conserve themselves they would act before being: that has been demonstrated. now if they co-operated with god for the production of any other thing, they would also act before being; it is therefore as impossible for them to co-operate with god for the production of any other thing (such as local movement, an affirmation, volition, entities actually distinct from their substance, so it is asserted) as for their own conservation. since their conservation is a continued creation, and since all human creatures in the world must confess that they cannot co-operate with god at the first moment of their existence, either to produce themselves or to give themselves any modality, since that would be to act before being (observe that thomas aquinas and sundry other schoolmen teach that if the angels had sinned at the first moment of their creation god would be the author of the sin: see the feuillant pierre de st. joseph, p. , _et seqq_., of the _suavis concordia humanae libertatis_; it is a sign that they acknowledge that at the first instant the creature cannot act in anything whatsoever), it follows manifestly that they cannot co-operate with god in any one of the subsequent moments, either to produce themselves or to produce any other thing. if they could co-operate therein at the second moment of their existence, nothing would prevent their being able to cooperate at the first moment.' . this is the way it will be necessary to answer these arguments. let us assume that the creature is produced anew at each instant; let us grant also that the instant excludes all priority of time, being indivisible; but let us point out that it does not exclude priority of nature, or what is called anteriority _in signo rationis,_ and that this is sufficient. the production, or action whereby god produces, is anterior by nature to the existence of the creature that is produced; the creature taken in itself, with its nature and its necessary properties, is anterior to its accidental affections and to its actions; and yet all these things are in being [ ] in the same moment. god produces the creature in conformity with the exigency of the preceding instants, according to the laws of his wisdom; and the creature operates in conformity with that nature which god conveys to it in creating it always. the limitations and imperfections arise therein through the nature of the subject, which sets bounds to god's production; this is the consequence of the original imperfection of creatures. vice and crime, on the other hand, arise there through the free inward operation of the creature, in so far as this can occur within the instant, repetition afterwards rendering it discernible. . this anteriority of nature is a commonplace in philosophy: thus one says that the decrees of god have an order among themselves. when one ascribes to god (and rightly so) understanding of the arguments and conclusions of creatures, in such sort that all their demonstrations and syllogisms are known to him, and are found in him in a transcendent way, one sees that there is in the propositions or truths a natural order; but there is no order of time or interval, to cause him to advance in knowledge and pass from the premisses to the conclusion. . i find in the arguments that have just been quoted nothing which these reflexions fail to satisfy. when god produces the thing he produces it as an individual and not as a universal of logic (i admit); but he produces its essence before its accidents, its nature before its operations, following the priority of their nature, and _in signo anteriore rationis_. thus one sees how the creature can be the true cause of the sin, while conservation by god does not prevent the sin; god disposes in accordance with the preceding state of the same creature, in order to follow the laws of his wisdom notwithstanding the sin, which in the first place will be produced by the creature. but it is true that god would not in the beginning have created the soul in a state wherein it would have sinned from the first moment, as the schoolmen have justly observed: for there is nothing in the laws of his wisdom that could have induced him so to do. . this law of wisdom brings it about also that god reproduces the same substance, the same soul. such was the answer that could have been given by the abbé whom m. bayle introduces in his _dictionary_ (art. 'pyrrhon.' lit. b, p. ). this wisdom effects the connexion of things. i concede therefore that the creature does not co-operate with god to conserve [ ] himself (in the sense in which i have just explained conservation). but i see nothing to prevent the creature's co-operation with god for the production of any other thing: and especially might this concern its inward operation, as in the case of a thought or a volition, things really distinct from the substance. . but there i am once more at grips with m. bayle. he maintains that there are no such accidents distinct from the substance. 'the reasons', he says, 'which our modern philosophers have employed to demonstrate that the accidents are not beings in reality distinct from the substance are not mere difficulties; they are arguments which overwhelm one, and which cannot be refuted. take the trouble', he adds, 'to look for them in the writings of father maignan, or father malebranche or m. calli' (professor of philosophy at caen) 'or in the _accidentia profligata_ of father saguens, disciple of father maignan, the extract from which is to be found in the _nouvelles de la république des lettres_, june . or if you wish one author only to suffice you, choose dom françois lami, a benedictine monk, and one of the strongest cartesians to be found in france. you will find among his _philosophical letters_, printed at trévoux in , that one wherein by the geometricians' method he demonstrates "that god is the sole true cause of all that which is real." i would wish to see all these books; and as for this last proposition, it may be true in a very good sense: god is the one principal cause of pure and absolute realities, or of perfections. _causae secundae agunt in virtute primae._ but when one comprises limitations and privations under the term realities one may say that the second causes co-operate in the production of that which is limited; otherwise god would be the cause of sin, and even the sole cause. . it is well to beware, moreover, lest in confusing substances with accidents, in depriving created substances of action, one fall into spinozism, which is an exaggerated cartesianism. that which does not act does not merit the name of substance. if the accidents are not distinct from the substances; if the created substance is a successive being, like movement; if it does not endure beyond a moment, and does not remain the same (during some stated portion of time) any more than its accidents; if it does not operate any more than a mathematical figure or a number: why shall one not say, with spinoza, that god is the only substance, and [ ] that creatures are only accidents or modifications? hitherto it has been supposed that the substance remains, and that the accidents change; and i think one ought still to abide by this ancient doctrine, for the arguments i remember having read do not prove the contrary, and prove more than is needed. . 'one of the absurdities', says m. bayle (p. ), 'that arise from the so-called distinction which is alleged to exist between substances and their accidents is that creatures, if they produce the accidents, would possess a power of creation and annihilation. accordingly one could not perform the slightest action without creating an innumerable number of real beings, and without reducing to nothingness an endless multitude of them. merely by moving the tongue to cry out or to eat, one creates as many accidents as there are movements of the parts of the tongue, and one destroys as many accidents as there are parts of that which one eats, which lose their form, which become chyle, blood, etc.' this argument is only a kind of bugbear. what harm would be done, supposing that an infinity of movements, an infinity of figures spring up and disappear at every moment in the universe, and even in each part of the universe? it can be demonstrated, moreover, that that must be so. . as for the so-called creation of the accidents, who does not see that one needs no creative power in order to change place or shape, to form a square or a column, or some other parade-ground figure, by the movement of the soldiers who are drilling; or again to fashion a statue by removing a few pieces from a block of marble; or to make some figure in relief, by changing, decreasing or increasing a piece of wax? the production of modifications has never been called _creation_, and it is an abuse of terms to scare the world thus. god produces substances from nothing, and the substances produce accidents by the changes of their limits. . as for the souls or substantial forms, m. bayle is right in adding: 'that there is nothing more inconvenient for those who admit substantial forms than the objection which is made that they could not be produced save by an actual creation, and that the schoolmen are pitiable in their endeavours to answer this.' but there is nothing more convenient for me and for my system than this same objection. for i maintain that all the souls, entelechies or primitive forces, substantial forms, simple substances, or monads, whatever name one may apply to them, can neither spring up [ ] naturally nor perish. and the qualities or derivative forces, or what are called accidental forms, i take to be modifications of the primitive entelechy, even as shapes are modifications of matter. that is why these modifications are perpetually changing, while the simple substance remains. . i have shown already (part i, _seqq._) that souls cannot spring up naturally, or be derived from one another, and that it is necessary that ours either be created or be pre-existent. i have even pointed out a certain middle way between a creation and an entire pre-existence. i find it appropriate to say that the soul preexisting in the seeds from the beginning of things was only sentient, but that it was elevated to the superior degree, which is that of reason, when the man to whom this soul should belong was conceived, and when the organic body, always accompanying this soul from the beginning, but under many changes, was determined for forming the human body. i considered also that one might attribute this elevation of the sentient soul (which makes it reach a more sublime degree of being, namely reason) to the extraordinary operation of god. nevertheless it will be well to add that i would dispense with miracles in the generating of man, as in that of the other animals. it will be possible to explain that, if one imagines that in this great number of souls and of animals, or at least of living organic bodies which are in the seeds, those souls alone which are destined to attain one day to human nature contain the reason that shall appear therein one day, and the organic bodies of these souls alone are preformed and predisposed to assume one day the human shape, while the other small animals or seminal living beings, in which no such thing is pre-established, are essentially different from them and possessed only of an inferior nature. this production is a kind of _traduction_, but more manageable than that kind which is commonly taught: it does not derive the soul from a soul, but only the animate from an animate, and it avoids the repeated miracles of a new creation, which would cause a new and pure soul to enter a body that must corrupt it. . i am, however, of the same opinion as father malebranche, that, in general, creation properly understood is not so difficult to admit as might be supposed, and that it is in a sense involved in the notion of the dependence of creatures. 'how stupid and ridiculous are the philosophers!' (he exclaims, in his _christian meditations_, , no. ). 'they assume that creation is impossible, because they cannot conceive how god's power [ ] is great enough to make something from nothing. but can they any better conceive how the power of god is capable of stirring a straw?' he adds, again with great truth (no. ), 'if matter were uncreate, god could not move it or form anything from it. for god cannot move matter, or arrange it wisely, if he does not know it. now god cannot know it, if he does not give it being: he can derive his knowledge only from himself. nothing can act on him or enlighten him.' . m. bayle, not content with saying that we are created continually, insists also on this other doctrine which he would fain derive thence: that our soul cannot act. this is the way he speaks on that matter (ch. , p. ): 'he has too much acquaintance with cartesianism' (it is of an able opponent he is speaking) 'not to know with what force it has been maintained in our day that there is no creature capable of producing motion, and that our soul is a purely passive subject in relation to sensations and ideas, and feelings of pain and of pleasure, etc. if this has not been carried as far as the volitions, that is on account of the existence of revealed truths; otherwise the acts of the will would have been found as passive as those of the understanding. the same reasons which prove that our soul does not form our ideas, and does not stir our organs, would prove also that it cannot form our acts of love and our volitions, etc' he might add: our vicious actions, our crimes. . the force of these proofs, which he praises, must not be so great as he thinks, for if it were they would prove too much. they would make god the author of sin. i admit that the soul cannot stir the organs by a physical influence; for i think that the body must have been so formed beforehand that it would do in time and place that which responds to the volitions of the soul, although it be true nevertheless that the soul is the principle of the operation. but if it be said that the soul does not produce its thoughts, its sensations, its feelings of pain and of pleasure, that is something for which i see no reason. in my system every simple substance (that is, every true substance) must be the true immediate cause of all its actions and inward passions; and, speaking strictly in a metaphysical sense, it has none other than those which it produces. those who hold a different opinion, and who make god the sole agent, are needlessly becoming involved in expressions whence they will only with difficulty extricate themselves without offence against religion; [ ] moreover, they unquestionably offend against reason. . here is, however, the foundation of m. bayle's argument. he says that we do not do that of which we know not the way it is done. but it is a principle which i do not concede to him. let us listen to his dissertation (p. seqq.): 'it is an astonishing thing that almost all philosophers (with the exception of those who expounded aristotle, and who admitted a universal intelligence distinct from our soul, and cause of our perceptions: see in the _historical and critical dictionary_, note e of the article "averroes") have shared the popular belief that we form our ideas actively. yet where is the man who knows not on the one hand that he is in absolute ignorance as to how ideas are made, and on the other hand, that he could not sew two stitches if he were ignorant of how to sew? is the sewing of two stitches in itself a work more difficult than the painting in one's mind of a rose, the very first time one's eyes rest upon it, and although one has never learnt this kind of painting? does it not appear on the contrary that this mental portrait is in itself a work more difficult than tracing on canvas the shape of a flower, a thing we cannot do without having learnt it? we are all convinced that a key would be of no use to us for opening a chest if we were ignorant as to how to use the key, and yet we imagine that our soul is the efficient cause of the movement of our arms, despite that it knows neither where the nerves are which must be used for this movement, nor whence to obtain the animal spirits that are to flow into these nerves. we have the experience every day that the ideas we would fain recall do not come, and that they appear of themselves when we are no longer thinking of them. if that does not prevent us from thinking that we are their efficient cause, what reliance shall one place on the proof of feeling, which to m. jacquelot appears so conclusive? does our authority over our ideas more often fall short than our authority over our volitions? if we were to count up carefully, we should find in the course of our life more velleities than volitions, that is, more evidences of the servitude of our will than of its dominion. how many times does one and the same man not experience an inability to do a certain act of will (for example, an act of love for a man who had just injured him; an act of scorn for a fine sonnet that he had composed; an act of hatred for a mistress; an act of approval of an absurd epigram. take note that i speak only of inward acts, [ ] expressed by an "i will", such as "i will scorn", "approve", etc.) even if there were a hundred pistoles to be gained forthwith, and he ardently desired to gain these hundred pistoles, and he were fired with the ambition to convince himself by an experimental proof that he is master in his own domain? . 'to put together in few words the whole force of what i have just said to you, i will observe that it is evident to all those who go deeply into things, that the true efficient cause of an effect must know the effect, and be aware also of the way in which it must be produced. that is not necessary when one is only the instrument of the cause, or only the passive subject of its action; but one cannot conceive of it as not necessary to a true agent. now if we examine ourselves well we shall be strongly convinced, ( ) that, independently of experience, our soul is just as little aware of what a volition is as of what an idea is; ( ) that after a long experience it is no more fully aware of how volitions are formed than it was before having willed anything. what is one to conclude from that, save that the soul cannot be the efficient cause of its volitions, any more than of its ideas, and of the motion of the spirits which cause our arms to move? (take note that no pretence is made of deciding the point here absolutely, it is only being considered in relation to the principles of the objection.)' . that is indeed a strange way of reasoning! what necessity is there for one always to be aware how that which is done is done? are salts, metals, plants, animals and a thousand other animate or inanimate bodies aware how that which they do is done, and need they be aware? must a drop of oil or of fat understand geometry in order to become round on the surface of water? sewing stitches is another matter: one acts for an end, one must be aware of the means. but we do not form our ideas because we will to do so, they form themselves within us, they form themselves through us, not in consequence of our will, but in accordance with our nature and that of things. the foetus forms itself in the animal, and a thousand other wonders of nature are produced by a certain _instinct_ that god has placed there, that is by virtue of _divine preformation_, which has made these admirable automata, adapted to produce mechanically such beautiful effects. even so it is easy to believe that the soul is a spiritual automaton still more admirable, and that it is through divine preformation that it produces these beautiful ideas, wherein our will has no part and to which our [ ] art cannot attain. the operation of spiritual automata, that is of souls, is not mechanical, but it contains in the highest degree all that is beautiful in mechanism. the movements which are developed in bodies are concentrated in the soul by representation as in an ideal world, which expresses the laws of the actual world and their consequences, but with this difference from the perfect ideal world which is in god, that most of the perceptions in the other substances are only confused. for it is plain that every simple substance embraces the whole universe in its confused perceptions or sensations, and that the succession of these perceptions is regulated by the particular nature of this substance, but in a manner which always expresses all the nature in the universe; and every present perception leads to a new perception, just as every movement that it represents leads to another movement. but it is impossible that the soul can know clearly its whole nature, and perceive how this innumerable number of small perceptions, piled up or rather concentrated together, shapes itself there: to that end it must needs know completely the whole universe which is embraced by them, that is, it must needs be a god. . as regards _velleities_, they are only a very imperfect kind of conditional will. i would, if i could: _liberet si liceret_; and in the case of a velleity, we do not will, properly speaking, to will, but to be able. that explains why there are none in god; and they must not be confused with antecedent will. i have explained sufficiently elsewhere that our control over volitions can be exercised only indirectly, and that one would be unhappy if one were sufficiently master in one's own domain to be able to will without cause, without rhyme or reason. to complain of not having such a control would be to argue like pliny, who carps at the power of god because god cannot destroy himself. . i intended to finish here after having met (as it seems to me) all the objections of m. bayle on this matter that i could find in his works. but remembering laurentius valla's _dialogue on free will,_ in opposition to boethius, which i have already mentioned, i thought it would be opportune to quote it in abstract, retaining the dialogue form, and then to continue from where it ends, keeping up the fiction it initiated; and that less with the purpose of enlivening the subject, than in order to explain myself towards the end of my dissertation as clearly as i can, and in a way [ ] most likely to be generally understood. this dialogue of valla and his books on pleasure and the true good make it plain that he was no less a philosopher than a humanist. these four books were opposed to the four books on the _consolation of philosophy_ by boethius, and the dialogue to the fifth book. a certain spaniard named antonio glarea requests of him elucidation on the difficulty of free will, whereof little is known as it is worthy to be known, for upon it depend justice and injustice, punishment and reward in this life and in the life to come. laurentius valla answers him that we must console ourselves for an ignorance which we share with the whole world, just as one consoles oneself for not having the wings of birds. . antonio--i know that you can give me those wings, like another daedalus, so that i may emerge from the prison of ignorance, and rise to the very region of truth, which is the homeland of souls. the books that i have seen have not satisfied me, not even the famous boethius, who meets with general approval. i know not whether he fully understood himself what he says of god's understanding, and of eternity superior to time; and i ask for your opinion on his way of reconciling foreknowledge with freedom. laurent--i am fearful of giving offence to many people, if i confute this great man; yet i will give preference over this fear to the consideration i have for the entreaties of a friend, provided that you make me a promise. ant.--what? laur.--it is, that when you have dined with me you do not ask me to give you supper, that is to say, i desire that you be content with the answer to the question you have put to me, and do not put a further question. . ant.--i promise you. here is the heart of the difficulty. if god foresaw the treason of judas, it was necessary that he should betray, it was impossible for him not to betray. there is no obligation to do the impossible. he therefore did not sin, he did not deserve to be punished. that destroys justice and religion, and the fear of god. laur.--god foresaw sin; but he did not compel man to commit it; sin is voluntary. ant.--that will was necessary, since it was foreseen. laur.--if my knowledge does not cause things past or present to exist, neither will my foreknowledge cause future things to exist. . ant.--that comparison is deceptive: neither the present nor the past can be changed, they are already necessary; but the future, movable in itself, becomes fixed and necessary through foreknowledge. let us [ ] pretend that a god of the heathen boasts of knowing the future: i will ask him if he knows which foot i shall put foremost, then i will do the opposite of that which he shall have foretold. laur.--this god knows what you are about to do. ant.--how does he know it, since i will do the opposite of what he shall have said, and i suppose that he will say what he thinks? laur.--your supposition is false: god will not answer you; or again, if he were to answer you, the veneration you would have for him would make you hasten to do what he had said; his prediction would be to you an order. but we have changed the question. we are not concerned with what god will foretell but with what he foresees. let us therefore return to foreknowledge, and distinguish between the necessary and the certain. it is not impossible for what is foreseen not to happen; but it is infallibly sure that it will happen. i can become a soldier or priest, but i shall not become one. . ant.--here i have you firmly held. the philosophers' rule maintains that all that which is possible can be considered as existing. but if that which you affirm to be possible, namely an event different from what has been foreseen, actually happened, god would have been mistaken. laur.--the rules of the philosophers are not oracles for me. this one in particular is not correct. two contradictories are often both possible. can they also both exist? but, for your further enlightenment, let us pretend that sextus tarquinius, coming to delphi to consult the oracle of apollo, receives the answer: _exul inopsque cades irata pulsus ab urbe._ a beggared outcast of the city's rage, beside a foreign shore cut short thy age. the young man will complain: i have brought you a royal gift, o apollo, and you proclaim for me a lot so unhappy? apollo will say to him: your gift is pleasing to me, and i will do that which you ask of me, i will tell you what will happen. i know the future, but i do not bring it about. go make your complaint to jupiter and the parcae. sextus would be ridiculous if he continued thereafter to complain about apollo. is not that true? ant.--he will say: i thank you, o holy apollo, for not having repaid me with silence, for having revealed to me the truth. but whence comes it that jupiter is so cruel towards me, that he prepares so hard a fate for an[ ] innocent man, for a devout worshipper of the gods? laur.--you innocent? apollo will say. know that you will be proud, that you will commit adulteries, that you will be a traitor to your country. could sextus reply: it is you who are the cause, o apollo; you compel me to do it, by foreseeing it? ant.--i admit that he would have taken leave of his senses if he were to make this reply. laur.--therefore neither can the traitor judas complain of god's foreknowledge. and there is the answer to your question. . ant.--you have satisfied me beyond my hopes, you have done what boethius was not able to do: i shall be beholden to you all my life long. laur.--yet let us carry our tale a little further. sextus will say: no, apollo, i will not do what you say. ant.--what! the god will say, do you mean then that i am a liar? i repeat to you once more, you will do all that i have just said. laur.--sextus, mayhap, would pray the gods to alter fate, to give him a better heart. ant.--he would receive the answer: _desine fata deum flecti sperare precando_. he cannot cause divine foreknowledge to lie. but what then will sextus say? will he not break forth into complaints against the gods? will he not say? what? i am then not free? it is not in my power to follow virtue? laur.--apollo will say to him perhaps: know, my poor sextus, that the gods make each one as he is. jupiter made the wolf ravening, the hare timid, the ass stupid, and the lion courageous. he gave you a soul that is wicked and irreclaimable; you will act in conformity with your natural disposition, and jupiter will treat you as your actions shall deserve; he has sworn it by the styx. . ant.--i confess to you, it seems to me that apollo in excusing himself accuses jupiter more than he accuses sextus, and sextus would answer him: jupiter therefore condemns in me his own crime; it is he who is the only guilty one. he could have made me altogether different: but, made as i am, i must act as he has willed. why then does he punish me? could i have resisted his will? laur.--i confess that i am brought to a pause here as you are. i have made the gods appear on the scene, apollo and jupiter, to make you distinguish between divine foreknowledge and providence. i have shown that apollo and foreknowledge do not impair freedom; but i cannot satisfy you on the decrees of jupiter's will, that is to say, on the orders of providence. ant.--you have dragged me out of one abyss, and you [ ] plunge me back into another and greater abyss. laur.--remember our contract: i have given you dinner, and you ask me to give you supper also. . ant.--now i discover your cunning: you have caught me, this is not an honest contract. laur.--what would you have me do? i have given you wine and meats from my home produce, such as my small estate can provide; as for nectar and ambrosia, you will ask the gods for them: that divine nurture is not found among men. let us hearken to st. paul, that chosen vessel who was carried even to the third heaven, who heard there unutterable words: he will answer you with the comparison of the potter, with the incomprehensibility of the ways of god, and wonder at the depth of his wisdom. nevertheless it is well to observe that one does not ask why god foresees the thing, for that is understood, it is because it will be: but one asks why he ordains thus, why he hardens such an one, why he has compassion on another. we do not know the reasons which he may have for this; but _since he is very good and very wise that is enough to make us deem that his reasons are good_. as he is just also, it follows that his decrees and his operation do not destroy our freedom. some men have sought some reason therein. they have said that we are made from a corrupt and impure mass, indeed of mud. but adam and the angels were made of silver and gold, and they sinned notwithstanding. one sometimes becomes hardened again after regeneration. we must therefore seek another cause for evil, and i doubt whether even the angels are aware of it; yet they cease not to be happy and to praise god. boethius hearkened more to the answer of philosophy than to that of st. paul; that was the cause of his failure. let us believe in jesus christ, he is the virtue and the wisdom of god: he teaches us that god willeth the salvation of all, that he willeth not the death of the sinner. let us therefore put our trust in the divine mercy, and let us not by our vanity and our malice disqualify ourselves to receive it. . this dialogue of valla's is excellent, even though one must take exception to some points in it: but its chief defect is that it cuts the knot and that it seems to condemn providence under the name of jupiter, making him almost the author of sin. let us therefore carry the little fable still further. sextus, quitting apollo and delphi, seeks out jupiter at dodona. he makes sacrifices and then he exhibits his complaints. why have you condemned me, o great god, to be wicked and unhappy? change [ ] my lot and my heart, or acknowledge your error. jupiter answers him: if you will renounce rome, the parcae shall spin for you different fates, you shall become wise, you shall be happy. sextus--why must i renounce the hope of a crown? can i not come to be a good king? jupiter--no, sextus; i know better what is needful for you. if you go to rome, you are lost. sextus, not being able to resolve upon so great a sacrifice, went forth from the temple, and abandoned himself to his fate. theodorus, the high priest, who had been present at the dialogue between god and sextus, addressed these words to jupiter: your wisdom is to be revered, o great ruler of the gods. you have convinced this man of his error; he must henceforth impute his unhappiness to his evil will; he has not a word to say. but your faithful worshippers are astonished; they would fain wonder at your goodness as well as at your greatness: it rested with you to give him a different will. jupiter--go to my daughter pallas, she will inform you what i was bound to do. . theodorus journeyed to athens: he was bidden to lie down to sleep in the temple of the goddess. dreaming, he found himself transported into an unknown country. there stood a palace of unimaginable splendour and prodigious size. the goddess pallas appeared at the gate, surrounded by rays of dazzling majesty. _qualisque videri_ _coelicolis et quanta solet._ she touched the face of theodorus with an olive-branch, which she was holding in her hand. and lo! he had become able to confront the divine radiancy of the daughter of jupiter, and of all that she should show him. jupiter who loves you (she said to him) has commended you to me to be instructed. you see here the palace of the fates, where i keep watch and ward. here are representations not only of that which happens but also of all that which is possible. jupiter, having surveyed them before the beginning of the existing world, classified the possibilities into worlds, and chose the best of all. he comes sometimes to visit these places, to enjoy the pleasure of recapitulating things and of renewing his own choice, which cannot fail to please him. i have only to speak, and we shall see a whole world that my father might have produced, wherein will be represented anything that can be asked of him; and in this way one may know also what would happen if any particular possibility should attain unto [ ] existence. and whenever the conditions are not determinate enough, there will be as many such worlds differing from one another as one shall wish, which will answer differently the same question, in as many ways as possible. you learnt geometry in your youth, like all well-instructed greeks. you know therefore that when the conditions of a required point do not sufficiently determine it, and there is an infinite number of them, they all fall into what the geometricians call a locus, and this locus at least (which is often a line) will be determinate. thus you can picture to yourself an ordered succession of worlds, which shall contain each and every one the case that is in question, and shall vary its circumstances and its consequences. but if you put a case that differs from the actual world only in one single definite thing and in its results, a certain one of those determinate worlds will answer you. these worlds are all here, that is, in ideas. i will show you some, wherein shall be found, not absolutely the same sextus as you have seen (that is not possible, he carries with him always that which he shall be) but several sextuses resembling him, possessing all that you know already of the true sextus, but not all that is already in him imperceptibly, nor in consequence all that shall yet happen to him. you will find in one world a very happy and noble sextus, in another a sextus content with a mediocre state, a sextus, indeed, of every kind and endless diversity of forms. . thereupon the goddess led theodorus into one of the halls of the palace: when he was within, it was no longer a hall, it was a world, _solemque suum, sua sidera norat_. at the command of pallas there came within view dodona with the temple of jupiter, and sextus issuing thence; he could be heard saying that he would obey the god. and lo! he goes to a city lying between two seas, resembling corinth. he buys there a small garden; cultivating it, he finds a treasure; he becomes a rich man, enjoying affection and esteem; he dies at a great age, beloved of the whole city. theodorus saw the whole life of sextus as at one glance, and as in a stage presentation. there was a great volume of writings in this hall: theodorus could not refrain from asking what that meant. it is the history of this world which we are now visiting, the goddess told him; it is the book of its fates. you have seen a number [ ] on the forehead of sextus. look in this book for the place which it indicates. theodorus looked for it, and found there the history of sextus in a form more ample than the outline he had seen. put your finger on any line you please, pallas said to him, and you will see represented actually in all its detail that which the line broadly indicates. he obeyed, and he saw coming into view all the characteristics of a portion of the life of that sextus. they passed into another hall, and lo! another world, another sextus. who, issuing from the temple, and having resolved to obey jupiter, goes to thrace. there he marries the daughter of the king, who had no other children; he succeeds him, and he is adored by his subjects. they went into other rooms, and always they saw new scenes. . the halls rose in a pyramid, becoming even more beautiful as one mounted towards the apex, and representing more beautiful worlds. finally they reached the highest one which completed the pyramid, and which was the most beautiful of all: for the pyramid had a beginning, but one could not see its end; it had an apex, but no base; it went on increasing to infinity. that is (as the goddess explained) because amongst an endless number of possible worlds there is the best of all, else would god not have determined to create any; but there is not any one which has not also less perfect worlds below it: that is why the pyramid goes on descending to infinity. theodorus, entering this highest hall, became entranced in ecstasy; he had to receive succour from the goddess, a drop of a divine liquid placed on his tongue restored him; he was beside himself for joy. we are in the real true world (said the goddess) and you are at the source of happiness. behold what jupiter makes ready for you, if you continue to serve him faithfully. here is sextus as he is, and as he will be in reality. he issues from the temple in a rage, he scorns the counsel of the gods. you see him going to rome, bringing confusion everywhere, violating the wife of his friend. there he is driven out with his father, beaten, unhappy. if jupiter had placed here a sextus happy at corinth or king in thrace, it would be no longer this world. and nevertheless he could not have failed to choose this world, which surpasses in perfection all the others, and which forms the apex of the pyramid. else would jupiter have renounced his wisdom, he would have banished me, me his daughter. you see that my father did not make sextus wicked; he was so from all [ ] eternity, he was so always and freely. my father only granted him the existence which his wisdom could not refuse to the world where he is included: he made him pass from the region of the possible to that of the actual beings. the crime of sextus serves for great things: it renders rome free; thence will arise a great empire, which will show noble examples to mankind. but that is nothing in comparison with the worth of this whole world, at whose beauty you will marvel, when, after a happy passage from this mortal state to another and better one, the gods shall have fitted you to know it. . at this moment theodorus wakes up, he gives thanks to the goddess, he owns the justice of jupiter. his spirit pervaded by what he has seen and heard, he carries on the office of high priest, with all the zeal of a true servant of his god, and with all the joy whereof a mortal is capable. it seems to me that this continuation of the tale may elucidate the difficulty which valla did not wish to treat. if apollo has represented aright god's knowledge of vision (that which concerns beings in existence), i hope that pallas will have not discreditably filled the role of what is called knowledge of simple intelligence (that which embraces all that is possible), wherein at last the source of things must be sought. [ ] * * * * * appendices summary of the controversy reduced to formal arguments * * * * * some persons of discernment have wished me to make this addition. i have the more readily deferred to their opinion, because of the opportunity thereby gained for meeting certain difficulties, and for making observations on certain matters which were not treated in sufficient detail in the work itself. objection i whoever does not choose the best course is lacking either in power, or knowledge, or goodness. god did not choose the best course in creating this world. therefore god was lacking in power, or knowledge, or goodness. answer i deny the minor, that is to say, the second premiss of this syllogism, and the opponent proves it by this prosyllogism whoever makes things in which there is evil, and which could have been made without any evil, or need not have been made at all, does not choose the best course. god made a world wherein there is evil; a world, i say, which could have been made without any evil or which need not have been made at all. [ ] therefore god did not choose the best course. answer i admit the minor of this prosyllogism: for one must confess that there is evil in this world which god has made, and that it would have been possible to make a world without evil or even not to create any world, since its creation depended upon the free will of god. but i deny the major, that is, the first of the two premisses of the prosyllogism, and i might content myself with asking for its proof. in order, however, to give a clearer exposition of the matter, i would justify this denial by pointing out that the best course is not always that one which tends towards avoiding evil, since it is possible that the evil may be accompanied by a greater good. for example, the general of an army will prefer a great victory with a slight wound to a state of affairs without wound and without victory. i have proved this in further detail in this work by pointing out, through instances taken from mathematics and elsewhere, that an imperfection in the part may be required for a greater perfection in the whole. i have followed therein the opinion of st. augustine, who said a hundred times that god permitted evil in order to derive from it a good, that is to say, a greater good; and thomas aquinas says (in libr. , _sent. dist._ , qu. , art. ) that the permission of evil tends towards the good of the universe. i have shown that among older writers the fall of adam was termed _felix culpa_, a fortunate sin, because it had been expiated with immense benefit by the incarnation of the son of god: for he gave to the universe something more noble than anything there would otherwise have been amongst created beings. for the better understanding of the matter i added, following the example of many good authors, that it was consistent with order and the general good for god to grant to certain of his creatures the opportunity to exercise their freedom, even when he foresaw that they would turn to evil: for god could easily correct the evil, and it was not fitting that in order to prevent sin he should always act in an extraordinary way. it will therefore sufficiently refute the objection to show that a world with evil may be better than a world without evil. but i have gone still further in the work, and have even shown that this universe must be indeed better than every other possible universe. [ ] objection ii if there is more evil than good in intelligent creatures, there is more evil than good in all god's work. now there is more evil than good in intelligent creatures. therefore there is more evil than good in all god's work. answer i deny the major and the minor of this conditional syllogism. as for the major, i do not admit it because this supposed inference from the part to the whole, from intelligent creatures to all creatures, assumes tacitly and without proof that creatures devoid of reason cannot be compared or taken into account with those that have reason. but why might not the surplus of good in the non-intelligent creatures that fill the world compensate for and even exceed incomparably the surplus of evil in rational creatures? it is true that the value of the latter is greater; but by way of compensation the others are incomparably greater in number; and it may be that the proportion of number and quantity surpasses that of value and quality. the minor also i cannot admit, namely, that there is more evil than good in intelligent creatures. one need not even agree that there is more evil than good in the human kind. for it is possible, and even a very reasonable thing, that the glory and the perfection of the blessed may be incomparably greater than the misery and imperfection of the damned, and that here the excellence of the total good in the smaller number may exceed the total evil which is in the greater number. the blessed draw near to divinity through a divine mediator, so far as can belong to these created beings, and make such progress in good as is impossible for the damned to make in evil, even though they should approach as nearly as may be the nature of demons. god is infinite, and the devil is finite; good can and does go on _ad infinitum_, whereas evil has its bounds. it may be therefore, and it is probable, that there happens in the comparison between the blessed and the damned the opposite of what i said could happen in the comparison between the happy and the unhappy, namely that in the latter the proportion of degrees surpasses that of numbers, while in the comparison between intelligent and non-intelligent the proportion of numbers is greater than that of values. one is justified in assuming that a thing may be so as long as one does not prove that it is impossible, and indeed what is here [ ] put forward goes beyond assumption. but secondly, even should one admit that there is more evil than good in the human kind, one still has every reason for not admitting that there is more evil than good in all intelligent creatures. for there is an inconceivable number of spirits, and perhaps of other rational creatures besides: and an opponent cannot prove that in the whole city of god, composed as much of spirits as of rational animals without number and of endless different kinds, the evil exceeds the good. although one need not, in order to answer an objection, prove that a thing is, when its mere possibility suffices, i have nevertheless shown in this present work that it is a result of the supreme perfection of the sovereign of the universe that the kingdom of god should be the most perfect of all states or governments possible, and that in consequence what little evil there is should be required to provide the full measure of the vast good existing there. objection iii if it is always impossible not to sin, it is always unjust to punish. now it is always impossible not to sin, or rather all sin is necessary. therefore it is always unjust to punish. the minor of this is proved as follows. first prosyllogism everything predetermined is necessary. every event is predetermined. therefore every event (and consequently sin also) is necessary. again this second minor is proved thus. second prosyllogism that which is future, that which is foreseen, that which is involved in causes is predetermined. every event is of this kind. therefore every event is predetermined. answer i admit in a certain sense the conclusion of the second prosyllogism, which is the minor of the first; but i shall deny the major of the first [ ] prosyllogism, namely that everything predetermined is necessary; taking 'necessity', say the necessity to sin, or the impossibility of not sinning, or of not doing some action, in the sense relevant to the argument, that is, as a necessity essential and absolute, which destroys the morality of action and the justice of punishment. if anyone meant a different necessity or impossibility (that is, a necessity only moral or hypothetical, which will be explained presently) it is plain that we would deny him the major stated in the objection. we might content ourselves with this answer, and demand the proof of the proposition denied: but i am well pleased to justify my manner of procedure in the present work, in order to make the matter clear and to throw more light on this whole subject, by explaining the necessity that must be rejected and the determination that must be allowed. the truth is that the necessity contrary to morality, which must be avoided and which would render punishment unjust, is an insuperable necessity, which would render all opposition unavailing, even though one should wish with all one's heart to avoid the necessary action, and though one should make all possible efforts to that end. now it is plain that this is not applicable to voluntary actions, since one would not do them if one did not so desire. thus their prevision and predetermination is not absolute, but it presupposes will: if it is certain that one will do them, it is no less certain that one will will to do them. these voluntary actions and their results will not happen whatever one may do and whether one will them or not; but they will happen because one will do, and because one will will to do, that which leads to them. that is involved in prevision and predetermination, and forms the reason thereof. the necessity of such events is called conditional or hypothetical, or again necessity of consequence, because it presupposes the will and the other requisites. but the necessity which destroys morality, and renders punishment unjust and reward unavailing, is found in the things that will be whatever one may do and whatever one may will to do: in a word, it exists in that which is essential. this it is which is called an absolute necessity. thus it avails nothing with regard to what is necessary absolutely to ordain interdicts or commandments, to propose penalties or prizes, to blame or to praise; it will come to pass no more and no less. in voluntary actions, on the contrary, and in what depends upon them, precepts, armed with power to[ ] punish and to reward, very often serve, and are included in the order of causes that make action exist. thus it comes about that not only pains and effort but also prayers are effective, god having had even these prayers in mind before he ordered things, and having made due allowance for them. that is why the precept _ora et labora_ (pray and work) remains intact. thus not only those who (under the empty pretext of the necessity of events) maintain that one can spare oneself the pains demanded by affairs, but also those who argue against prayers, fall into that which the ancients even in their time called 'the lazy sophism'. so the predetermination of events by their causes is precisely what contributes to morality instead of destroying it, and the causes incline the will without necessitating it. for this reason the determination we are concerned with is not a necessitation. it is certain (to him who knows all) that the effect will follow this inclination; but this effect does not follow thence by a consequence which is necessary, that is, whose contrary implies contradiction; and it is also by such an inward inclination that the will is determined, without the presence of necessity. suppose that one has the greatest possible passion (for example, a great thirst), you will admit that the soul can find some reason for resisting it, even if it were only that of displaying its power. thus though one may never have complete indifference of equipoise, and there is always a predominance of inclination for the course adopted, that predominance does not render absolutely necessary the resolution taken. objection iv whoever can prevent the sin of others and does not so, but rather contributes to it, although he be fully apprised of it, is accessary thereto. god can prevent the sin of intelligent creatures; but he does not so, and he rather contributes to it by his co-operation and by the opportunities he causes, although he is fully cognizant of it. therefore, etc. answer i deny the major of this syllogism. it may be that one can prevent the sin, but that one ought not to do so, because one could not do so without committing a sin oneself, or (when god is concerned) without acting unreasonably. i have given instances of that, and have applied them to[ ] god himself. it may be also that one contributes to the evil, and that one even opens the way to it sometimes, in doing things one is bound to do. and when one does one's duty, or (speaking of god) when, after full consideration, one does that which reason demands, one is not responsible for events, even when one foresees them. one does not will these evils; but one is willing to permit them for a greater good, which one cannot in reason help preferring to other considerations. this is a _consequent_ will, resulting from acts of _antecedent_ will, in which one wills the good. i know that some persons, in speaking of the antecedent and consequent will of god, have meant by the antecedent that which wills that all men be saved, and by the consequent that which wills, in consequence of persistent sin, that there be some damned, damnation being a result of sin. but these are only examples of a more general notion, and one may say with the same reason, that god wills by his antecedent will that men sin not, and that by his consequent or final and decretory will (which is always followed by its effect) he wills to permit that they sin, this permission being a result of superior reasons. one has indeed justification for saying, in general, that the antecedent will of god tends towards the production of good and the prevention of evil, each taken in itself, and as it were detached (_particulariter et secundum quid_: thom., i, qu. , art. ) according to the measure of the degree of each good or of each evil. likewise one may say that the consequent, or final and total, divine will tends towards the production of as many goods as can be put together, whose combination thereby becomes determined, and involves also the permission of some evils and the exclusion of some goods, as the best possible plan of the universe demands. arminius, in his _antiperkinsus,_ explained very well that the will of god can be called consequent not only in relation to the action of the creature considered beforehand in the divine understanding, but also in relation to other anterior acts of divine will. but it is enough to consider the passage cited from thomas aquinas, and that from scotus (i, dist. , qu. ), to see that they make this distinction as i have made it here. nevertheless if anyone will not suffer this use of the terms, let him put 'previous' in place of 'antecedent' will, and 'final' or 'decretory' in place of 'consequent' will. for i do not wish to wrangle about words. [ ] objection v whoever produces all that is real in a thing is its cause. god produces all that is real in sin. therefore god is the cause of sin. answer i might content myself with denying the major or the minor, because the term 'real' admits of interpretations capable of rendering these propositions false. but in order to give a better explanation i will make a distinction. 'real' either signifies that which is positive only, or else it includes also privative beings: in the first case, i deny the major and i admit the minor; in the second case, i do the opposite. i might have confined myself to that; but i was willing to go further, in order to account for this distinction. i have therefore been well pleased to point out that every purely positive or absolute reality is a perfection, and that every imperfection comes from limitation, that is, from the privative: for to limit is to withhold extension, or the more beyond. now god is the cause of all perfections, and consequently of all realities, when they are regarded as purely positive. but limitations or privations result from the original imperfection of creatures which restricts their receptivity. it is as with a laden boat, which the river carries along more slowly or less slowly in proportion to the weight that it bears: thus the speed comes from the river, but the retardation which restricts this speed comes from the load. also i have shown in the present work how the creature, in causing sin, is a deficient cause; how errors and evil inclinations spring from privation; and how privation is efficacious accidentally. and i have justified the opinion of st. augustine (lib. i, _ad. simpl._, qu. ) who explains (for example) how god hardens the soul, not in giving it something evil, but because the effect of the good he imprints is restricted by the resistance of the soul, and by the circumstances contributing to this resistance, so that he does not give it all the good that would overcome its evil. 'nec _(inquit)_ ab illo erogatur aliquid quo homo fit deterior, sed tantum quo fit melior non erogatur.' but if god had willed to do more here he must needs have produced either fresh natures in his creatures or fresh miracles to change their natures, and this the best plan did not allow. it is just as if the current of the river must needs be more rapid than its slope permits or the boats themselves be less laden, if they [ ] had to be impelled at a greater speed. so the limitation or original imperfection of creatures brings it about that even the best plan of the universe cannot admit more good, and cannot be exempted from certain evils, these, however, being only of such a kind as may tend towards a greater good. there are some disorders in the parts which wonderfully enhance the beauty of the whole, just as certain dissonances, appropriately used, render harmony more beautiful. but that depends upon the answer which i have already given to the first objection. objection vi whoever punishes those who have done as well as it was in their power to do is unjust. god does so. therefore, etc. answer i deny the minor of this argument. and i believe that god always gives sufficient aid and grace to those who have good will, that is to say, who do not reject this grace by a fresh sin. thus i do not admit the damnation of children dying unbaptized or outside the church, or the damnation of adult persons who have acted according to the light that god has given them. and i believe that, _if anyone has followed the light he had_, he will undoubtedly receive thereof in greater measure as he has need, even as the late herr hulsemann, who was celebrated as a profound theologian at leipzig, has somewhere observed; and if such a man had failed to receive light during his life, he would receive it at least in the hour of death. objection vii whoever gives only to some, and not to all, the means of producing effectively in them good will and final saving faith has not enough goodness. god does so. therefore, etc. answer i deny the major. it is true that god could overcome the greatest resistance of the human heart, and indeed he sometimes does so, [ ] whether by an inward grace or by the outward circumstances that can greatly influence souls; but he does not always do so. whence comes this distinction, someone will say, and wherefore does his goodness appear to be restricted? the truth is that it would not have been in order always to act in an extraordinary way and to derange the connexion of things, as i have observed already in answering the first objection. the reasons for this connexion, whereby the one is placed in more favourable circumstances than the other, are hidden in the depths of god's wisdom: they depend upon the universal harmony. the best plan of the universe, which god could not fail to choose, required this. one concludes thus from the event itself; since god made the universe, it was not possible to do better. such management, far from being contrary to goodness, has rather been prompted by supreme goodness itself. this objection with its solution might have been inferred from what was said with regard to the first objection; but it seemed advisable to touch upon it separately. objection viii whoever cannot fail to choose the best is not free. god cannot fail to choose the best. therefore god is not free. answer i deny the major of this argument. rather is it true freedom, and the most perfect, to be able to make the best use of one's free will, and always to exercise this power, without being turned aside either by outward force or by inward passions, whereof the one enslaves our bodies and the other our souls. there is nothing less servile and more befitting the highest degree of freedom than to be always led towards the good, and always by one's own inclination, without any constraint and without any displeasure. and to object that god therefore had need of external things is only a sophism. he creates them freely: but when he had set before him an end, that of exercising his goodness, his wisdom determined him to choose the means most appropriate for obtaining this end. to call that a _need_ is to take the term in a sense not usual, which clears it of all imperfection, somewhat as one does when speaking of the wrath of god. seneca says somewhere, that god commanded only once, but that he obeys[ ] always, because he obeys the laws that he willed to ordain for himself: _semel jussit, semper paret_. but he had better have said, that god always commands and that he is always obeyed: for in willing he always follows the tendency of his own nature, and all other things always follow his will. and as this will is always the same one cannot say that he obeys that will only which he formerly had. nevertheless, although his will is always indefectible and always tends towards the best, the evil or the lesser good which he rejects will still be possible in itself. otherwise the necessity of good would be geometrical (so to speak) or metaphysical, and altogether absolute; the contingency of things would be destroyed, and there would be no choice. but necessity of this kind, which does not destroy the possibility of the contrary, has the name by analogy only: it becomes effective not through the mere essence of things, but through that which is outside them and above them, that is, through the will of god. this necessity is called moral, because for the wise what is necessary and what is owing are equivalent things; and when it is always followed by its effect, as it indeed is in the perfectly wise, that is, in god, one can say that it is a happy necessity. the more nearly creatures approach this, the closer do they come to perfect felicity. moreover, necessity of this kind is not the necessity one endeavours to avoid, and which destroys morality, reward and commendation. for that which it brings to pass does not happen whatever one may do and whatever one may will, but because one desires it. a will to which it is natural to choose well deserves most to be commended; and it carries with it its own reward, which is supreme happiness. and as this constitution of the divine nature gives an entire satisfaction to him who possesses it, it is also the best and the most desirable from the point of view of the creatures who are all dependent upon god. if the will of god had not as its rule the principle of the best, it would tend towards evil, which would be worst of all; or else it would be indifferent somehow to good and to evil, and guided by chance. but a will that would always drift along at random would scarcely be any better for the government of the universe than the fortuitous concourse of corpuscles, without the existence of divinity. and even though god should abandon himself to chance only in some cases, and in a certain way (as he would if he did not always tend entirely towards the best, and if he were capable of preferring a lesser good to a greater good, that is, an evil to a good, since that which [ ] prevents a greater good is an evil) he would be no less imperfect than the object of his choice. then he would not deserve absolute trust; he would act without reason in such a case, and the government of the universe would be like certain games equally divided between reason and luck. this all proves that this objection which is made against the choice of the best perverts the notions of free and necessary, and represents the best to us actually as evil: but that is either malicious or absurd. [ ] * * * * * excursus on theodicy published by the author in mémoires de trévoux july * * * * * _february_ i said in my essays, , that i wished to see the demonstrations mentioned by m. bayle and contained in the sixth letter printed at trévoux in . father des bosses has shown me this letter, in which the writer essays to demonstrate by the geometrical method that god is the sole true cause of all that is real. my perusal of it has confirmed me in the opinion which i indicated in the same passage, namely, that this proposition can be true in a very good sense, god being the only cause of pure and absolute realities, or perfections; but when one includes limitations or privations under the name of realities one can say that second causes co-operate in the production of what is limited, and that otherwise god would be the cause of sin, and even its sole cause. and i am somewhat inclined to think that the gifted author of the letter does not greatly differ in opinion from me, although he seems to include all modalities among the realities of which he declares god to be the sole cause. for in actual fact i think he will not admit that god is the cause and the author of sin. indeed, he explains himself in a manner which seems to overthrow his thesis and to grant real action to creatures. for in the proof of the eighth corollary of his second proposition these words occur: 'the natural motion of the soul, although determinate in itself, is indeterminate in respect of its objects. for it is love of good in general. it is through the ideas of good appearing [ ] in individual objects that this motion becomes individual and determinate in relation to those objects. and thus as the mind has the power of varying its own ideas it can also change the determinations of its love. and for that purpose it is not necessary that it overcome the power of god or oppose his action. these determinations of motion towards individual objects are not invincible. it is this noninvincibility which causes the mind to be free and capable of changing them; but after all the mind makes these changes only through the motion which god gives to it and conserves for it.' in my own style i would have said that the perfection which is in the action of the creature comes from god, but that the limitations to be found there are a consequence of the original limitation and the preceding limitations that occurred in the creature. further, this is so not only in minds but also in all other substances, which thereby are causes co-operating in the change which comes to pass in themselves; for this determination of which the author speaks is nothing but a limitation. now if after that one reviews all the demonstrations or corollaries of the letter, one will be able to admit or reject the majority of its assertions, in accordance with the interpretation one may make of them. if by 'reality' one means only perfections or positive realities, god is the only true cause; but if that which involves limitations is included under the realities, one will deny a considerable portion of the theses, and the author himself will have shown us the example. it is in order to render the matter more comprehensible that i used in the essays the example of a laden boat, which, the more laden it is, is the more slowly carried along by the stream. there one sees clearly that the stream is the cause of what is positive in this motion, of the perfection, the force, the speed of the boat, but that the load is the cause of the restriction of this force, and that it brings about the retardation. it is praiseworthy in anyone to attempt to apply the geometrical method to metaphysical matters. but it must be admitted that hitherto success has seldom been attained: and m. descartes himself, with all that very great skill which one cannot deny in him, never perhaps had less success than when he essayed to do this in one of his answers to objections. for in mathematics it is easier to succeed, because numbers, figures and calculations make good the defects concealed in words; but in metaphysics, where one is deprived of this aid (at least in ordinary [ ] argumentation), the strictness employed in the form of the argument and in the exact definitions of the terms must needs supply this lack. but in neither argument nor definition is that strictness here to be seen. the author of the letter, who undoubtedly displays much ardour and penetration, sometimes goes a little too far, as when he claims to prove that there is as much reality and force in rest as in motion, according to the fifth corollary of the second proposition. he asserts that the will of god is no less positive in rest than in motion, and that it is not less invincible. be it so, but does it follow that there is as much reality and force in each of the two? i do not see this conclusion, and with the same argument one would prove that there is as much force in a strong motion as in a weak motion. god in willing rest wills that the body be at the place a, where it was immediately before, and for that it suffices that there be no reason to prompt god to the change. but when god wills that afterwards the body be at the place b, there must needs be a new reason, of such a kind as to determine god to will that it be in b and not in c or in any other place, and that it be there more or less promptly. it is upon these reasons, the volitions of god, that we must assess the force and the reality existent in things. the author speaks much of the will of god, but he does not speak much in this letter of the reasons which prompt god to will, and upon which all depends. and these reasons are taken from the objects. i observe first, indeed, with regard to the second corollary of the first proposition, that it is very true, but that it is not very well proven. the writer affirms that if god only ceased to will the existence of a being, that being would no longer exist; and here is the proof given word for word: 'demonstration. that which exists only by the will of god no longer exists once that will has ceased.' (but that is what must be proved. the writer endeavours to prove it by adding:) 'remove the cause, you remove the effect.' (this maxim ought to have been placed among the axioms which are stated at the beginning. but unhappily this axiom may be reckoned among those rules of philosophy which are subject to many exceptions.) 'now by the preceding proposition and by its first corollary no being exists save by the will of god. therefore, etc.' there is ambiguity in this expression, that nothing exists save by the will of god. if one means that things [ ] begin to exist only through this will, one is justified in referring to the preceding propositions; but if one means that the existence of things is at all times a consequence of the will of god, one assumes more or less what is in question. therefore it was necessary to prove first that the existence of things depends upon the will of god, and that it is not only a mere effect of that will, but a dependence, in proportion to the perfection which things contain; and once that is assumed, they will depend upon god's will no less afterwards than at the beginning. that is the way i have taken the matter in my essays. nevertheless i recognize that the letter upon which i have just made observations is admirable and well deserving of perusal, and that it contains noble and true sentiments, provided it be taken in the sense i have just indicated. and arguments in this form may serve as an introduction to meditations somewhat more advanced. [ ] * * * * * reflexions on the work that mr. hobbes published in english on 'freedom, necessity and chance' * * * * * . as the question of necessity and freedom, with other questions depending thereon, was at one time debated between the famous mr. hobbes and dr. john bramhall, bishop of derry, in books published by each of them, i have deemed it appropriate to give a clear account of them (although i have already mentioned them more than once); and this all the more since these writings of mr. hobbes have hitherto only appeared in english, and since the works of this author usually contain something good and ingenious. the bishop of derry and mr. hobbes, having met in paris at the house of the marquis, afterwards duke, of newcastle in the year , entered into a discussion on this subject. the dispute was conducted with extreme restraint; but the bishop shortly afterwards sent a note to my lord newcastle, desiring him to induce mr. hobbes to answer it. he answered; but at the same time he expressed a wish that his answer should not be published, because he believed it possible for ill-instructed persons to abuse dogmas such as his, however true they might be. it so happened, however, that mr. hobbes himself passed it to a french friend, and allowed a young englishman to translate it into french for the benefit of this friend. this young man kept a copy of the english original, and published it later in england without the author's knowledge. thus the bishop was obliged to reply to it, and mr. hobbes to make a rejoinder, and to [ ] publish all the pieces together in a book of pages printed in london in the year , in to., entitled, _questions concerning freedom, necessity and chance, elucidated and discussed between doctor bramhall, bishop of derry, and thomas hobbes of malmesbury_. there is a later edition, of the year , in a work entitled _hobbes's tripos_, where are to be found his book on human nature, his treatise on the body politic and his treatise on freedom and necessity; but the latter does not contain the bishop's reply, nor the author's rejoinder. mr. hobbes argues on this subject with his usual wit and subtlety; but it is a pity that in both the one and the other we stumble upon petty tricks, such as arise in excitement over the game. the bishop speaks with much vehemence and behaves somewhat arrogantly. mr. hobbes for his part is not disposed to spare the other, and manifests rather too much scorn for theology, and for the terminology of the schoolmen, which is apparently favoured by the bishop. . one must confess that there is something strange and indefensible in the opinions of mr. hobbes. he maintains that doctrines touching the divinity depend entirely upon the determination of the sovereign, and that god is no more the cause of the good than of the bad actions of creatures. he maintains that all that which god does is just, because there is none above him with power to punish and constrain him. yet he speaks sometimes as if what is said about god were only compliments, that is to say expressions proper for paying him honour, but not for knowing him. he testifies also that it seems to him that the pains of the wicked must end in their destruction: this opinion closely approaches that of the socinians, but it seems that mr. hobbes goes much further. his philosophy, which asserts that bodies alone are substances, hardly appears favourable to the providence of god and the immortality of the soul. on other subjects nevertheless he says very reasonable things. he shows clearly that nothing comes about by chance, or rather that chance only signifies the ignorance of causes that produce the effect, and that for each effect there must be a concurrence of all the sufficient conditions anterior to the event, not one of which, manifestly, can be lacking when the event is to follow, because they are conditions: the event, moreover, does not fail to follow when these conditions exist all together, because they are sufficient conditions. all which amounts to the same as i have said so many times, that everything comes to pass as a result of determining reasons, the knowledge [ ] whereof, if we had it, would make us know at the same time why the thing has happened and why it did not go otherwise. . but this author's humour, which prompts him to paradoxes and makes him seek to contradict others, has made him draw out exaggerated and odious conclusions and expressions, as if everything happened through an absolute necessity. the bishop of derry, on the other hand, has aptly observed in the answer to article , page , that there results only a hypothetical necessity, such as we all grant to events in relation to the foreknowledge of god, while mr. hobbes maintains that even divine foreknowledge alone would be sufficient to establish an absolute necessity of events. this was also the opinion of wyclif, and even of luther, when he wrote _de servo arbitrio_; or at least they spoke so. but it is sufficiently acknowledged to-day that this kind of necessity which is termed hypothetical, and springs from foreknowledge or from other anterior reasons, has nothing in it to arouse one's alarm: whereas it would be quite otherwise if the thing were necessary of itself, in such a way that the contrary implied contradiction. mr. hobbes refuses to listen to anything about a moral necessity either, on the ground that everything really happens through physical causes. but one is nevertheless justified in making a great difference between the necessity which constrains the wise to do good, and which is termed moral, existing even in relation to god, and that blind necessity whereby according to epicurus, strato, spinoza, and perhaps mr. hobbes, things exist without intelligence and without choice, and consequently without god. indeed, there would according to them be no need of god, since in consequence of this necessity all would have existence through its own essence, just as necessarily as two and three make five. and this necessity is absolute, because everything it carries with it must happen, whatever one may do; whereas what happens by a hypothetical necessity happens as a result of the supposition that this or that has been foreseen or resolved, or done beforehand; and moral necessity contains an obligation imposed by reason, which is always followed by its effect in the wise. this kind of necessity is happy and desirable, when one is prompted by good reasons to act as one does; but necessity blind and absolute would subvert piety and morality. . there is more reason in mr. hobbes's discourse when he admits that [ ] our actions are in our power, so that we do that which we will when we have the power to do it, and when there is no hindrance. he asserts notwithstanding that our volitions themselves are not so within our power that we can give ourselves, without difficulty and according to our good pleasure, inclinations and wills which we might desire. the bishop does not appear to have taken notice of this reflexion, which mr. hobbes also does not develop enough. the truth is that we have some power also over our volitions, but obliquely, and not absolutely and indifferently. this has been explained in some passages of this work. finally mr. hobbes shows, like others before him, that the certainty of events, and necessity itself, if there were any in the way our actions depend upon causes, would not prevent us from employing deliberations, exhortations, blame and praise, punishments and rewards: for these are of service and prompt men to produce actions or to refrain from them. thus, if human actions were necessary, they would be so through these means. but the truth is, that since these actions are not necessary absolutely whatever one may do, these means contribute only to render the actions determinate and certain, as they are indeed; for their nature shows that they are not subject to an absolute necessity. he gives also a good enough notion of _freedom_, in so far as it is taken in a general sense, common to intelligent and non-intelligent substances: he states that a thing is deemed free when the power which it has is not impeded by an external thing. thus the water that is dammed by a dyke has the power to spread, but not the freedom. on the other hand, it has not the power to rise above the dyke, although nothing would prevent it then from spreading, and although nothing from outside prevents it from rising so high. to that end it would be necessary that the water itself should come from a higher point or that the water-level should be raised by an increased flow. thus a prisoner lacks the freedom, while a sick man lacks the power, to go his way. . there is in mr. hobbes's preface an abstract of the disputed points, which i will give here, adding some expression of opinion. _on one side_ (he says) the assertion is made, ( ) 'that it is not in the present power of man to choose for himself the will that he should have'. that is _well_ said, especially in relation to present will: men choose the objects through will, but they do not choose their present wills, which spring from reasons and dispositions. it is true, however, that one can seek new [ ] reasons for oneself, and with time give oneself new dispositions; and by this means one can also obtain for oneself a will which one had not and could not have given oneself forthwith. it is (to use the comparison mr. hobbes himself uses) as with hunger or with thirst. at the present it does not rest with my will to be hungry or not; but it rests with my will to eat or not to eat; yet, for the time to come, it rests with me to be hungry, or to prevent myself from being so at such and such an hour of day, by eating beforehand. in this way it is possible often to avoid an evil will. even though mr. hobbes states in his reply (no. , p. ) that it is the manner of laws to say, you must do or you must not do this, but that there is no law saying, you must will, or you must not will it, yet it is clear that he is mistaken in regard to the law of god, which says _non concupisces_, thou shalt not covet; it is true that this prohibition does not concern the first motions, which are involuntary. it is asserted ( ) 'that hazard' (_chance_ in english, _casus_ in latin) 'produces nothing', that is, that nothing is produced without cause or reason. very _right_, i admit it, if one thereby intends a real hazard. for fortune and hazard are only appearances, which spring from ignorance of causes or from disregard of them. ( ) 'that all events have their necessary causes.' _wrong_: they have their determining causes, whereby one can account for them; but these are not necessary causes. the contrary might have happened, without implying contradiction. ( ) 'that the will of god makes the necessity of all things.' _wrong_: the will of god produces only contingent things, which could have gone differently, since time, space and matter are indifferent with regard to all kinds of shape and movement. . _on the other side_ (according to mr. hobbes) it is asserted, ( ) 'that man is free' (absolutely) not only 'to choose what he wills to do, but also to choose what he wills to will.' that is _ill_ said: one is not absolute master of one's will, to change it forthwith, without making use of some means or skill for that purpose. ( ) 'when man wills a good action, the will of god co-operates with his, otherwise not.' that is _well_ said, provided one means that god does not will evil actions, although he wills to permit them, to prevent the occurrence of something which would be worse than these sins. ( ) 'that the will can choose whether it wills to will or not.' _wrong_, with regard to present volition. ( ) 'that things happen without necessity by chance.' _wrong_: what happens without necessity [ ] does not because of that happen by chance, that is to say, without causes and reasons. ( ) 'notwithstanding that god may foresee that an event will happen, it is not necessary that it happen, since god foresees things, not as futurities and as in their causes, but as present.' that begins _well_, and finishes _ill_. one is justified in admitting the necessity of the consequence, but one has no reason to resort to the question how the future is present to god: for the necessity of the consequence does not prevent the event or consequent from being contingent in itself. . our author thinks that since the doctrine revived by arminius had been favoured in england by archbishop laud and by the court, and important ecclesiastical promotions had been only for those of that party, this contributed to the revolt which caused the bishop and him to meet in their exile in paris at the house of lord newcastle, and to enter into a discussion. i would not approve all the measures of archbishop laud, who had merit and perhaps also good will, but who appears to have goaded the presbyterians excessively. nevertheless one may say that the revolutions, as much in the low countries as in great britain, in part arose from the extreme intolerance of the strict party. one may say also that the defenders of the absolute decree were at least as strict as the others, having oppressed their opponents in holland with the authority of prince maurice and having fomented the revolts in england against king charles i. but these are the faults of men, and not of dogmas. their opponents do not spare them either, witness the severity used in saxony against nicolas krell and the proceedings of the jesuits against the bishop of ypres's party. . mr. hobbes observes, after aristotle, that there are two sources for proofs: reason and authority. as for reason, he says that he admits the reasons derived from the attributes of god, which he calls argumentative, and the notions whereof are conceivable; but he maintains that there are others wherein one conceives nothing, and which are only expressions by which we aspire to honour god. but i do not see how one can honour god by expressions that have no meaning. it may be that with mr. hobbes, as with spinoza, wisdom, goodness, justice are only fictions in relation to god and the universe, since the prime cause, according to them, acts through the necessity of its power, and not by the choice of its wisdom. that is [ ] an opinion whose falsity i have sufficiently proved. it appears that mr. hobbes did not wish to declare himself enough, for fear of causing offence to people; on which point he is to be commended. it was also on that account, as he says himself, that he had desired that what had passed between the bishop and him in paris should not be published. he adds that it is not good to say that an action which god does not will happens, since that is to say in effect that god is lacking in power. but he adds also at the same time that it is not good either to say the opposite, and to attribute to god that he wills the evil; because that is not seemly, and would appear to accuse god of lack of goodness. he believes, therefore, that in these matters telling the truth is not advisable. he would be right if the truth were in the paradoxical opinions that he maintains. for indeed it appears that according to the opinion of this writer god has no goodness, or rather that that which he calls god is nothing but the blind nature of the mass of material things, which acts according to mathematical laws, following an absolute necessity, as the atoms do in the system of epicurus. if god were as the great are sometimes here on earth, it would not be fitting to utter all the truths concerning him. but god is not as a man, whose designs and actions often must be concealed; rather it is always permissible and reasonable to publish the counsels and the actions of god, because they are always glorious and worthy of praise. thus it is always right to utter truths concerning the divinity; one need not anyhow refrain from fear of giving offence. and i have explained, so it seems to me, in a way which satisfies reason, and does not wound piety, how it is to be understood that god's will takes effect, and concurs with sin, without compromising his wisdom and his goodness. . as to the authorities derived from holy scripture, mr. hobbes divides them into three kinds; some, he says, are for me, the second kind are neutral, and the third seem to be for my opponent. the passages which he thinks favourable to his opinion are those which ascribe to god the cause of our will. thus gen. xlv. , where joseph says to his brethren, 'be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that you sold me hither: for god did send me before you to preserve life'; and verse , 'it was not you that sent me hither, but god.' and god said (exod. vii. ), 'i will harden pharaoh's heart.' and moses said (deut. ii. ), 'but sihon king of [ ] heshbon would not let us pass by him: for the lord thy god hardened his spirit, and made his heart obstinate, that he might deliver him into thy hand.' and david said of shimei ( sam. xvi. ), 'let him curse, because the lord hath said unto him: curse david. who shall then say, wherefore hast thou done so?' and ( kings xii. ), 'the king [rehoboam] hearkened not unto the people; for the cause was from the lord.' job xii. : 'the deceived and the deceiver are his.' v. : 'he maketh the judges fools'; v. : 'he taketh away the heart of the chief of the people of the earth, and causeth them to wander in a wilderness'; v. : 'he maketh them to stagger like a drunken man.' god said of the king of assyria (isa. x. ), 'against the people will i give him a charge, to take the spoil, and to take the prey, and to tread them down like the mire of the streets.' and jeremiah said (jer. x. ), 'o lord, i know that the way of man is not in himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.' and god said (ezek. iii. ), 'when a righteous man doth turn from his righteousness, and commit iniquity, and i lay a stumbling-block before him, he shall die.' and the saviour said (john vi. ), 'no man can come to me, except the father which hath sent me draw him.' and st. peter (acts ii. ), 'jesus having been delivered by the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of god, ye have taken.' and acts iv. , , 'both herod and pontius pilate, with the gentiles and the people of israel, were gathered together, for to do whatsoever thy hand and thy counsel determined before to be done.' and st. paul (rom. ix. ), 'it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of god that showeth mercy.' and v. : 'therefore hath he mercy on whom he will have mercy, and whom he will he hardeneth'; v. : 'thou wilt say then unto me, why doth he yet find fault? for who hath resisted his will?'; v. : 'nay but, o man, who art thou that repliest against god? shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, why hast thou made me thus?' and cor. iv. : 'for who maketh thee to differ from another? and what hast thou that thou didst not receive?' and cor. xii. : 'there are diversities of operations, but it is the same god which worketh all in all.' and eph. ii. : 'we are his workmanship, created in christ jesus unto good works, which god hath before ordained that we should walk in them.' and phil. ii. : 'it is god which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.' one may add to these passages all those which make god the author of all grace and of all good [ ] inclinations, and all those which say that we are as dead in sin. . here now are the neutral passages, according to mr. hobbes. these are those where holy scripture says that man has the choice to act if he wills, or not to act if he wills not. for example deut. xxx. : 'i call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that i have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live.' and joshua xxiv. : 'choose you this day whom ye will serve.' and god said to gad the prophet ( sam. xxiv. ), 'go and say unto david: thus saith the lord, i offer thee three things; choose thee one of them, that i may do it unto thee.' and isa. vii. : 'until the child shall know to refuse the evil and choose the good.' finally the passages which mr. hobbes acknowledges to be apparently contrary to his opinion are all those where it is indicated that the will of man is not in conformity with that of god. thus isa. v. : 'what could have been done more to my vineyard, that i have not done in it? wherefore, when i looked that it should bring forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes?' and jer. xix. : 'they have built also the high places of baal, to burn their sons with fire for burnt offerings unto baal; which i commanded not, nor spake it, neither came it into my mind.' and hos. xiii. : 'o israel, thou hast destroyed thyself; but in me is thine help.' and i tim. ii. : 'god will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth.' he avows that he could quote very many other passages, such as those which indicate that god willeth not iniquity, that he willeth the salvation of the sinner, and generally all those which declare that god commands good and forbids evil. . mr. hobbes makes answer to these passages that god does not always will that which he commands, as for example when he commanded abraham to sacrifice his son, and that god's revealed will is not always his full will or his decree, as when he revealed to jonah that nineveh would perish in forty days. he adds also, that when it is said that god wills the salvation of all, that means simply that god commands that all do that which is necessary for salvation; when, moreover, the scripture says that god wills not sin, that means that he wills to punish it. and as for the rest, mr. hobbes ascribes it to the forms of expression used among men. but one will answer him that it would be to god's discredit that his revealed will [ ] should be opposed to his real will: that what he bade jonah say to the ninevites was rather a threat than a prediction, and that thus the condition of impenitence was implied therein; moreover the ninevites took it in this sense. one will say also, that it is quite true that god in commanding abraham to sacrifice his son willed obedience, but did not will action, which he prevented after having obtained obedience; for that was not an action deserving in itself to be willed. and it is not the same in the case of actions where he exerts his will positively, and which are in fact worthy to be the object of his will. of such are piety, charity and every virtuous action that god commands; of such is omission of sin, a thing more alien to divine perfection than any other. it is therefore incomparably better to explain the will of god as i have explained it in this work. thus i shall say that god, by virtue of his supreme goodness, has in the beginning a serious inclination to produce, or to see and cause to be produced, all good and every laudable action, and to prevent, or to see and cause to fail, all evil and every bad action. but he is determined by this same goodness, united to an infinite wisdom, and by the very concourse of all the previous and particular inclinations towards each good, and towards the preventing of each evil, to produce the best possible design of things. this is his final and decretory will. and this design of the best being of such a nature that the good must be enhanced therein, as light is enhanced by shade, by some evil which is incomparably less than this good, god could not have excluded this evil, nor introduced certain goods that were excluded from this plan, without wronging his supreme perfection. so for that reason one must say that he permitted the sins of others, because otherwise he would have himself performed an action worse than all the sin of creatures. . i find that the bishop of derry is at least justified in saying, article xv, in his reply, p. , that the opinion of his opponents is contrary to piety, when they ascribe all to god's power only, and that mr. hobbes ought not to have said that honour or worship is only a sign of the power of him whom one honours: for one may also, and one must, acknowledge and honour wisdom, goodness, justice and other perfections. _magnos facile laudamus, bonos libenter._ this opinion, which despoils god of all goodness and of all true justice, which represents him as a tyrant, wielding an absolute power, independent of all right and of all equity, and [ ] creating millions of creatures to be eternally unhappy, and this without any other aim than that of displaying his power, this opinion, i say, is capable of rendering men very evil; and if it were accepted no other devil would be needed in the world to set men at variance among themselves and with god; as the serpent did in making eve believe that god, when he forbade her the fruit of the tree, did not will her good. mr. hobbes endeavours to parry this thrust in his rejoinder (p. ) by saying that goodness is a part of the power of god, that is to say, the power of making himself worthy of love. but that is an abuse of terms by an evasion, and confounds things that must be kept distinct. after all, if god does not intend the good of intelligent creatures, if he has no other principles of justice than his power alone, which makes him produce either arbitrarily that which chance presents to him, or by necessity all that which is possible, without the intervention of choice founded on good, how can he make himself worthy of love? it is therefore the doctrine either of blind power or of arbitrary power, which destroys piety: for the one destroys the intelligent principle or the providence of god, the other attributes to him actions which are appropriate to the evil principle. justice in god, says mr. hobbes (p. ), is nothing but the power he has, which he exercises in distributing blessings and afflictions. this definition surprises me: it is not the power to distribute them, but the will to distribute them reasonably, that is, goodness guided by wisdom, which makes the justice of god. but, says he, justice is not in god as in a man, who is only just through the observance of laws made by his superior. mr. hobbes is mistaken also in that, as well as herr pufendorf, who followed him. justice does not depend upon arbitrary laws of superiors, but on the eternal rules of wisdom and of goodness, in men as well as in god. mr. hobbes asserts in the same passage that the wisdom which is attributed to god does not lie in a logical consideration of the relation of means to ends, but in an incomprehensible attribute, attributed to an incomprehensible nature to honour it. it seems as if he means that it is an indescribable something attributed to an indescribable something, and even a chimerical quality given to a chimerical substance, to intimidate and to deceive the nations through the worship which they render to it. after all, it is difficult for mr. hobbes to have a different opinion of god and of wisdom, since he admits only material substances. if mr. hobbes were still alive, i would beware of ascribing to him opinions which might do him injury; but it [ ] is difficult to exempt him from this. he may have changed his mind subsequently, for he attained to a great age; thus i hope that his errors may not have been deleterious to him. but as they might be so to others, it is expedient to give warnings to those who shall read the writings of one who otherwise is of great merit, and from whom one may profit in many ways. it is true that god does not reason, properly speaking, using time as we do, to pass from one truth to the other: but as he understands at one and the same time all the truths and all their connexions, he knows all the conclusions, and he contains in the highest degree within himself all the reasonings that we can develop. and just because of that his wisdom is perfect. [ ] * * * * * observations on the book concerning 'the origin of evil' published recently in london * * * * * . it is a pity that m. bayle should have seen only the reviews of this admirable work, which are to be found in the journals. if he had read it himself and examined it properly, he would have provided us with a good opportunity of throwing light on many difficulties, which spring again and again like the head of the hydra, in a matter where it is easy to become confused when one has not seen the whole system or does not take the trouble to reason according to a strict plan. for strictness of reasoning performs in subjects that transcend imagination the same function as figures do in geometry: there must always be something capable of fixing our attention and forming a connexion between our thoughts. that is why when this latin book, so learned and so elegant of style, printed originally in london and then reprinted in bremen, fell into my hands, i judged that the seriousness of the matter and the author's merit required an attention which readers might fairly expect of me, since we are agreed only in regard to half of the subject. indeed, as the work contains five chapters, and the fifth with the appendix equals the rest in size, i have observed that the first four, where it is a question of evil in general and of physical evil in particular, are in harmony with my principles (save for a few individual passages), and that they sometimes even develop with force and eloquence some points i had treated but slightly because m. bayle [ ] had not placed emphasis upon them. but the fifth chapter, with its sections (of which some are equal to entire chapters) speaking of freedom and of the moral evil dependent upon it, is constructed upon principles opposed to mine, and often, indeed, to those of m. bayle; that is, if it were possible to credit him with any fixed principles. for this fifth chapter tends to show (if that were possible) that true freedom depends upon an indifference of equipoise, vague, complete and absolute; so that, until the will has determined itself, there would be no reason for its determination, either in him who chooses or in the object; and one would not choose what pleases, but in choosing without reason one would cause what one chooses to be pleasing. . this principle of choice without cause or reason, of a choice, i say, divested of the aim of wisdom and goodness, is regarded by many as the great privilege of god and of intelligent substances, and as the source of their freedom, their satisfaction, their morality and their good or evil. the fantasy of a power to declare one's independence, not only of inclination, but of reason itself within and of good and evil without, is sometimes painted in such fine colours that one might take it to be the most excellent thing in the world. nevertheless it is only a hollow fantasy, a suppression of the reasons for the caprice of which one boasts. what is asserted is impossible, but if it came to pass it would be harmful. this fantastic character might be attributed to some don juan in a st. peter's feast, and a man of romantic disposition might even affect the outward appearances of it and persuade himself that he has it in reality. but in nature there will never be any choice to which one is not prompted by the previous representation of good or evil, by inclinations or by reasons: and i have always challenged the supporters of this absolute indifference to show an example thereof. nevertheless if i call fantastic this choice whereto one is determined by nothing, i am far from calling visionaries the supporters of that hypothesis, especially our gifted author. the peripatetics teach some beliefs of this nature; but it would be the greatest injustice in the world to be ready to despise on that account an occam, a suisset, a cesalpino, a conringius, men who still advocated certain scholastic opinions which have been improved upon to-day. . one of these opinions, revived, however, and introduced by [ ] degenerate scholasticism, and in the age of chimeras, is vague indifference of choice, or real chance, assumed in our souls; as if nothing gave us any inclination unless we perceived it distinctly, and as if an effect could be without causes, when these causes are imperceptible. it is much as some have denied the existence of insensible corpuscles because they do not see them. modern philosophers have improved upon the opinions of the schoolmen by showing that, according to the laws of corporeal nature, a body can only be set in motion by the movement of another body propelling it. even so we must believe that our souls (by virtue of the laws of spiritual nature) can only be moved by some reason of good or evil: and this even when no distinct knowledge can be extracted from our mental state, on account of a concourse of innumerable little perceptions which make us now joyful and now sad, or again of some other humour, and cause us to like one thing more than another without its being possible to say why. plato, aristotle and even thomas aquinas, durand and other schoolmen of the sounder sort reason on that question like the generality of men, and as unprejudiced people always have reasoned. they assume that freedom lies in the use of reason and the inclinations, which cause the choice or rejection of objects. but finally some rather too subtle philosophers have extracted from their alembic an inexplicable notion of choice independent of anything whatsoever, which is said to do wonders in solving all difficulties. but the notion is caught up at the outset in one of the greatest difficulties, by offending against the grand principle of reasoning which makes us always assume that nothing is done without some sufficient cause or reason. as the schoolmen often forgot to apply this great principle, admitting certain prime occult qualities, one need not wonder if this fiction of vague indifference met with applause amongst them, and if even most worthy men have been imbued therewith. our author, who is otherwise rid of many of the errors of the ordinary schoolmen, is still deluded by this fiction: but he is without doubt one of the most skilful of those who have supported it. _si pergama dextra_ _defendi possent, etiam hac defensa fuissent._ he gives it the best possible turn, and only shows it on its good side. he knows how to strip spontaneity and reason of their advantages, [ ] transferring all these to vague indifference: only through this indifference is one active, resisting the passions, taking pleasure in one's choice, or being happy; it appears indeed that one would be miserable if some happy necessity should oblige us to choose aright. our author had said admirable things on the origin and reasons of natural evils: he only had to apply the same principles to moral evil; indeed, he believes himself that moral evil becomes an evil through the physical evils that it causes or tends to cause. but somehow or other he thinks that it would be a degradation of god and men if they were to be made subject to reason; that thus they would all be rendered passive to it and would no longer be satisfied with themselves; in short that men would have nothing wherewith to oppose the misfortunes that come to them from without, if they had not within them this admirable privilege of rendering things good or tolerable by choosing them, and of changing all into gold by the touch of this wondrous faculty. . we will examine it in closer detail presently; but it will be well to profit beforehand by the excellent ideas of our author on the nature of things and on natural evils, particularly since there are some points in which we shall be able to go a little further: by this means also we shall gain a better understanding of the whole arrangement of his system. the first chapter contains the principles. the writer calls substance a being the idea of which does not involve the existence of another. i do not know if there are any such among created beings, by reason of the connexion existing between all things; and the example of a wax torch is not the example of a substance, any more than that of a swarm of bees would be. but one may take the terms in an extended sense. he observes aptly that after all the changes of matter and after all the qualities of which it may be divested, there remain extension, mobility, divisibility and resistance. he explains also the nature of notions, and leaves it to be understood that _universals_ indicate only the resemblances which exist between _individuals_; that we understand by _ideas_ only that which is known through an immediate sensation, and that the rest is known to us only through relations with these ideas. but when he admits that we have no idea of god, of spirit, of substance, he does not appear to have observed sufficiently that we have immediate apperception of substance and of spirit in our apperception of ourselves, and that the idea of god is found in[ ] the idea of ourselves through a suppression of the limits of our perfections, as extension taken in an absolute sense is comprised in the idea of a globe. he is right also in asserting that our simple ideas at least are innate, and in rejecting the _tabula rasa_ of aristotle and of mr. locke. but i cannot agree with him that our ideas have scarce any more relation to things than words uttered into the air or writings traced upon paper have to our ideas, and that the bearing of our sensations is arbitrary and _ex instituto_, like the signification of words. i have already indicated elsewhere why i am not in agreement with our cartesians on that point. . for the purpose of advancing to the first cause, the author seeks a criterion, a distinguishing mark of truth; and he finds it in the force whereby our inward assertions, when they are evident, compel the understanding to give them its consent. it is by such a process, he says, that we credit the senses. he points out that the distinguishing mark in the cartesian scheme, to wit, a clear and distinct perception, has need of a new mark to indicate what is clear and distinct, and that the congruity or non-congruity of ideas (or rather of terms, as one spoke formerly) may still be deceptive, because there are congruities real and apparent. he appears to recognize even that the inward force which constrains us to give our assent is still a matter for caution, and may come from deep-rooted prejudices. that is why he confesses that he who should furnish another criterion would have found something very advantageous to the human race. i have endeavoured to explain this criterion in a little _discourse on truth and ideas_, published in ; and although i do not boast of having given therein a new discovery i hope that i have expounded things which were only confusedly recognized. i distinguish between truths of fact and truths of reason. truths of fact can only be verified by confronting them with truths of reason, and by tracing them back to immediate perceptions within us, such as st. augustine and m. descartes very promptly acknowledged to be indubitable; that is to say, we cannot doubt that we think, nor indeed that we think this thing or that. but in order to judge whether our inward notions have any reality in things, and to pass from thoughts to objects, my opinion is that it is necessary to consider whether our perceptions are firmly connected among themselves and with others that we have had, in such fashion as to manifest the rules of mathematics and other truths of [ ] reason. in this case one must regard them as real; and i think that it is the only means of distinguishing them from imaginations, dreams and visions. thus the truth of things outside us can be recognized only through the connexion of phenomena. the criterion of the truths of reason, or those which spring from conceptions, is found in an exact use of the rules of logic. as for ideas or notions, i call _real_ all those the possibility of which is certain; and the _definitions_ which do not mark this possibility are only _nominal_. geometricians well versed in analysis are aware what difference there is in this respect between several properties by which some line or figure might be defined. our gifted author has not gone so far, perhaps; one may see, however, from the account i have given of him already, and from what follows, that he is by no means lacking in profundity or reflexion. . thereafter he proceeds to examine whether motion, matter and space spring from themselves; and to that end he considers whether it is possible to conceive that they do not exist. he remarks upon this privilege of god, that as soon as it is assumed that he exists it must be admitted that he exists of necessity. this is a corollary to a remark which i made in the little discourse mentioned above, namely that as soon as one admits that god is possible, one must admit that he exists of necessity. now, as soon as one admits that god exists, one admits that he is possible. therefore as soon as one admits that god exists, one must admit that he exists of necessity. now this privilege does not belong to the three things of which we have just spoken. the author believes also especially concerning motion, that it is not sufficient to say, with mr. hobbes, that the present movement comes from an anterior movement, and this one again from another, and so on to infinity. for, however far back you may go, you will not be one whit nearer to finding the reason which causes the presence of motion in matter. therefore this reason must be outside the sequence; and even if there were an eternal motion, it would require an eternal motive power. so the rays of the sun, even though they were eternal with the sun, would nevertheless have their eternal cause in the sun. i am well pleased to recount these arguments of our gifted author, that it may be seen how important, according to him, is the principle of sufficient reason. for, if it is permitted to admit something for which it is acknowledged there is no reason, it will be easy for an atheist to overthrow this argument, by [ ] saying that it is not necessary that there be a sufficient reason for the existence of motion. i will not enter into the discussion of the reality and the eternity of space, for fear of straying too far from our subject. it is enough to state that the author believes that space can be annihilated by the divine power, but in entirety and not in portions, and that we could exist alone with god even if there were neither space nor matter, since we do not contain within ourselves the notion of the existence of external things. he also puts forward the consideration that in the sensations of sounds, of odours and of savours the idea of space is not included. but whatever the opinion formed as to space, it suffices that there is a god, the cause of matter and of motion, and in short of all things. the author believes that we can reason about god, as one born blind would reason about light. but i hold that there is something more in us, for our light is a ray from god's light. after having spoken of some attributes of god, the author acknowledges that god acts for an end, which is the communication of his goodness, and that his works are ordered aright. finally he concludes this chapter very properly, by saying that god in creating the world was at pains to give it the greatest harmony amongst things, the greatest comfort of beings endowed with reason, and the greatest compatibility in desires that an infinite power, wisdom and goodness combined could produce. he adds that, if some evil has remained notwithstanding, one must believe that these infinite divine perfections could not have (i would rather say ought not to have) taken it away. . chapter ii anatomizes evil, dividing it as we do into metaphysical, physical and moral. metaphysical evil consists in imperfections, physical evil in suffering and other like troubles, and moral evil in sin. all these evils exist in god's work; lucretius thence inferred that there is no providence, and he denied that the world can be an effect of divinity: _naturam rerum divinitus esse creatam;_ because there are so many faults in the nature of things, _quoniam tanta stat praedita culpa._ others have admitted two principles, the one good, the other evil. there have also been people who thought the difficulty insurmountable, and among these our author appears to have had m. bayle in mind. he hopes to [ ] show in his work that it is not a gordian knot, which needs to be cut; and he says rightly that the power, the wisdom and the goodness of god would not be infinite and perfect in their exercise if these evils had been banished. he begins with the evil of imperfection in chapter iii and observes, as st. augustine does, that creatures are imperfect, since they are derived from nothingness, whereas god producing a perfect substance from his own essence would have made thereof a god. this gives him occasion for making a little digression against the socinians. but someone will say, why did not god refrain from producing things, rather than make imperfect things? the author answers appositely that the abundance of the goodness of god is the cause. he wished to communicate himself at the expense of a certain fastidiousness which we assume in god, imagining that imperfections offend him. thus he preferred that there should be the imperfect rather than nothing. but one might have added that god has produced indeed the most perfect whole that was possible, one wherewith he had full cause for satisfaction, the imperfections of the parts serving a greater perfection in the whole. also the observation is made soon afterwards, that certain things might have been made better, but not without other new and _perhaps_ greater disadvantages. this _perhaps_ could have been omitted: for the author also states as a certainty, and rightly so, at the end of the chapter, _that it appertains to infinite goodness to choose the best_; and thus he was able to draw this conclusion a little earlier, that imperfect things will be added to those more perfect, so long as they do not preclude the existence of the more perfect in as great a number as possible. thus bodies were created as well as spirits, since the one does not offer any obstacle to the other; and the creation of matter was not unworthy of the great god, as some heretics of old believed, attributing this work to a certain demogorgon. . let us now proceed to physical evil, which is treated of in chapter iv. our famous author, having observed that metaphysical evil, or imperfection, springs from nothingness, concludes that physical evil, or discomfort, springs from matter, or rather from its movement; for without movement matter would be useless. moreover there must be contrariety in these movements; otherwise, if all went together in the same direction, there would be neither variety nor generation. but the movements that cause [ ] generations cause also corruptions, since from the variety of movements comes concussion between bodies, by which they are often dissipated and destroyed. the author of nature however, in order to render bodies more enduring, distributed them into _systems_, those which we know being composed of luminous and opaque balls, in a manner so excellent and so fitting for the display of that which they contain, and for arousing wonder thereat, that we can conceive of nothing more beautiful. but the crowning point of the work was the construction of animals, to the end that everywhere there should be creatures capable of cognition, _ne regio foret ulla suis animalibus orba._ our sagacious author believes that the air and even the purest aether have their denizens as well as the water and the earth. but supposing that there were places without animals, these places might have uses necessary for other places which are inhabited. so for example the mountains, which render the surface of our globe unequal and sometimes desert and barren, are of use for the production of rivers and of winds; and we have no cause to complain of sands and marshes, since there are so many places still remaining to be cultivated. moreover, it must not be supposed that all is made for man alone: and the author is persuaded that there are not only pure spirits but also immortal animals of a nature akin to these spirits, that is, animals whose souls are united to an ethereal and incorruptible matter. but it is not the same with animals whose body is terrestrial, composed of tubes and fluids which circulate therein, and whose motion is terminated by the breaking of the vessels. thence the author is led to believe that the immortality granted to adam, if he had been obedient, would not have been an effect of his nature, but of the grace of god. . now it was necessary for the conservation of corruptible animals that they should have indications causing them to recognize a present danger, and giving them the inclination to avoid it. that is why what is about to cause a great injury must beforehand cause pain such as may force the animal to efforts capable of repulsing or shunning the cause of this discomfort, and of forestalling a greater evil. the dread of death helps also to cause its avoidance: for it if were not so ugly and if the dissolution of continuity were not so painful, very often animals would take no precautions against perishing, or allowing the parts of their [ ] body to perish, and the strongest would have difficulty in subsisting for a whole day. god has also given hunger and thirst to animals, to compel them to feed and maintain themselves by replacing that which is used up and which disappears imperceptibly. these appetites are of use also to prompt them to work, in order to procure a nourishment meet for their constitution, and which may avail to invigorate them. it was even found necessary by the author of things that one animal very often should serve as food for another. this hardly renders the victim more unhappy, since death caused by diseases is generally just as painful as a violent death, if not more so; and animals subject to being preyed upon by others, having neither foresight nor anxiety for the future, have a life no less tranquil when they are not in danger. it is the same with inundations, earthquakes, thunderbolts and other disorders, which brute beasts do not fear, and which men have ordinarily no cause to fear, since there are few that suffer thereby. . the author of nature has compensated for these evils and others, which happen only seldom, with a thousand advantages that are ordinary and constant. hunger and thirst augment the pleasure experienced in the taking of nourishment. moderate work is an agreeable exercise of the animal's powers; and sleep is also agreeable in an altogether opposite way, restoring the forces through repose. but one of the pleasures most intense is that which prompts animals to propagation. god, having taken care to ensure that the species should be immortal, since the individual cannot be so here on earth, also willed that animals should have a great tenderness for their little ones, even to the point of endangering themselves for their preservation. from pain and from sensual pleasure spring fear, cupidity and the other passions that are ordinarily serviceable, although it may accidentally happen that they sometimes turn towards ill: one must say as much of poisons, epidemic diseases and other hurtful things, namely that these are indispensable consequences of a well-conceived system. as for ignorance and errors, it must be taken into account that the most perfect creatures are doubtless ignorant of much, and that knowledge is wont to be proportionate to needs. nevertheless it is necessary that one be exposed to hazards which cannot be foreseen, and accidents of such kinds are inevitable. one must often be mistaken in one's judgement, because it is not always permitted to suspend it long enough for exact [ ] consideration. these disadvantages are inseparable from the system of things: for things must very often resemble one another in a certain situation, the one being taken for the other. but the inevitable errors are not the most usual, nor the most pernicious. those which cause us the most harm are wont to arise through our fault; and consequently one would be wrong to make natural evils a pretext for taking one's own life, since one finds that those who have done so have generally been prompted to such action by voluntary evils. . after all, one finds that all these evils of which we have spoken come accidentally from good causes; and there is reason to infer concerning all we do not know, from all we do know, that one could not have done away with them without falling into greater troubles. for the better understanding of this the author counsels us to picture the world as a great building. there must be not only apartments, halls, galleries, gardens, grottoes, but also the kitchen, the cellar, the poultry-yard, stables, drainage. thus it would not have been proper to make only suns in the world, or to make an earth all of gold and of diamonds, but not habitable. if man had been all eye or all ear, he would not have been fitted for feeding himself. if god had made him without passions, he would have made him stupid; and if he had wished to make man free from error he would have had to deprive him of senses, or give him powers of sensation through some other means than organs, that is to say, there would not have been any man. our learned author remarks here upon an idea which histories both sacred and profane appear to inculcate, namely that wild beasts, poisonous plants and other natures that are injurious to us have been armed against us by sin. but as he argues here only in accordance with the principles of reason he sets aside what revelation can teach. he believes, however, that adam would have been exempted from natural evils (if he had been obedient) only by virtue of divine grace and of a covenant made with god, and that moses expressly indicates only about seven effects of the first sin. these effects are: . the revocation of the gracious gift of immortality. . the sterility of the earth, which was no longer to be fertile of itself, save in evil or useless herbs. . the rude toil one must exercise in order to gain sustenance. . the subjection of the woman to the will of the husband. [ ] . the pains of childbirth. . the enmity between man and the serpent. . the banishment of man from the place of delight wherein god had placed him. but our author thinks that many of our evils spring from the necessity of matter, especially since the withdrawal of grace. moreover, it seems to him that after our banishment immortality would be only a burden to us, and that it is perhaps more for our good than to punish us that the tree of life has become inaccessible to us. on one point or another one might have something to say in objection, but the body of the discourse by our author on the origin of evils is full of good and sound reflexions, which i have judged it advisable to turn to advantage. now i must pass on to the subject of our controversy, that is, the explanation of the nature of freedom. . the learned author of this work on the origin of evil, proposing to explain the origin of moral evil in the fifth chapter, which makes up half of the whole book, considers that it is altogether different from that of physical evil, which lies in the inevitable imperfection of creatures. for, as we shall see presently, it appears to him that moral evil comes rather from that which he calls a perfection, which the creature has in common, according to him, with the creator, that is to say, in the power of choosing without any motive and without any final or impelling cause. it is a very great paradox to assert that the greatest imperfection, namely sin, springs from perfection itself. but it is no less a paradox to present as a perfection the thing which is the least reasonable in the world, the advantage whereof would consist in being privileged against reason. and that, after all, rather than pointing out the source of the evil, would be to contend that it has none. for if the will makes its resolve without the existence of anything, either in the person who chooses or in the object which is chosen, to prompt it to the choice, there will be neither cause nor reason for this election; and as moral evil consists in the wrong choice, that is admitting that moral evil has no source at all. thus in the rules of good metaphysics there would have to be no moral evil in nature; and also for the same reason there would be no moral good either, and all morality would be destroyed. but we must listen to our gifted author, from whom the subtlety of an opinion maintained by famous philosophers among the schoolmen, and the adornments that he has added thereto himself by his[ ] wit and his eloquence, have hidden the great disadvantages contained therein. in setting forth the position reached in the controversy, he divides the writers into two parties. the one sort, he says, are content to say that the freedom of the will is exempt from outward constraint; and the other sort maintain that it is also exempt from inward necessity. but this exposition does not suffice, unless one distinguish the necessity that is absolute and contrary to morality from hypothetical necessity and moral necessity, as i have already explained in many places. . the first section of this chapter is to indicate the nature of choice. the author sets forth in the first place the opinion of those who believe that the will is prompted by the judgement of the understanding, or by anterior inclinations of the desires, to resolve upon the course that it adopts. but he confuses these authors with those who assert that the will is prompted to its resolution by an absolute necessity, and who maintain that the person who wills has no power over his volitions: that is, he confuses a thomist with a spinozist. he makes use of the admissions and the odious declarations of mr. hobbes and his like, to lay them to the charge of those who are infinitely far removed from them, and who take great care to refute them. he lays these things to their charge because they believe, as mr. hobbes believes, like everyone else (save for some doctors who are enveloped in their own subtleties), that the will is moved by the representation of good and evil. thence he imputes to them the opinion that there is therefore no such thing as contingency, and that all is connected by an absolute necessity. that is a very speedy manner of reasoning; yet he adds also, that properly speaking there will be no evil will, since if there were, all one could object to therein would be the evil which it can cause. that, he says, is different from the common notion, since the world censures the wicked not because they do harm, but because they do harm without necessity. he holds also that the wicked would be only unfortunate and by no means culpable; that there would be no difference between physical evil and moral evil, since man himself would not be the true cause of an action which he could not avoid; that evil-doers would not be either blamed or maltreated because they deserve it, but because that action may serve to turn people away from evil; again, for this reason only one would find fault with a rogue, but not with a sick man, that reproaches and [ ] threats can correct the one, and cannot cure the other. and further, according to this doctrine, chastisements would have no object save the prevention of future evil, without which the mere consideration of the evil already done would not be sufficient for punishment. likewise gratitude would have as its sole aim that of procuring a fresh benefit, without which the mere consideration of the past benefit would not furnish a sufficient reason. finally the author thinks that if this doctrine, which derives the resolution of the will from the representation of good and evil, were true, one must despair of human felicity, since it would not be in our power, and would depend upon things which are outside us. now as there is no ground for hoping that things from outside will order themselves and agree together in accordance with our wishes, there will always lack something to us, and there will always be something too much. all these conclusions hold, according to him, against those also who think that the will makes its resolve in accordance with the final judgement of the understanding, an opinion which, as he considers, strips the will of its right and renders the soul quite passive. this accusation is also directed against countless serious writers, of accepted authority, who are here placed in the same class with mr. hobbes and spinoza, and with some other discredited authors, whose doctrine is considered odious and insupportable. as for me, i do not require the will always to follow the judgement of the understanding, because i distinguish this judgement from the motives that spring from insensible perceptions and inclinations. but i hold that the will always follows the most advantageous representation, whether distinct or confused, of the good or the evil resulting from reasons, passions and inclinations, although it may also find motives for suspending its judgement. but it is always upon motives that it acts. . it will be necessary to answer these objections to my opinion before proceeding to establish that of our author. the misapprehension of my opponents originates in their confusing a consequence which is necessary absolutely, whose contrary implies contradiction, with a consequence which is founded only upon truths of fitness, and nevertheless has its effect. to put it otherwise, there is a confusion between what depends upon the principle of contradiction, which makes necessary and indispensable truths, and what depends upon the principle of the sufficient reason, which [ ] applies also to contingent truths. i have already elsewhere stated this proposition, which is one of the most important in philosophy, pointing out that there are two great principles, namely, _that of identicals or of contradiction_, which states that of two contradictory enunciations the one is true and the other false, and _that of the sufficient reason_, which states that there is no true enunciation whose reason could not be seen by one possessing all the knowledge necessary for its complete understanding. both principles must hold not only in necessary but also in contingent truths; and it is even necessary that that which has no sufficient reason should not exist. for one may say in a sense that these two principles are contained in the definition of the true and the false. nevertheless, when in making the analysis of the truth submitted one sees it depending upon truths whose contrary implies contradiction, one may say that it is absolutely necessary. but when, while pressing the analysis to the furthest extent, one can never attain to such elements of the given truth, one must say that it is contingent, and that it originates from a prevailing reason which inclines without necessitating. once that is granted, it is seen how we can say with sundry famous philosophers and theologians, that the thinking substance is prompted to its resolution by the prevailing representation of good or of evil, and this certainly and infallibly, but not necessarily, that is, by reasons which incline it without necessitating it. that is why contingent futurities, foreseen both in themselves and through their reasons, remain contingent. god was led infallibly by his wisdom and by his goodness to create the world through his power, and to give it the best possible form; but he was not led thereto of necessity, and the whole took place without any diminution of his perfect and supreme wisdom. and i do not know if it would be easy, apart from the reflexions we have just entertained, to untie the gordian knot of contingency and freedom. . this explanation dismisses all the objections of our gifted opponent. in the first place, it is seen that contingency exists together with freedom. secondly, evil wills are evil not only because they do harm, but also because they are a source of harmful things, or of physical evils, a wicked spirit being, in the sphere of its activity, what the evil principle of the manichaeans would be in the universe. moreover, the author has observed (ch. , sect. , § ) that divine wisdom has usually forbidden actions which would cause discomforts, that is to say, physical evils.[ ] it is agreed that he who causes evil by necessity is not culpable. but there is neither legislator nor lawyer who by this necessity means the force of the considerations of good or evil, real or apparent, that have prompted man to do ill: else anyone stealing a great sum of money or killing a powerful man in order to attain to high office would be less deserving of punishment than one who should steal a few halfpence for a mug of beer or wantonly kill his neighbour's dog, since these latter were tempted less. but it is quite the opposite in the administration of justice which is authorized in the world: for the greater is the temptation to sin, the more does it need to be repressed by the fear of a great chastisement. besides, the greater the calculation evident in the design of an evil-doer, the more will it be found that the wickedness has been deliberate, and the more readily will one decide that it is great and deserving of punishment. thus a too artful fraud causes the aggravating crime called _stellionate_, and a cheat becomes a forger when he has the cunning to sap the very foundations of our security in written documents. but one will have greater indulgence for a great passion, because it is nearer to madness. the romans punished with the utmost severity the priests of the god apis, when these had prostituted the chastity of a noble lady to a knight who loved her to distraction, making him pass as their god; while it was found enough to send the lover into exile. but if someone had done evil deeds without apparent reason and without appearance of passion the judge would be tempted to take him for a madman, especially if it proved that he was given to committing such extravagances often: this might tend towards reduction of the penalty, rather than supplying the true grounds of wickedness and punishment. so far removed are the principles of our opponents from the practice of the tribunals and from the general opinion of men. . thirdly, the distinction between physical evil and moral evil will still remain, although there be this in common between them, that they have their reasons and causes. and why manufacture new difficulties for oneself concerning the origin of moral evil, since the principle followed in the solution of those which natural evils have raised suffices also to account for voluntary evils? that is to say, it suffices to show that one could not have prevented men from being prone to errors, without changing the [ ] constitution of the best of systems or without employing miracles at every turn. it is true that sin makes up a large portion of human wretchedness, and even the largest; but that does not prevent one from being able to say that men are wicked and deserving of punishment: else one must needs say that the actual sins of the non-regenerate are excusable, because they spring from the first cause of our wretchedness, which is original sin. fourthly, to say that the soul becomes passive and that man is not the true cause of sin, if he is prompted to his voluntary actions by their objects, as our author asserts in many passages, and particularly ch. , sect. , sub-sect. , § , is to create for oneself new senses for terms. when the ancients spoke of that which is [greek: eph' hêmin], or when we speak of that which depends upon us, of spontaneity, of the inward principle of our actions, we do not exclude the representation of external things; for these representations are in our souls, they are a portion of the modifications of this active principle which is within us. no agent is capable of acting without being _predisposed_ to what the action demands; and the reasons or inclinations derived from good or evil are the dispositions that enable the soul to decide between various courses. one will have it that the will is alone active and supreme, and one is wont to imagine it to be like a queen seated on her throne, whose minister of state is the understanding, while the passions are her courtiers or favourite ladies, who by their influence often prevail over the counsel of her ministers. one will have it that the understanding speaks only at this queen's order; that she can vacillate between the arguments of the minister and the suggestions of the favourites, even rejecting both, making them keep silence or speak, and giving them audience or not as seems good to her. but it is a personification or mythology somewhat ill-conceived. if the will is to judge, or take cognizance of the reasons and inclinations which the understanding or the senses offer it, it will need another understanding in itself, to understand what it is offered. the truth is that the soul, or the thinking substance, understands the reasons and feels the inclinations, and decides according to the predominance of the representations modifying its active force, in order to shape the action. i have no need here to apply my system of pre-established harmony, which shows our independence to the best advantage and frees us from the physical influence of objects. for what i have just said is sufficient to answer the objection. our [ ] author, even though he admits with people in general this physical influence of objects upon us, observes nevertheless with much perspicacity that the body or the objects of the senses do not even give us our ideas, much less the active force of our soul, and that they serve only to draw out that which is within us. this is much in the spirit of m. descartes' belief that the soul, not being able to give force to the body, gives it at least some direction. it is a mean between one side and the other, between physical influence and pre-established harmony. . fifthly, the objection is made that, according to my opinion, sin would neither be censured nor punished because of its deserts, but because the censure and the chastisement serve to prevent it another time; whereas men demand something more, namely, satisfaction for the crime, even though it should serve neither for amendment nor for example. so do men with reason demand that true gratitude should come from a true recognition of the past benefit, and not from the interested aim of extorting a fresh benefit. this objection contains noble and sound considerations, but it does not strike at me. i require a man to be virtuous, grateful, just, not only from the motive of interest, of hope or of fear, but also of the pleasure that he should find in good actions: else one has not yet reached the degree of virtue that one must endeavour to attain. that is what one means by saying that justice and virtue must be loved for their own sake; and it is also what i explained in justifying 'disinterested love', shortly before the opening of the controversy which caused so much stir. likewise i consider that wickedness is all the greater when its practice becomes a pleasure, as when a highwayman, after having killed men because they resist, or because he fears their vengeance, finally grows cruel and takes pleasure in killing them, and even in making them suffer beforehand. such a degree of wickedness is taken to be diabolical, even though the man affected with it finds in this execrable indulgence a stronger reason for his homicides than he had when he killed simply under the influence of hope or of fear. i have also observed in answering the difficulties of m. bayle that, according to the celebrated conringius, justice which punishes by means of _medicinal_ penalties, so to speak, that is, in order to correct the criminal or at least to provide an example for others, might exist in the opinion of those who do away with the freedom that is exempt from necessity. true [ ] retributive justice, on the other hand, going beyond the medicinal, assumes something more, namely, intelligence and freedom in him who sins, because the harmony of things demands a satisfaction, or evil in the form of suffering, to make the mind feel its error after the voluntary active evil whereto it has consented. mr. hobbes also, who does away with freedom, has rejected retributive justice, as do the socinians, drawing on themselves the condemnation of our theologians; although the writers of the socinian party are wont to exaggerate the idea of freedom. . sixthly, the objection is finally made that men cannot hope for felicity if the will can only be actuated by the representation of good and evil. but this objection seems to me completely null and void, and i think it would be hard to guess how any tolerable interpretation was ever put upon it. moreover, the line of reasoning adopted to prove it is of a most astounding nature: it is that our felicity depends upon external things, if it is true that it depends upon the representation of good or evil. it is therefore not in our own power, so it is said, for we have no ground for hoping that outward things will arrange themselves for our pleasure. this argument is halting from every aspect. _there is no force in the inference: one might grant the conclusion: the argument may be retorted upon the author_. let us begin with the retort, which is easy. for are men any happier or more independent of the accidents of fortune upon this argument, or because they are credited with the advantage of choosing without reason? have they less bodily suffering? have they less tendency toward true or apparent goods, less fear of true or imaginary evils? are they any less enslaved by sensual pleasure, by ambition, by avarice? less apprehensive? less envious? yes, our gifted author will say; i will prove it by a method of counting or assessment. i would rather he had proved it by experience; but let us see this proof by counting. suppose that by my choice, which enables me to give goodness-for-me to that which i choose, i give to the object chosen six degrees of goodness, when previously there were two degrees of evil in my condition; i shall become happy all at once, and with perfect ease, for i should have four degrees surplus, or net good. doubtless that is all very well; but unfortunately it is impossible. for what possibility is there of giving these six degrees of goodness to the object? to that end we must needs have the power to change our taste, or the things, as we please. that would be almost as if i could say to [ ] lead, thou shalt be gold, and make it so; to the pebble, thou shalt be diamond; or at the least, thou shalt look like it. or it would be like the common explanation of the mosaical passage which seems to say that the desert manna assumed any taste the israelites desired to give to it. they only had to say to their homerful, thou shalt be a capon, thou shalt be a partridge. but if i am free to give these six degrees of goodness to the object, am i not permitted to give it more goodness? i think that i am. but if that is so, why shall we not give to the object all the goodness conceivable? why shall we not even go as far as twenty-four carats of goodness? by this means behold us completely happy, despite the accidents of fortune; it may blow, hail or snow, and we shall not mind: by means of this splendid secret we shall be always shielded against fortuitous events. the author agrees (in this first section of the fifth chapter, sub-sect. , § ) that this power overcomes all the natural appetites and cannot be overcome by any of them; and he regards it (§§ , , ) as the soundest foundation for happiness. indeed, since there is nothing capable of limiting a power so indeterminate as that of choosing without any reason, and of giving goodness to the object through the choice, either this goodness must exceed infinitely that which the natural appetites seek in objects, these appetites and objects being limited while this power is independent or at the least this goodness, given by the will to the chosen object, must be arbitrary and of such a kind as the will desires. for whence would one derive the reason for limits if the object is possible, if it is within reach of him who wills, and if the will can give it the goodness it desires to give, independently of reality and of appearances? it seems to me that may suffice to overthrow a hypothesis so precarious, which contains something of a fairy-tale kind, _optantis ista sunt, non invenientis_. it therefore remains only too true that this handsome fiction cannot render us more immune from evils. and we shall see presently that when men place themselves above certain desires or certain aversions they do so through other desires, which always have their foundation in the representation of good and evil. i said also 'that one might grant the conclusion of the argument', which states that our happiness does not depend absolutely upon ourselves, at least in the present state of human life: for who would question the fact that we are liable to meet a thousand accidents which human prudence cannot evade? how, for example, can i [ ] avoid being swallowed up, together with a town where i take up my abode, by an earthquake, if such is the order of things? but finally i can also deny the inference in the argument, which states that if the will is only actuated by the representation of good and evil our happiness does not depend upon ourselves. the inference would be valid if there were no god, if everything were ruled by brute causes; but god's ordinance is that for the attainment of happiness it suffices that one be virtuous. thus, if the soul follows reason and the orders that god has given it, it is assured of its happiness, even though one may not find a sufficiency thereof in this life. . having thus endeavoured to point out the disadvantages of my hypothesis, our gifted author sets forth the advantages of his own. he believes that it alone is capable of saving our freedom, that all our felicity rests therein, that it increases our goods and lessens our evils, and that an agent possessing this power is so much the more complete. these advantages have almost all been already disproved. we have shown that for the securing of our freedom it is enough that the representations of goods and of evils, and other inward or outward dispositions, should incline us without constraining us. moreover one does not see how pure indifference can contribute to felicity; on the contrary, the more indifferent one is, the more insensitive and the less capable of enjoying what is good will one prove to be. besides the hypothesis proves too much. for if an indifferent power could give itself the consciousness of good it could also give itself the most perfect happiness, as has been already shown. and it is manifest that there is nothing which would set limits to that power, since limits would withdraw it from its pure indifference, whence, so our author alleges, it only emerges of itself, or rather wherein it has never been. finally one does not see wherein the perfection of pure indifference lies: on the contrary, there is nothing more imperfect; it would render knowledge and goodness futile, and would reduce everything to chance, with no rules, and no measures that could be taken. there are, however, still some advantages adduced by our author which have not been discussed. he considers then that by this power alone are we the true cause to which our actions can be imputed, since otherwise we should be under the compulsion of external objects; likewise that by this power alone can one ascribe to oneself the merit of one's own felicity, and feel pleased with [ ] oneself. but the exact opposite is the case: for when one happens upon the action through an absolutely indifferent movement, and not as a result of one's good or bad qualities, is it not just as though one were to happen upon it blindly by chance or hazard? why then should one boast of a good action, or why should one be censured for an evil one, if the thanks or blame redounds to fortune or hazard? i think that one is more worthy of praise when one owes the action to one's good qualities, and the more culpable in proportion as one has been impelled to it by one's evil qualities. to attempt to assess actions without weighing the qualities whence they spring is to talk at random and to put an imaginary indefinable something in the place of causes. thus, if this chance or this indefinable something were the cause of our actions, to the exclusion of our natural or acquired qualities, of our inclinations, of our habits, it would not be possible to set one's hopes upon anything depending upon the resolve of others, since it would not be possible to fix something indefinite, or to conjecture into what roadstead the uncertain weather of an extravagant indifference will drive the vessel of the will. . but setting aside advantages and disadvantages, let us see how our learned author will justify the hypothesis from which he promises us so much good. he imagines that it is only god and the free creatures who are active in the true sense, and that in order to be active one must be determined by oneself only. now that which is determined by itself must not be determined by objects, and consequently the free substance, in so far as it is free, must be indifferent with regard to objects, and emerge from this indifference only by its own choice, which shall render the object pleasing to it. but almost all the stages of this argument have their stumbling-blocks. not only the free creatures, but also all the other substances and natures composed of substances, are active. beasts are not free, and yet all the same they have active souls, unless one assume, with the cartesians, that they are mere machines. moreover, it is not necessary that in order to be active one should be determined only by oneself, since a thing may receive direction without receiving force. so it is that the horse is controlled by the rider and the vessel is steered by the helm; and m. descartes' belief was that our body, having force in itself, receives only some direction from the soul. thus an active thing may receive from outside some determination or direction, capable of changing that [ ] direction which it would take of itself. finally, even though an active substance is determined only by itself, it does not follow that it is not moved by objects: for it is the representation of the object within it which contributes towards the determination. now the representation does not come from without, and consequently there is complete spontaneity. objects do not act upon intelligent substances as efficient and physical causes, but as final and moral causes. when god acts in accordance with his wisdom, he is guided by the ideas of the possibles which are his objects, but which have no reality outside him before their actual creation. thus this kind of spiritual and moral motion is not contrary to the activity of the substance, nor to the spontaneity of its action. finally, even though free power were not determined by the objects, it can never be indifferent to the action when it is on the point of acting, since the action must have its origin in a disposition to act: otherwise one will do anything from anything, _quidvis ex quovis_, and there will be nothing too absurd for us to imagine. but this disposition will have already broken the charm of mere indifference, and if the soul gives itself this disposition there must needs be another predisposition for this act of giving it. consequently, however far back one may go, one will never meet with a mere indifference in the soul towards the actions which it is to perform. it is true that these dispositions incline it without constraining it. they relate usually to the objects; but there are some, notwithstanding, which arise variously _a subjecto_ or from the soul itself, and which bring it about that one object is more acceptable than the other, or that the same is more acceptable at one time than at another. . our author continually assures us that his hypothesis is true, and he undertakes to show that this indifferent power is indeed found in god, and even that it must be attributed to him of necessity. for (he says) nothing is to god either good or bad in creatures. he has no natural appetite, to be satisfied by the enjoyment of anything outside him. he is therefore absolutely indifferent to all external things, since by them he can neither be helped nor hindered; and he must determine himself and create as it were an appetite in making his choice. and having once chosen, he will wish to abide by his choice, just as if he had been prompted thereto by a natural inclination. thus will the divine will be the cause of goodness in beings. that is to say, there will be goodness in the objects, not by their [ ] nature, but by the will of god: whereas if that will be excluded neither good nor evil can exist in things. it is difficult to imagine how writers of merit could have been misled by so strange an opinion, for the reason which appears to be advanced here has not the slightest force. it seems to me as though an attempt is being made to justify this opinion by the consideration that all creatures have their whole being from god, so that they cannot act upon him or determine him. but this is clearly an instance of self-deception. when we say that an intelligent substance is actuated by the goodness of its object, we do not assert that this object is necessarily a being existing outside the substance, and it is enough for us that it be conceivable: for its representation acts in the substance, or rather the substance acts upon itself, in so far as it is disposed and influenced by this representation. with god, it is plain that his understanding contains the ideas of all possible things, and that is how everything is in him in a transcendent manner. these ideas represent to him the good and evil, the perfection and imperfection, the order and disorder, the congruity and incongruity of possibles; and his superabundant goodness makes him choose the most advantageous. god therefore determines himself by himself; his will acts by virtue of his goodness, but it is particularized and directed in action by understanding filled with wisdom. and since his understanding is perfect, since his thoughts are always clear, his inclinations always good, he never fails to do the best; whereas we may be deceived by the mere semblances of truth and goodness. but how is it possible for it to be said that there is no good or evil in the ideas before the operation of god's will? does the will of god form the ideas which are in his understanding? i dare not ascribe to our learned author so strange a sentiment, which would confuse understanding and will, and would subvert the current use of our notions. now if ideas are independent of will, the perfection or imperfection which is represented in them will be independent also. indeed, is it by the will of god, for example, or is it not rather by the nature of numbers, that certain numbers allow more than others of various exact divisions? that some are more fitted than others for forming battalions, composing polygons and other regular figures? that the number six has the advantage of being the least of all the numbers that are called perfect? that in a plane six equal circles may touch a seventh? that of all equal bodies, the sphere has the least surface? that [ ] certain lines are incommensurable, and consequently ill-adapted for harmony? do we not see that all these advantages or disadvantages spring from the idea of the thing, and that the contrary would imply contradiction? can it be thought that the pain and discomfort of sentient creatures, and above all the happiness and unhappiness of intelligent substances, are a matter of indifference to god? and what shall be said of his justice? is it also something arbitrary, and would he have acted wisely and justly if he had resolved to condemn the innocent? i know that there have been writers so ill-advised as to maintain an opinion so dangerous and so liable to overthrow religion. but i am assured that our illustrious author is far from holding it. nevertheless, it seems as though this hypothesis tends in that direction, if there is nothing in objects save what is indifferent to the divine will before its choice. it is true that god has need of nothing; but the author has himself shown clearly that god's goodness, and not his need, prompted him to produce creatures. there was therefore in him a reason anterior to the resolution; and, as i have said so many times, it was neither by chance nor without cause, nor even by necessity, that god created this world, but rather as a result of his inclination, which always prompts him to the best. thus it is surprising that our author should assert here (ch. , sect. , sub-sect. , § ) that there is no reason which could have induced god, absolutely perfect and happy in himself, to create anything outside him, although, according to the author's previous declarations (ch. , sect. , §§ , ), god acts for an end, and his aim is to communicate his goodness. it was therefore not altogether a matter of indifference to him whether he should create or not create, and creation is notwithstanding a free act. nor was it a matter of indifference to him either, whether he should create one world rather than another; a perpetual chaos, or a completely ordered system. thus the qualities of objects, included in their ideas, formed the reason for god's choice. . our author, having already spoken so admirably about the beauty and fittingness of the works of god, has tried to search out phrases that would reconcile them with his hypothesis, which appears to deprive god of all consideration for the good or the advantage of creatures. the indifference of god prevails (he says) only in his first elections, but as soon as god has chosen something he has virtually chosen, at the same time, all [ ] that which is of necessity connected therewith. there were innumerable possible men equally perfect: the election of some from among them is purely arbitrary (in the judgement of our author). but god, once having chosen them, could not have willed in them anything contrary to human nature. up to this point the author's words are consistent with his hypothesis; but those that follow go further. he advances the proposition that when god resolved to produce certain creatures he resolved at the same time, by virtue of his infinite goodness, to give them every possible advantage. nothing, indeed, could be so reasonable, but also nothing could be so contrary to the hypothesis he has put forward, and he does right to overthrow it, rather than prolong the existence of anything so charged with incongruities incompatible with the goodness and wisdom of god. here is the way to see plainly that this hypothesis cannot harmonize with what has just been said. the first question will be: will god create something or not, and wherefore? the author has answered that he will create something in order to communicate his goodness. it is therefore no matter of indifference to him whether he shall create or not. next the question is asked: will god create such and such a thing, and wherefore? one must needs answer (to speak consistently) that the same goodness makes him choose the best, and indeed the author falls back on that subsequently. but, following his own hypothesis, he answers that god will create such a thing, but that there is no _wherefore_, because god is absolutely indifferent towards creatures, who have their goodness only from his choice. it is true that our author varies somewhat on this point, for he says here (ch. , sect. , sub-sect. , § ) that god is indifferent to the choice between men of equal perfection, or between equally perfect kinds of rational creatures. thus, according to this form of expression, he would choose rather the more perfect kind: and as kinds that are of equal perfection harmonize more or less with others, god will choose those that agree best together; there will therefore be no pure and absolute indifference, and the author thus comes back to my principles. but let us speak, as he speaks, in accordance with his hypothesis, and let us assume with him that god chooses certain creatures even though he be absolutely indifferent towards them. he will then just as soon choose creatures that are irregular, ill-shapen, mischievous, unhappy, chaos everlasting, monsters everywhere, [ ] scoundrels as sole inhabitants of the earth, devils filling the whole universe, all this rather than excellent systems, shapely forms, upright persons, good angels! no, the author will say, god, when once he had resolved to create men, resolved at the same time to give them all the advantages possible in the world, and it is the same with regard to creatures of other kinds. i answer, that if this advantage were connected of necessity with their nature, the author would be speaking in accordance with his hypothesis. that not being so, however, he must admit that god's resolve to give every possible advantage to men arises from a new election independent of that one which prompted god to make men. but whence comes this new election? does it also come from mere indifference? if such is the case, nothing prompts god to seek the good of men, and if he sometimes comes to do it, it will be merely by accident. but the author maintains that god was prompted to the choice by his goodness; therefore the good and ill of creatures is no matter of indifference to him, and there are in him primary choices to which the goodness of the object prompts him. he chooses not only to create men, but also to create men as happy as it is possible to be in this system. after that not the least vestige of mere indifference will be left, for we can reason concerning the entire world just as we have reasoned concerning the human race. god resolved to create a world, but he was bound by his goodness at the same time to make choice of such a world as should contain the greatest possible amount of order, regularity, virtue, happiness. for i can see no excuse for saying that whereas god was prompted by his goodness to make the men he has resolved to create as perfect as is possible within this system, he had not the same good intention towards the whole universe. there we have come back again to the goodness of the objects; and pure indifference, where god would act without cause, is altogether destroyed by the very procedure of our gifted author, with whom the force of truth, once the heart of the matter was reached, prevailed over a speculative hypothesis, which cannot admit of any application to the reality of things. . since, therefore, nothing is altogether indifferent to god, who knows all degrees, all effects, all relations of things, and who penetrates at one and the same time all their possible connexions, let us see whether at least the ignorance and insensibility of man can make him absolutely indifferent in his choice. the author regales us with this pure [ ] indifference as with a handsome present. here are the proofs of it which he gives: ( ) we feel it within us. ( ) we have experience within ourselves of its marks and its properties. ( ) we can show that other causes which might determine our will are insufficient. as for the first point, he asserts that in feeling freedom within us we feel within us at the same time pure indifference. but i do not agree that we feel such indifference, or that this alleged feeling follows upon that of freedom. we feel usually within us something which inclines us to our choice. at times it happens, however, that we cannot account for all our dispositions. if we give our mind to the question, we shall recognize that the constitution of our body and of bodies in our environment, the present or previous temper of our soul, together with countless small things included under these comprehensive headings, may contribute towards our greater or lesser predilection for certain objects, and the variation of our opinions from one time to another. at the same time we shall recognize that none would attribute this to mere indifference, or to some indefinable force of the soul which has the same effect upon objects as colours are said to have upon the chameleon. thus the author has no cause here to appeal to the judgement of the people: he does so, saying that in many things the people reason better than the philosophers. it is true that certain philosophers have been misled by chimeras, and it would seem that mere indifference is numbered among chimerical notions. but when someone maintains that a thing does not exist because the common herd does not perceive it, here the populace cannot be regarded as a good judge, being, as it is, only guided by the senses. many people think that air is nothing when it is not stirred by the wind. the majority do not know of imperceptible bodies, the fluid which causes weight or elasticity, magnetic matter, to say nothing of atoms and other indivisible substances. do we say then that these things are not because the common herd does not know of them? if so, we shall be able to say also that the soul acts sometimes without any disposition or inclination contributing towards the production of its act, because there are many dispositions and inclinations which are not sufficiently perceived by the common herd, for lack of attention and thought. secondly, as to the marks of the power in question, i have already refuted the claim advanced for it, that it possesses the advantage of making one active, the real cause of one's action, and subject to responsibility and morality: [ ] these are not genuine marks of its existence. here is one the author adduces, which is not genuine either, namely, that we have within us a power of resisting natural appetites, that is to say of resisting not only the senses, but also the reason. but i have already stated this fact: one resists natural appetites through other natural appetites. one sometimes endures inconveniences, and is happy to do so; but that is on account of some hope or of some satisfaction which is combined with the ill and exceeds it: either one anticipates good from it, or one finds good in it. the author asserts that it is through that power to transform appearances which he has introduced on the scene, that we render agreeable what at first displeased us. but who cannot see that the true reason is, that application and attention to the object and custom change our disposition and consequently our natural appetites? once we become used to a rather high degree of cold or heat, it no longer incommodes us as it formerly did, and yet no one would ascribe this effect to our power of choice. time is needed, for instance, to bring about that hardening, or rather that callosity, which enables the hands of certain workmen to resist a degree of heat that would burn our hands. the populace, whom the author invokes, guess correctly the cause of this effect, although they sometimes apply it in a laughable manner. two serving-maids being close to the fire in the kitchen, one who has burnt herself says to the other: oh, my dear, who will be able to endure the fire of purgatory? the other answers: don't be absurd, my good woman, one grows used to everything. . but (the author will say) this wonderful power which causes us to be indifferent to everything, or inclined towards everything, simply at our own free will, prevails over reason itself. and this is his third proof, namely, that one cannot sufficiently explain our actions without having recourse to this power. one sees numbers of people despising the entreaties of their friends, the counsels of their neighbours, the reproaches of their conscience, discomforts, tortures, death, the wrath of god, hell itself, for the sake of running after follies which have no claim to be good or tolerable, save as being freely chosen by such people. all is well in this argument, with the exception of the last words only. for when one takes an actual instance one will find that there were reasons or causes which led the man to his choice, and that there are very strong bonds to fasten [ ] him thereto. a love-affair, for example, will never have arisen from mere indifference: inclination or passion will have played its part; but habit and stubbornness will cause certain natures to face ruin rather than separation from the beloved. here is another example cited by the author: an atheist, a man like lucilio vanini (that is what many people call him, whereas he himself adopts the magnificent name of giulio cesare vanini in his works), will suffer a preposterous martyrdom for his chimera rather than renounce his impiety. the author does not name vanini; and the truth is that this man repudiated his wrong opinions, until he was convicted of having published atheistical dogmas and acted as an apostle of atheism. when he was asked whether there was a god, he plucked some grass, saying: _et levis est cespes qui probet esse deum._ but since the attorney general to the parliament of toulouse desired to cause annoyance to the first president (so it is said), to whom vanini was granted considerable access, teaching his children philosophy, if indeed he was not altogether in the service of that magistrate, the inquisition was carried through rigorously. vanini, seeing that there was no chance of pardon, declared himself, when at the point of death, for what he was, an atheist; and there was nothing very extraordinary in that. but supposing there were an atheist who gave himself up for torture, vanity might be in his case a strong enough motive, as in that of the gymnosophist, calanus, and of the sophist who, according to lucian's account, was burnt to death of his own will. but the author thinks that that very vanity, that stubbornness, those other wild intentions of persons who otherwise seem to have quite good sense, cannot be explained by the appetites that arise from the representation of good and evil, and that they compel us to have recourse to that transcendent power which transforms good into evil, and evil into good, and the indifferent into good or into evil. but we do not need to go so far, and the causes of our errors are only too visible. indeed, we can make these transformations, but it is not as with the fairies, by a mere act of this magic power, but by obscuring and suppressing in one's mind the representations of good or bad qualities which are naturally attached to certain objects, and by contemplating only such representations as conform to our taste or our prejudices; or [ ] again, because one attaches to the objects, by dint of thinking of them, certain qualities which are connected with them only accidentally or through our habitual contemplation of them. for example, all my life long i detest a certain kind of good food, because in my childhood i found in it something distasteful, which made a strong impression upon me. on the other hand, a certain natural defect will be pleasing to me, because it will revive within me to some extent the thought of a person i used to esteem or love. a young man will have been delighted by the applause which has been showered upon him after some successful public action; the impression of this great pleasure will have made him remarkably sensitive to reputation; he will think day and night of nothing save what nourishes this passion, and that will cause him to scorn death itself in order to attain his end. for although he may know very well that he will not feel what is said of him after his death, the representation he makes of it for himself beforehand creates a strong impression on his mind. and there are always motives of the same kind in actions which appear most useless and absurd to those who do not enter into these motives. in a word, a strong or oft-repeated impression may alter considerably our organs, our imagination, our memory, and even our reasoning. it happens that a man, by dint of having often related something untrue, which he has perhaps invented, finally comes to believe in it himself. and as one often represents to oneself something pleasing, one makes it easy to imagine, and one thinks it also easy to put into effect, whence it comes that one persuades oneself easily of what one wishes. _et qui amant ipsi sibi somnia fingunt._ . errors are therefore, absolutely speaking, never voluntary, although the will very often contributes towards them indirectly, owing to the pleasure one takes in giving oneself up to certain thoughts, or owing to the aversion one feels for others. beautiful print in a book will help towards making it persuasive to the reader. the air and manner of a speaker will win the audience for him. one will be inclined to despise doctrines coming from a man one despises or hates, or from another who resembles him in some point that strikes us. i have already said why one is readily disposed to believe what is advantageous or agreeable, and i have known people who at first had changed their religion for worldly [ ] considerations, but who have been persuaded (and well persuaded) afterwards that they had taken the right course. one sees also that stubbornness is not simply wrong choice persevering, but also a disposition to persevere therein, which is due to some good supposed to be inherent in the choice, or some evil imagined as arising from a change. the first choice has perchance been made in mere levity, but the intention to abide by it springs from certain stronger reasons or impressions. there are even some writers on ethics who lay it down that one ought to abide by one's choice so as not to be inconstant or appear so. yet perseverance is wrong when one despises the warnings of reason, especially when the subject is important enough to be examined carefully; but when the thought of change is unpleasant, one readily averts one's attention from it, and that is the way which most frequently leads one to stubbornness. the author wished to connect stubbornness with his so-called pure indifference. he might then have taken into account that to make us cling to a choice there would be need of more than the mere choice itself or a pure indifference, especially if this choice has been made lightly, and all the more lightly in proportion to the indifference shown. in such a case we shall be readily inclined to reverse the choice, unless vanity, habit, interest or some other motive makes us persevere therein. it must not be supposed either that vengeance pleases without cause. persons of intense feeling ponder upon it day and night, and it is hard for them to efface the impression of the wrong or the affront they have sustained. they picture for themselves a very great pleasure in being freed from the thought of scorn which comes upon them every moment, and which causes some to find vengeance sweeter than life itself. _quis vindicta bonum vita jucundius ipsa._ the author would wish to persuade us that usually, when our desire or our aversion is for some object which does not sufficiently deserve it, we have given to it the surplus of good or evil which has affected us, through the alleged power of choice which makes things appear good or evil as we wish. one has had two degrees of natural evil, one gives oneself six degrees of artificial good through the power that can choose without cause. thus one will have four degrees of net good (ch. , sect. , § ). if that could be carried out it would take us far, as i have already said here. the [ ] author even thinks that ambition, avarice, the gambling mania and other frivolous passions derive all their force from this power (ch. , sect. , sub-sect. ). but there are besides so many false appearances in things, so many imaginations capable of enlarging or diminishing objects, so many unjustified connexions in our arguments, that there is no need of this little fairy, that is, of this inward power operating as it were by enchantment, to whom the author attributes all these disorders. indeed, i have already said repeatedly that when we resolve upon some course contrary to acknowledged reason, we are prompted to it by another reason stronger to outward appearance, such as, for instance, is the pleasure of appearing independent and of performing an extraordinary action. there was in days past at the court of osnabrück a tutor to the pages, who, like a second mucius scaevola, held out his arm into the flame and looked like getting a gangrene, in order to show that the strength of his mind was greater than a very acute pain. few people will follow his example; and i do not even know if a writer could easily be found who, having once affirmed the existence of a power capable of choosing without cause, or even contrary to reason, would be willing to prove his case by his own example, in renouncing some good benefice or some high office, simply in order to display this superiority of will over reason. but i am sure at the least that an intelligent man would not do so. he would be presently aware that someone would nullify his sacrifice by pointing out to him that he had simply imitated heliodorus, bishop of larissa. that man (so it is said) held his book on theagenes and chariclea dearer than his bishopric; and such a thing may easily happen when a man has resources enabling him to dispense with his office and when he is sensitive to reputation. thus every day people are found ready to sacrifice their advantages to their caprices, that is to say, actual goods to the mere semblance of them. . if i wished to follow step by step the arguments of our gifted author, which often come back to matters previously considered in our inquiry, usually however with some elegant and well-phrased addition, i should be obliged to proceed too far; but i hope that i shall be able to avoid doing so, having, as i think, sufficiently met all his reasons. the best thing is that with him practice usually corrects and amends theory. after having advanced the hypothesis, in the second section of this fifth chapter, [ ] that we approach god through the capacity to choose without reason, and that this power being of the noblest kind its exercise is the most capable of making one happy, things in the highest degree paradoxical, since it is reason which leads us to imitate god and our happiness lies in following reason: after that, i say, the author provides an excellent corrective, for he says rightly (§ ) that in order to be happy we must adapt our choice to things, since things are scarcely prone to adapt themselves to us, and that this is in effect adapting oneself to the divine will. doubtless that is well said, but it implies besides that our will must be guided as far as possible by the reality of the objects, and by true representations of good and evil. consequently also the motives of good and evil are not opposed to freedom, and the power of choosing without cause, far from ministering to our happiness, will be useless and even highly prejudicial. thus it is happily the case that this power nowhere exists, and that it is 'a being of reasoning reason', as some schoolmen call the fictions that are not even possible. as for me, i should have preferred to call them 'beings of non-reasoning reason'. also i think that the third section (on wrong elections) may pass, since it says that one must not choose things that are impossible, inconsistent, harmful, contrary to the divine will, or already taken by others. moreover, the author remarks appositely that by prejudicing the happiness of others needlessly one offends the divine will, which desires that all be happy as far as it is possible. i will say as much of the fourth section, where there is mention of the source of wrong elections, which are error or ignorance, negligence, fickleness in changing too readily, stubbornness in not changing in time, and bad habits; finally there is the importunity of the appetites, which often drive us inopportunely towards external things. the fifth section is designed to reconcile evil elections or sins with the power and goodness of god; and this section, as it is diffuse, is divided into sub-sections. the author has cumbered himself needlessly with a great objection: for he asserts that without a power to choose that is altogether indifferent in the choice there would be no sin. now it was very easy for god to refuse to creatures a power so irrational. it was sufficient for them to be actuated by the representations of goods and evils; it was therefore easy, according to the author's hypothesis, for god to prevent sin. to extricate himself from this difficulty, he has no other resource than to state that if this power [ ] were removed from things the world would be nothing but a purely passive machine. but that is the very thing which i have disproved. if this power were missing in the world (as in fact it is), one would hardly complain of the fact. souls will be well content with the representations of goods and evils for the making of their choice, and the world will remain as beautiful as it is. the author comes back to what he had already put forward here, that without this power there would be no happiness. but i have given a sufficient answer to that, and there is not the slightest probability in this assertion and in certain other paradoxes he puts forward here to support his principal paradox. . he makes a small digression on prayer (sub-sect. ), saying that those who pray to god hope for some change in the order of nature; but it seems as though, according to his opinion, they are mistaken. in reality, men will be content if their prayers are heard, without troubling themselves as to whether the course of nature is changed in their favour, or not. indeed, if they receive succour from good angels there will be no change in the general order of things. also this opinion of our author is a very reasonable one, that there is a system of spiritual substances, just as there is of corporeal substances, and that the spiritual have communication with one another, even as bodies do. god employs the ministry of angels in his rule of mankind, without any detriment to the order of nature. nevertheless, it is easier to put forward theories on these matters than to explain them, unless one have recourse to my system of harmony. but the author goes somewhat further. he believes that the mission of the holy spirit was a great miracle in the beginning, but that now his operations within us are natural. i leave it to him to explain his opinion, and to settle the matter with other theologians. yet i observe that he finds the natural efficacy of prayer in the power it has of making the soul better, of overcoming the passions, and of winning for oneself a certain degree of new grace. i can say almost the same things on my hypothesis, which represents the will as acting only in accordance with motives; and i am immune from the difficulties in which the author has become involved over his power of choosing without cause. he is in great embarrassment also with regard to the foreknowledge of god. for if the soul is perfectly indifferent in its choice how is it possible to foresee this choice? and what sufficient reason will one be able to find for the knowledge of a[ ] thing, if there is no reason for its existence? the author puts off to some other occasion the solution of this difficulty, which would require (according to him) an entire work. for the rest, he sometimes speaks pertinently, and in conformity with my principles, on the subject of moral evil. he says, for example (sub-sect. ), that vices and crimes do not detract from the beauty of the universe, but rather add to it, just as certain dissonances would offend the ear by their harshness if they were heard quite alone, and yet in combination they render the harmony more pleasing. he also points out divers goods involved in evils, for instance, the usefulness of prodigality in the rich and avarice in the poor; indeed it serves to make the arts flourish. we must also bear in mind that we are not to judge the universe by the small size of our globe and of all that is known to us. for the stains and defects in it may be found as useful for enhancing the beauty of the rest as patches, which have nothing beautiful in themselves, are by the fair sex found adapted to embellish the whole face, although they disfigure the part they cover. cotta, in cicero's book, had compared providence, in its granting of reason to men, to a physician who allows wine to a patient, notwithstanding that he foresees the misuse which will be made thereof by the patient, at the expense of his life. the author replies that providence does what wisdom and goodness require, and that the good which accrues is greater than the evil. if god had not given reason to man there would have been no man at all, and god would be like a physician who killed someone in order to prevent his falling ill. one may add that it is not reason which is harmful in itself, but the absence of reason; and when reason is ill employed we reason well about means, but not adequately about an end, or about that bad end we have proposed to ourselves. thus it is always for lack of reason that one does an evil deed. the author also puts forward the objection made by epicurus in the book by lactantius on the wrath of god. the terms of the objection are more or less as follows. either god wishes to banish evils and cannot contrive to do so, in which case he would be weak; or he can abolish them, and will not, which would be a sign of malignity in him; or again he lacks power and also will, which would make him appear both weak and jealous; or finally he can and will, but in this case it will be asked why he then does not banish evil, if he exists? the author replies that god cannot banish evil, that he does not wish to either, and that notwithstanding he is neither malicious [ ] nor weak. i should have preferred to say that he can banish evil, but that he does not wish to do so absolutely, and rightly so, because he would then banish good at the same time, and he would banish more good than evil. finally our author, having finished his learned work, adds an appendix, in which he speaks of the divine laws. he fittingly divides these laws into natural and positive. he observes that the particular laws of the nature of animals must give way to the general laws of bodies, that god is not in reality angered when his laws are violated, but that order demanded that he who sins should bring an evil upon himself, and that he who does violence to others should suffer violence in his turn. but he believes that the positive laws of god rather indicate and forecast the evil than cause its infliction. and that gives him occasion to speak of the eternal damnation of the wicked, which no longer serves either for correction or example, and which nevertheless satisfies the retributive justice of god, although the wicked bring their unhappiness upon themselves. he suspects, however, that these punishments of the wicked bring some advantage to virtuous people. he is doubtful also whether it is not better to be damned than to be nothing: for it might be that the damned are fools, capable of clinging to their state of misery owing to a certain perversity of mind which, he maintains, makes them congratulate themselves on their false judgements in the midst of their misery, and take pleasure in finding fault with the will of god. for every day one sees peevish, malicious, envious people who enjoy the thought of their ills, and seek to bring affliction upon themselves. these ideas are not worthy of contempt, and i have sometimes had the like myself, but i am far from passing final judgement on them. i related, in of the essays written to oppose m. bayle, the fable of the devil's refusal of the pardon a hermit offers him on god's behalf. baron andré taifel, an austrian nobleman, knight of the court of ferdinand archduke of austria who became the second emperor of that name, alluding to his name (which appears to mean devil in german) assumed as his emblem a devil or satyr, with this spanish motto, _mas perdido, y menos arrepentido_, the more lost, the less repentant, which indicates a hopeless passion from which one cannot free oneself. this motto was afterwards repeated by the spanish count of villamediana when he was said to be in love with the queen. coming to the question why evil often happens to the good and good to the wicked, [ ] our illustrious author thinks that it has been sufficiently answered, and that hardly any doubt remains on that point. he observes nevertheless that one may often doubt whether good people who endure affliction have not been made good by their very misfortune, and whether the fortunate wicked have not perhaps been spoilt by prosperity. he adds that we are often bad judges, when it is a question of recognizing not only a virtuous man, but also a happy man. one often honours a hypocrite, and one despises another whose solid virtue is without pretence. we are poor judges of happiness also, and often felicity is hidden from sight under the rags of a contented poor man, while it is sought in vain in the palaces of certain of the great. finally the author observes, that the greatest felicity here on earth lies in the hope of future happiness, and thus it may be said that to the wicked nothing happens save what is of service for correction or chastisement, and to the good nothing save what ministers to their greater good. these conclusions entirely correspond to my opinion, and one can say nothing more appropriate for the conclusion of this work. [ ] * * * * * causa dei asserta per justitiam ejus _cum caeteris ejus perfectionibus cunctisque actionibus conciliatam._ the original edition of the theodicy contained a fourth appendix under this title. it presented in scholastic latin a formal summary of the positive doctrine expressed by the french treatise. it satisfied the academic requirements of its day, but would not, presumably, be of interest to many modern readers, and is consequently omitted here. [ ] * * * * * index abélard, , - , abraham, adam, , - , - adam kadmon, albius, thomas, alcuin, alfonso, king of castile, - aloysius novarinus, alrasi, alvarez, ambrose, st., , amyraut, anaxagoras, andradius, jacques payva, andreas cisalpinus, angelus silesius, johann, annat, - anselm, st., antipater, aquinas, thomas, _see_ thomas arcesilaus, archidemus, aristotelians, - aristotle, , - , , , , , , , , - , , , , , - , , , , arminius, _see_ irminius arminius (jacob harmensen), , arnauld, , , , , , - , arriaga, , arrian, assassins, athanasius, st., augustine (of hippo), st., , , , , , , , , , , , , - , - , , - , , , , ----, his disciples, , , , , , augustus (emperor), aulus gellius, - , , aureolus, cardinal, , averroes, averroists, ff. bacon, francis, bañez, barbaro, ermolao, baron, vincent, baronius, robert, barton, thomas, basil, st., , bayle, p., ff. _et passim_ becher, johann joachim, - becker, bede, bellarmine, st. robert, , , berigardus, claudius, berkeley, bp., bernard, st., bernier, , bertius, de bèze, theodore, _birgitta, revelations of st._, boethius, , - bonartes, thomas, , - bonaventura, st., des bosses, fr., , bossuet, bradwardine, abp., , bramhall, bp. john, , bredenburg, johan, - brunswick, duke of, , buckingham, duke of, buridan's ass, , , burnet, thomas, cabalists, , , caesar cremoninus, cajetan, cardinal, , calanus, , caligula, calixtus, calli, callimachus, calovius, calvin, - , , , , , , cameron, campanella, capella, martianus, cardan, jerome, , carneades, , - , caroli, andreas, casaubon, meric, caselius, cassiodorus, [page ] casuists, , , catharin, ambrose, catherine de medicis, cato, , celsus, - chardin, de la charmoye, abbé, chemnitz, martin, , christine, queen of sweden, , chrysippus, - , - , - cicero, , , - , , , , , , - , claudian, , , cleanthes, , coelius secundus curio, coimbra, fathers of, colerus, conringius, , constance, council of, de la cour, - crellius, cudworth, ralph, , cuper, franz, cyrano de bergerac, dacier, daillé, , davidius, john, _de auxiliis_, democritus, descartes, - , - , , - , , , , ff., , , , , , , , , , , , desmarests, samuel, diodorus, - diogenianus, dionysius of halicarnassus, diphilus, diroys, - , dominicans, dreier, drexler, dualists, du plessis-mornay, durand de saint-pourçain, , , , empedocles, epictetus, epicureans, - epicurus, - , - , , , , esprit, abbé, euclid, euripides, , eusebius, eutrapelus, fabricius, johann ludwig, fabry, fecht, , , fénelon, fludde, fonseca, foucher, , , francis i of france, francis of sales, st., francis xavier, st., freitag, johann, fromondus, libertus, fulgentius, _fur praedestinatus_, della galla, julius caesar, gassendi, , gatacre, thomas, gerhard, johann, gerson, gibieuf, - glarea, antonio, godescalc, , gomarists, gregory, st., the great, , , , gregory, st., of nazianzus, gregory, st., of nyssa, gregory of rimini, grotius, , , , , , , guerre, martin, - gymnosophists, hartsoeker, heliodorus of larissa, heraclitus, herminius, _see_ irminius hermippus, herodotus, , , heshusius, tilemann, hobbes, thomas, , , , , , , , ff., hoffmann, daniel, horace, , homer, hyde, innocent iii, pope, irminius, isbrand, jansenists, , - jansenius, jacquelot, , , , , , jerome, st., john of damascus, st., [page ] john scot, jung, jupiter, jurieu, , , - , justin, keckermann, bartholomaeus, keilah, siege of, - kendal, george, kepler, , kerkering, kessler, andreas, kortholt, sebastian, krell, nicolas, de labadie, jean, lactantius, , , , lami, françois, , lateran council, laud, abp., de launoy, lazarus, le clerc, , , , , leeuwenhoek, limbourg, lipsius, justus, , , livy, locke, john, , , - , , löscher, louis of dole, , lucan, , lucian, , lucretius, lully, raymond, luther, , , , , - , , , , machiavelli, maignan, maimonides, - malebranche, , , ff., , , , , manichaeans, , , , , , , marchetti, marcion, marcus aurelius, mary, blessed virgin, matthieu, pierre, maurice, prince, melanchthon, melissus, , ménage, meyer, louis, mithras, molina, , , molinists, , , , more, henry, moses germanus, de la motte le vayer, musaeus, johann, , naudé, gabriel, newcastle, duke of, ff. newton, isaac, , - nicole, - , , , nominalists, novarini, ochino, bernardino, onomaus, opalenius, origen, - , , , origenists, , orobio, ovid, , , pardies, pascal, paul, st., - , , paulicians, _see_ manichaeans pelagius, pélisson, pereir, louis, peter lombard, pfanner, pierre de saint-joseph, , pietists, leipzig, piscator, pitcairne, plato, , , , , , , , , , - pliny the younger, , , , , plutarch, , , , pomponazzi, , de la porrée, gilbert, de preissac, prudentius, , ptolomei, fr., pufendorf, , , pythagoras, quênel, fr., quietists, rachelius, de la ramée, pierre, ravaillac, regis, , , remonstrants, reynaud, theophile, [page ] rodon, david de, rorarius, rutherford, samuel, , , ruysbroek, saguens, salmeron, saurin, scaliger, joseph, , - scaliger, julius, scherzer, schoolmen, , , , , , , , scioppius, scotists, , scotus, duns, , , , seneca, , sennert, daniel, sentences, master of the, _see_ peter lombard servetus, michael, sfondrati, cardinal, , sharrok, silenus, slevogt, paul, socinians, , - , - , , , , , sonner, ernst, spee, friedrich, - sperling, johann, sperling, otto, spinoza, , , , , , - , , - , , stahl, daniel, stegman, josua, stegmann, christopher, steno, steuchus, augustinus, stoics, , , , - , ff., strato, , - , , , , , strinesius, sturm, , suarez, suetonius, supralapsarians, , , , , , - , swammerdam, tacitus, , , , taifel, baron andré, taurel, nicolas, , tertullian, thomas aquinas, st., , , , , , , , , thomasius, jacob, , thomists, , , , , , , tiberius, timon, tiresias, toland, john, de tournemine, fr., trajan, trogus, turretin, twiss, ursinus, zacharias, usserius, valla, laurentius, , , ff. van beverwyck, johan, - van den ende, franz, van den hoof, van der weye, van helmont, vanini, lucilio, vedelius, nicolaus, , velleius paterculus, vergil, - , , , , , véron, françois, versé, aubert de, voëtius, gisbertus, vorstius, conrad, vogelsang, von wallenberg, bp. peter, wander, william, weigel, erhard, , weigel, valentine, de witt, wittich, , - , von wollzogen, wyclif, john, , , , , xanthus, zeisold, johann, zoroaster, , - , a review of edwards's "inquiry into the freedom of the will." containing i. statement of edwards's system. ii. the legitimate consequences of this system. iii. an examination of the arguments against a self-determining will. by henry philip tappan. "i am afraid that edwards's book (however well meant,) has done much harm in england, as it has secured a favourable hearing to the same doctrines, which, since the time of clarke, had been generally ranked among the most dangerous errors of hobbes and his disciples."--_dugald stewart_. new-york: john s. taylor, theological publisher and bookseller, brick church chapel, . entered according to the act of congress, in the year , by henry philip tappan, in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states, for the southern district of new-york. g. f. hopkins, printer, ann-street. introduction. discussions respecting the will, have, unhappily, been confounded with theological opinions, and hence have led to theological controversies, where predilections for a particular school or sect, have generally prejudged the conclusions of philosophy. as a part of the mental constitution, the will must be subjected to the legitimate methods of psychological investigation, and must abide the result. if we enter the field of human consciousness in the free, fearless, and honest spirit of baconian observation in order to arrive at the laws of the reason or the imagination, what should prevent us from pursuing the same enlightened course in reference to the will? is it because responsibility and the duties of morality and religion are more immediately connected with the will? this, indeed, throws solemnity around our investigations, and warns us of caution; but, at the same time, so far from repressing investigation, it affords the highest reason why we should press it to the utmost limit of consciousness. nothing surely can serve more to fix our impressions of moral obligation, or to open our eye to the imperishable truth and excellency of religion, than a clear and ripe knowledge of that which makes us the subjects of duty. as a believer in philosophy, i claim unbounded liberty of thought, and by thinking i hope to arrive at truth. as a believer in the bible i always anticipate that the truths to which philosophy leads me, will harmonize with its facts and doctrines. if in the result there should appear to be a collision, it imposes upon me the duty of re-examining both my philosophy and my interpretation of the text. in this way i may in the end remove the difficulty, and not only so, but even gain from the temporary and apparent collision, a deeper insight into both philosophy and religion. if the difficulty cannot be removed, then it remains a vexed point. it does not follow, however, that i must either renounce the philosophical conclusion, or remove the text. if the whole of philosophy or its leading truths were in opposition to the whole of revelation or its leading truths, we should then evidently be placed on the alternative of denying one or the other; but as the denial of philosophy would be the destruction of reason, there would no longer remain in our being any principle on which a revelation could be received. such a collision would therefore disprove the claims of any system to be from heaven. but let us suppose, on the other hand, that with every advance of philosophy the facts of the bible are borne aloft, and their divine authority and their truth made more manifest, have we not reason to bless the researches which have enabled us to perceive more clearly the light from heaven? a system of truth does not fear, it courts philosophical scrutiny. its excellency will be most resplendent when it has had the most fiery trial of thought. nothing would so weaken my faith in the bible as the fact of being compelled to tremble for its safety whenever i claimed and exercised the prerogative of reason. and what i say of it as a whole, i say of doctrines claiming to be derived from it. theologists are liable to impose upon themselves when they argue from the truths of the bible to the truths of their philosophy; either under the view that the last are deducible from the former, or that they serve to account for and confirm the former. how often is their philosophy drawn from some other source, or handed down by old authority, and rendered venerable by associations arbitrary and accidental; and instead of sustaining the simplicity of the bible, the doctrine is perhaps cast into the mould of the philosophy. it is a maxim commended by reason and confirmed by experience, that in pursuing our investigations in any particular science we are to confine ourselves rigorously to its subjects and methods, neither seeking nor fearing collision with any other science. we may feel confident that ultimately science will be found to link with science, forming a universal and harmonious system of truth; but this can by no means form the principle of our particular investigations. the application of this maxim is no less just and necessary where a philosophy or science holds a relation to revelation. it is a matter of the highest interest that in the developements of such philosophy or science, it should be found to harmonize with the revelation; but nevertheless this cannot be received as the principle on which we shall aim to develope it. if there is a harmony, it must be discovered; it cannot be invented and made. the cardinals determined upon the authority of scripture, as they imagined, what the science of astronomy must be, and compelled the old man gallileo to give the lie to his reason; and since then, the science of geology has been attempted, if not to be settled, at least to be limited in its researches in the same way. science, however, has pursued her steady course resistlessly, settling her own bounds and methods, and selecting her own fields, and giving to the world her own discoveries. and is the truth of the bible unsettled? no. the memory of gallileo and of cuvier is blessed by the same lips which name the name of christ. now we ask the same independence of research in the philosophy of the human mind, and no less with respect to the will than with respect to any other faculty. we wish to make this purely a psychological question. let us not ask what philosophy is demanded by calvinism in opposition to pelagianism and arminianism, or by the latter in opposition to the former; let us ask simply for the laws of our being. in the end we may present another instance of truth honestly and fearlessly sought in the legitimate exercise of our natural reason, harmonizing with truths revealed. one thing is certain; the bible no more professes to be a system of formal mental philosophy, than it professes to contain the sciences of astronomy and geology. if mental philosophy is given there, it is given in facts of history, individual and national, in poetry, prophecy, law, and ethics; and as thus given, must be collected into a system by observation and philosophical criticism. but observations upon these external facts could not possibly be made independently of observations upon internal facts--the facts of the consciousness; and the principles of philosophical criticism can be obtained only in the same way. to him who looks not within himself, poetry, history, law, ethics, and the distinctions of character and conduct, would necessarily be unintelligible. no one therefore can search the bible for its philosophy, who has not already read philosophy in his own being. we shall find this amply confirmed in the whole history of theological opinion. every interpreter of the bible, every author of a creed, every founder of a sect, plainly enough reveals both the principles of his philosophy and their influence upon himself. every man who reflects and aims to explain, is necessarily a philosopher, and has his philosophy. instead therefore of professing to oppose the bible to philosophy, or instead of the pretence of deducing our philosophy solely and directly from the bible, let us openly declare that we do not discard philosophy, but seek it in its own native fields; and that inasmuch as it has a being and a use, and is related to all that we know and do, we are therefore determined to pursue it in a pure, truth-loving spirit. i am aware, however, that the doctrine of the will is so intimately associated with great and venerable names, and has so long worn a theological complexion, that it is well nigh impossible to disintegrate it. the authority of great and good men, and theological interests, even when we are disposed to be candid, impartial, and independent, do often insensibly influence our reasonings. it is out of respect to these old associations and prejudices, and from the wish to avoid all unnecessary strangeness of manner in handling an old subject, and more than all, to meet what are regarded by many as the weightiest and most conclusive reasonings on this subject, that i open this discussion with a review of "edwards's inquiry into the freedom of the will." there is no work of higher authority among those who deny the self-determining power of the will; and none which on this subject has called forth more general admiration for acuteness of thought and logical subtlety. i believe there is a prevailing impression that edwards must be fairly met in order to make any advance in an opposite argument. i propose no less than this attempt, presumptuous though it may seem, yet honest and made for truth's sake. truth is greater and more venerable than the names of great and venerable men, or of great and venerable sects: and i cannot believe that i seek truth with a proper love and veneration, unless i seek her, confiding in herself alone, neither asking the authority of men in her support, nor fearing a collision with them, however great their authority may be. it is my interest to think and believe aright, no less than to act aright; and as right action is meritorious not when compelled and accidental, but when free and made under the perception and conviction of right principles; so also right thinking and believing are meritorious, either in an intellectual or moral point of view, when thinking and believing are something more than gulping down dogmas because austin, or calvin, or arminius, presents the cup. facts of history or of description are legitimately received on testimony, but truths of our moral and spiritual being can be received only on the evidence of consciousness, unless the testimony be from god himself; and even in this case we expect that the testimony, although it may transcend consciousness, shall not contradict it. the internal evidence of the bible under the highest point of view, lies in this: that although there be revelations of that which transcends consciousness, yet wherever the truths come within the sphere of consciousness, there is a perfect harmony between the decisions of developed reason and the revelation. now in the application of these principles, if edwards have given us a true psychology in relation to the will, we have the means of knowing it. in the consciousness, and in the consciousness alone, can a doctrine of the will be ultimately and adequately tested. nor must we be intimidated from making this test by the assumption that the theory of edwards alone sustains moral responsibility and evangelical religion. moral responsibility and evangelical religion, if sustained and illustrated by philosophy, must take a philosophy which has already on its own grounds proved itself a true philosophy. moral responsibility and evangelical religion can derive no support from a philosophy which they are taken first to prove. but although i intend to conduct my argument rigidly on psychological principles, i shall endeavour in the end to show that moral responsibility is really sustained by this exposition of the will; and that i have not, to say the least, weakened one of the supports of evangelical religion, nor shorn it of one of its glories. the plan of my undertaking embraces the following particulars: i. a statement of edwards's system. ii. the legitimate consequences of this system. iii. an examination of the arguments against a self-determining will. iv. the doctrine of the will determined by an appeal to consciousness. v. this doctrine viewed in connexion with moral agency and responsibility. vi. this doctrine viewed in connexion with the truths and precepts of the bible. the first three complete the review of edwards, and make up the present volume. another volume is in the course of preparation. i. a statement of edwards's system. edwards's system, or, in other words, his philosophy of the will, is contained in part i. of his "inquiry into the freedom of the will." this part comprises five sections, which i shall give with their titles in his own order. my object is to arrive at truth. i shall therefore use my best endeavours to make this statement with the utmost clearness and fairness. in this part of my work, my chief anxiety is to have edwards perfectly understood. my quotations are made from the edition published by s. converse, new-york, . "sec. i.--concerning the nature of the will." edwards under this title gives his definition of the will. "_the will is, that by which the mind chooses anything_. the faculty of the _will_, is that power, or principle of mind, by which it is capable of choosing: an act of the _will_ is the same as an act of _choosing_ or _choice_." (p. .) he then identifies "choosing" and "refusing:" "in every act of refusal the mind chooses the absence of the thing refused." (p. .) the will is thus _the faculty of choice_. choice manifests itself either in relation to one object or several objects. where there is but one object, its possession or non-possession--its enjoyment or non-enjoyment--its presence or absence, is chosen. where there are several objects, and they are so incompatible that the possession, enjoyment, or presence of one, involves the refusal of the others, then choice manifests itself in fixing upon the particular object to be retained, and the objects to be set aside. this definition is given on the ground that any object being regarded as positive, may be contrasted with its negative: and that therefore the refusing a negative is equivalent to choosing a positive; and the choosing a negative, equivalent to refusing a positive, and vice versa. thus if the presence of an object be taken as positive, its absence is negative. to refuse the presence is therefore to choose the absence; and to choose the presence, to refuse the absence: so that every act of choosing involves refusing, and every act of refusing involves choosing; in other words, they are equivalents. _object of will._ the object in respect to which the energy of choice is manifested, inducing external action, or the action of any other faculty of the mind, is always an _immediate object_. although other objects may appear desirable, that alone is the object of choice which is the occasion of present action--that alone is chosen as the subject of thought on which i actually think--that alone is chosen as the object of muscular exertion respecting which muscular exertion is made. that is, every act of choice manifests itself by producing some change or effect in some other part of our being. "the thing next chosen or preferred, when a man wills to walk, is not his being removed to such a place where he would be, but such an exertion and motion of his legs and feet, &c. in order to it." the same principle applies to any mental exertion. _will and desire._ edwards never opposes will and desire. the only distinction that can possibly be made is that of genus and species. they are the same in _kind_. "i do not suppose that _will_ and _desire_ are words of precisely the same signification: _will_ seems to be a word of a more general signification, extending to things present and absent. _desire_ respects something absent. but yet i cannot think they are so entirely distinct that they can ever be properly said to run counter. a man never, in any instance, wills anything contrary to his desires, or desires anything contrary to his will. the thing which he wills, the very same he desires; and he does not will a thing and desire the _contrary_ in any particular." (p. .) the immediate object of will,--that object, in respect of which choice manifests itself by producing effects,--is also the object of desire; that is, of supreme desire, at that moment: so that, the object chosen is the object which appears most desirable; and the object which appears most desirable is always the object chosen. to produce an act of choice, therefore, we have only to awaken a preponderating desire. now it is plain, that desire cannot be distinguished from passion. that which we love, we desire to be present, to possess, to enjoy: that which we hate, we desire to be absent, or to be affected in some way. the loving an object, and the desiring its enjoyment, are identical: the hating it, and desiring its absence or destruction, or any similar affection of it, are likewise identical. the will, therefore, is not to be distinguished, at least in _kind_, from the emotions and passions: this will appear abundantly as we proceed. in other works he expressly identifies them: "i humbly conceive, that the affections of the soul are not properly distinguishable from the will; as though they were two faculties of soul." (revival of religion in new england, part i.) "god has endued the soul with two faculties: one is that by which it is capable of perception and speculation, or by which it discerns, and views, and judges of things; which is called the understanding. the other faculty is that by which the soul does not merely perceive and view things, but is in some way inclined with respect to the things it views or considers; either is inclined _to them_, or is disinclined or averse _from them_. this faculty is called by various names: it is sometimes called _inclination_; and as it has respect to the actions that are determined or governed by it, is called will. the _will_ and the _affections_ of the soul are not two faculties: the affections are not essentially distinct from the will, nor do they differ from the mere actings of the will and inclination of the soul, but only in the liveliness and sensibleness of exercise." (the nature of the affections, part i.) that edwards makes but two faculties of the mind, the understanding and the will, as well as identifies the will and the passions, is fully settled by the above quotation. "sec. ii.--concerning the determination of will." _meaning of the term._ "by _determining_ the will, if the phrase be used with any meaning, must be intended, _causing_ that the act of the will or choice should be thus and not otherwise; and the will is said to be determined, when in consequence of some action or influence, its choice is directed to, and fixed upon, some particular object. as when we speak of the determination of motion, we mean causing the motion of the body to be in such a direction, rather than in another. the determination of the will supposes an effect, which must have a cause. if the will be determined, there is a determiner." now the causation of choice and the determination of the will are here intended to be distinguished, no more than the causation of motion and the determination of the moving body. the cause setting a body in motion, likewise gives it a direction; and where there are several causes, a composition of the forces takes place, and determines both the extent and direction of the motion. so also the cause acting upon the will or the faculty of choice, in producing a choice determines its direction; indeed, choice cannot be conceived of, without also conceiving of something chosen, and where something is chosen, the direction of the choice is determined, that is, the will is determined. and where there are several causes acting upon the will, there is here likewise a composition of the mental forces, and the choice or the determination of the will takes place accordingly. (see p. .) choice or volition then being an effect must have a cause. what is this cause? _motive._ the cause of volition or choice is called motive. a cause setting a body in motion is properly called the motive of the body; hence, analogously, a cause exciting the will to choice is called the motive of the will. by long usage the proper sense of motive is laid aside, and it has come now to express only the cause or reason of volition. "by _motive_ i mean the whole of that which moves, excites, or invites the mind to volition, whether that be one thing singly, or many things conjointly. and when i speak of the _strongest motive_, i have respect to the strength of the whole that operates to induce a particular act of volition, whether that be the strength of one thing alone, or of many together." and "_that motive which, as it stands in view of the mind, is the strongest, determines the will_." (p. .) this is general, and means nothing more than-- . the cause of volition is called motive; . that where there are several causes or motives of volition, the strongest cause prevails; . the cause is often complex; . in estimating the strength of the cause, if it be complex, all the particulars must be considered in their co-operation; and, . the strength of the motive "stands in view of the mind," that is, it is something which the mind knows or is sensible of. _what constitutes the strength of motive?_ "everything that is properly called a motive, excitement, or inducement, to a perceiving, willing agent, has some sort and degree of _tendency_ or _advantage_ to move or excite the will, previous to the effect, or to the act of will excited. this previous tendency of the motive is what i call the _strength_ of the motive." when different objects are presented to the mind, they awaken certain emotions, and appear more or less "inviting." (p. .) in the impression thus at once produced, we perceive their "tendency or advantage to move or excite the will." it is a preference or choice anticipated, an instantaneous perception of a quality in the object which we feel would determine our choice, if we were called upon to make a choice. the object is felt to be adapted to the state of the mind, and the state of the mind to the object. they are felt to be reciprocal. _what is this quality which makes up the previous tendency?_ "whatever is perceived or apprehended by an intelligent and voluntary agent, which has the nature and influence of a motive to volition or choice, is considered or viewed _as good_; nor has it any tendency to engage the election of the soul in any further degree than it appears such." now, as the will is determined by the strongest motive; and as the strength of motive lies in the previous tendency; and as the previous tendency is made up of the quality of goodness; and as the highest degree of this quality in any given case makes the strongest motive; therefore, it follows that the "_will is always as the greatest apparent good is_." (p. .) _the sense in which the term_ "good" _is used._ "i use the term _'good'_ as of the same import with _'agreeable.'_ to appear _good_ to the mind, as i use the phrase, is the same as to _appear agreeable_, or _seem pleasing_ to the mind. if it tends to draw the inclination and move the will, it must be under the notion of that which _suits_ the mind. and therefore that must have the greatest tendency to attract and engage it, which, as it stands in the mind's view, suits it best, and pleases it most; and in that sense is the greatest apparent good. the word _good_ in this sense includes the avoiding of evil, or of that which is disagreeable and uneasy." (p. .) it follows then that the will is always determined by that which _seems most pleasing or appears most agreeable_ to the mind. this conclusion is in perfect accordance with the position with which edwards set out: that will is always as the preponderating desire; indeed, that the will is the same in kind with desire, or with the affections; and an act of will or choice, nothing more than the strongest desire in reference to an immediate object, and a desire producing an effect in our mental or physical being. the determination of will is the strongest excitement of passion. that which determines will is the cause of passion. the strength of the cause lies in its perceived tendency to excite the passions and afford enjoyment. as possessing this tendency, it is called _good_, or _pleasing_, or _agreeable_; that is, suiting the state of the mind or the condition of the affections. the _"good"_ which forms the characteristic of a cause or motive is an immediate good, or a good "in the present view of the mind." (p. .) thus a drunkard, before he drinks, may be supposed to weigh against each other the present pleasure of drinking and the remote painful consequences; and the painful consequences may appear to him to be greater than the present pleasure. but still the question truly in his mind, when he comes to drink, respects the present act of drinking only; and if this seems to him most pleasing, then he drinks. "if he wills to drink, then drinking is the proper object of the act of his will; and drinking, on some account or other, now appears most agreeable to him, and suits him best. if he chooses to refrain, then refraining is the immediate object of his will, and is most pleasing to him." the reasoning is, that when the drunkard drinks, we are not to conclude that he has chosen future misery over future good, but that the act of drinking, in itself, is the object of choice; so that, in the view he has taken of it, it is to him the greatest apparent good. in general we may say, in accordance with this principle, that whenever the act of choice takes place, the object of that act comes up before the mind in such a way as to seem most pleasing to the mind; it is at the moment, and in the immediate relation, the greatest apparent good. the man thus never chooses what is disagreeable, but always what is agreeable to him. _proper use of the term_ most agreeable, _in relation to the will._ "i have chosen rather to express myself thus, _that the will always is as the greatest apparent good_, or _as what appears most agreeable_, than to say the will is _determined by_ the greatest apparent good, or by what seems most agreeable; because an appearing most agreeable to the mind, and the mind's preferring, seem scarcely distinct. if strict propriety of speech be insisted on, it may more properly be said, that the _voluntary action_, which is the immediate _consequence_ of the mind's choice, is determined by that which appears most agreeable, than the choice itself." (p. , .) here _the perception or sense of the most agreeable_ is identified in express terms with _volition_ or _choice_. "the will is as the most agreeable,"--that is, _the determination of will_, which means _its actual choice_, as a fact of the consciousness is embraced in the _sense of the most agreeable;_ and as the _voluntary action_, or the action, or change, or effect, following volition, in any part of our being,--as to walk, or talk, or read, or think,--has its cause in the volition, or the "mind's choice,"--so it is entirely proper to say, either that this voluntary action is determined by the volition or that it is determined by the sense of the most agreeable. edwards's meaning plainly is, that the terms are convertible: volition may be called the cause of voluntary action, or the sense of the most agreeable may be called the cause. this is still a carrying out of the position, that _the will is as the desire_. "the greatest apparent good" being identical with "the most agreeable," and this again being identical with _the most desirable_, it must follow, that whenever, in relation to any object, the mind is affected with _the sense of the most agreeable_, it presents the phenomenon of "volition" or "choice;" and still farther, that which is chosen is the most agreeable object; and is known to be such by the simple fact that it is chosen; for its being chosen, means nothing more than that it affects the mind with the sense of the most agreeable,--and the most agreeable is that which is chosen, and cannot be otherwise than chosen; for its being most agreeable, means nothing more than that it is the object of the mind's choice or sense of the most agreeable. the object, and the mind regarded as a sensitive or willing power, are correlatives, and choice is the unition of both: so that if we regard choice as characterizing the object, then the object is affirmed to be the most agreeable; and if, on the other side, we regard choice as characterizing the mind, then the mind is affirmed to be affected with the sense of the most agreeable. _cause of choice, or of the sense of the most agreeable._ "volition itself is always determined by that in or about the mind's view of the object, which causes it to appear most agreeable. i say _in or about the mind's view of the object;_ because what has influence to render an object in view agreeable, is not only what appears in the object viewed, but also the manner of the view, and the _state and circumstances_ of the mind that views." (p. .) choice being the unition of the mind's sensitivity and the object,--that is, being an affection of the sensitivity, by reason of its perfect agreement and correlation with the object, and of course of the perfect agreement and correlation of the object with the sensitivity, in determining the cause of choice, we must necessarily look both to the mind and the object. edwards accordingly gives several particulars in relation to each. i. in relation to the object, the sense of the most agreeable, or choice, will depend upon,-- . the beauty of the object, "viewing it as it is _in itself_," independently of circumstances. . "the apparent degree of pleasure or trouble attending the object, or _the consequence_ of it," or the object taken with its "concomitants" and consequences. . "the apparent _state_ of the pleasure or trouble that appears with respect to _distance of time_. it is a thing in itself agreeable to the mind, to have pleasure speedily; and disagreeable to have it delayed." (p. .) ii. in relation to mind, the sense of agreeableness will depend, first, upon the _manner_ of the mind's view; secondly, upon the state of mind. edwards, under the first, speaks of the object as connected with future pleasure. here the manner of the mind's view will have influence in two respects: . the certainty or uncertainty which the mind judges to attach to the pleasure; . the liveliness of the sense, or of the imagination, which the mind has of it. now these may be in different degrees, compounded with different degrees of pleasure, considered in itself; and "the agreeableness of a proposed object of choice will be in a degree some way compounded of the degree of good supposed by the judgement, the degree of apparent probability or certainty of that good, and the degree of liveliness of the idea the mind has of that good." (p. .) secondly: in reference to objects generally, whether connected with present or future pleasure, the sense of agreeableness will depend also upon "the _state of the mind_ which views a proposed object of choice." (p. .) here we have to consider "the particular temper which the mind has by nature, or that has been introduced or established by education, example, custom, or some other means; or the frame or state that the mind is in on a particular occasion." (ibid.) edwards here suggests, that it may be unnecessary to consider the _state of the mind_ as a ground of agreeableness distinct from the two already mentioned: viz.--the _nature and circumstances of the object_, and the _manner of the view_. "perhaps, if we strictly consider the matter," he remarks, "the different temper and state of the mind makes no alteration as to the agreeableness of objects in any other way, than as it makes the objects themselves appear differently; _beautiful_ or _deformed_, having apparent pleasure or pain attending them; and as it occasions the _manner_ of the view to be different, causes the idea of beauty or deformity, pleasure or uneasiness, to be more or less lively." (ibid.) in this remark, edwards shows plainly how completely he makes mind and object to run together in choice, or how perfect a unition of the two, choice is. the _state of the mind_ is manifested only in relation to _the nature and circumstances of the object;_ and the sense of agreeableness being in the correlation of the two, _the sense of the most agreeable_ or _choice_ is such a perfect unition of the two, that, having described the object in its nature and circumstances in relation to _the most agreeable_, we have comprehended in this the _state of mind_. on the other hand, the nature and circumstances of the object, in relation to the most agreeable, can be known only by the state of mind produced by the presence of the object and its circumstances. to give an example,--let a rose be the object. when i describe the beauty and agreeableness of this object, i describe the _state of mind_ in relation to it; for its beauty and agreeableness are identical with the sensations and emotions which i experience, hence, in philosophical language, called the _secondary_ qualities of the object: and so, on the other hand, if i describe my sensations and emotions in the presence of the rose, i do in fact describe its beauty and agreeableness. the mind and object are thus united in the sense of agreeableness. i could not have this sense of agreeableness without an object; but when the object is presented to my mind, they are so made for each other, that they seem to melt together in the pleasurable emotion. the sense of the most agreeable or choice may be illustrated in the same way. the only difference between the agreeable simply and the most agreeable is this: the agreeable refers merely to an emotion awakened on the immediate presentation of an object, without any comparison or competition. the most agreeable takes place where there is comparison and competition. thus, to prefer or choose a rose above a violet is a sense of the most agreeable of the two. in some cases, however, that which is refused is positively disagreeable. the choice, in strictness of speech, in these cases, is only a sense of the agreeable. as, however, in every instance of choosing, there are two terms formed by contemplating the act of choosing itself in the contrast of positive and negative, the phrase _most agreeable_ or _greatest apparent good_ is convenient for general use, and sufficiently precise to express every case which comes up. it may be well here to remark, that in the system we are thus endeavouring to state and to illustrate, the word _choice_ is properly used to express the action of will, when that action is viewed in relation to its immediate effects,--as when i say, i choose to walk. _the sense of the most agreeable_, is properly used to express the same action, when the action is viewed in relation to its own cause. choice and volition are the words in common use, because men at large only think of choice and volition in reference to effects. but when the cause of choice is sought after by a philosophic mind, and is supposed to lie in the nature and circumstances of mind and object, then the _sense of the most agreeable_ becomes the most appropriate form of expression. edwards concludes his discussion of the cause of the most agreeable, by remarking: "however, i think so much is certain,--that volition, in no one instance that can be mentioned, is otherwise than the greatest apparent good is, in the manner which has been explained." this is the great principle of his system; and, a few sentences after, he states it as an axiom, or a generally admitted truth: "there is scarcely a plainer and more universal dictate of the sense and experience of mankind, than that when men act voluntarily and do what they please, then they do what suits them best, or what is most agreeable to them." indeed, edwards cannot be considered as having attempted to prove this; he has only explained it, and therefore it is only the _explanation_ of a supposed axiom that we have been following out. this supposed axiom is really announced in the first section: "will and desire do not run counter at all: the thing which he wills, the very same he desires;" that is, a man wills as he desires, and of course wills what is most agreeable to him. it is to be noticed, also, that the title of part i. runs as follows: "wherein are explained and stated various terms and things, &c." receiving it, therefore, as a generally admitted truth, "that choice or volition is always as the most agreeable," and is itself only the sense of the most agreeable, what is the explanation given? . that will, or the faculty of choice, is not a faculty distinct from the affections or passions, or that part of our being which philosophers sometimes call the sensitivity. . that volition, or choice, or preference, being at any given moment and under any given circumstances the strongest inclination, or the strongest affection and desire with regard to an immediate object, appears in the constitution of our being as the antecedent of effects in the mind itself, or in the body; which effects are called voluntary actions,--as acts of attention, or of talking, or walking. . to say that volition is as the desire, is equivalent to saying that volition is as the "greatest apparent good," which again means only the most agreeable,--so that the volition becomes again the _sense or feeling of the greatest apparent good_. there is in all this only a variety of expressions for the same affection of the sensitivity. . determination of will is actual choice, or the production in the mind of volition, or choice, or the strongest affection, or the sense of the most agreeable, or of the greatest apparent good. it is therefore an effect, and must have a determiner or cause. . this determiner or cause is called motive. in explaining what constitutes the motive, we must take into view both _mind_ and _object_. the object must be perceived by the mind as something existent. this perception, however, is only preliminary, or a mere introduction of the object to the mind. now, in order that the sense of the most agreeable, or choice, may take place, the mind and object must be suited to each other; they must be correlatives. the object must possess qualities of beauty and agreeableness to the mind. the mind must possess a susceptibility agreeable to the qualities of the object. but to say that the object possesses qualities of beauty and agreeableness to the mind, is in fact to affirm that the mind has the requisite susceptibility; for these qualities of the object have a being, and are what they are only in relation to mind. choice, or the sense of agreeableness, may therefore be called the unition of the sensitivity and the object. choice is thus, like any emotion or passion, a fact perpetually appearing in the consciousness; and, like emotion or passion; and, indeed, being a mere form of emotion and passion, must ultimately be accounted for by referring it to the constitution of our being. but inasmuch as the constitution of our being manifests itself in relation to objects and circumstances, we do commonly account for its manifestations by referring them to the objects and circumstances in connexion with which they take place, and without which they would not take place; and thus, as we say, the cause of passion is the object of passion: so we say also, in common parlance, the cause of choice is the object of choice; and assigning the affections of the mind springing up in the presence of the object, to the object, as descriptive of its qualities, we say that choice is always as the most beautiful and agreeable; that is, as the greatest apparent good. this greatest apparent good, thus _objectively_ described, is the motive, or determiner, or cause of volition. _in what sense the will follows the last dictate of the understanding._ "it appears from these things, that in some sense _the will always follows the last dictate of the understanding_. but then the understanding must be taken in a large sense, as including the whole faculty of perception or apprehension, and not merely what is called _reason_ or _judgement_. if by the dictate of the understanding is meant what reason declares to be best, or most for the person's happiness, taking in the whole of its duration, it is not true that the will always follows the last dictate of the understanding. such a dictate of reason is quite a different matter from things appearing now most _agreeable_, all things being put together which relates to the mind's present perceptions in any respect." (p. .) the "large sense" in which edwards takes the understanding, embraces the whole intellectual and sensitive being. in the production of choice, or the sense of the most agreeable, the suggestions of reason may have their influence, and may work in with other particulars to bring about the result; but then they are subject to the same condition with the other particulars,--they must appear, at the moment and in the immediate circumstances, the most agreeable. it is not enough that they come from reason, and are true and right; they must likewise _suit the state of the mind_,--for as choice is the sense of the most agreeable, that only as an object can tend to awaken this sense, which is properly and agreeably related to the feelings of the subject. where the suggestions of reason are not agreeably related, "the act of the will is determined in opposition to it." (ibid.) "sec. iii.--concerning the meaning of the terms necessity, impossibility, inability, &c. and of contingence." after having settled his definition of choice or volition, and explained the cause of the same, edwards takes up the nature of the connexion between this cause and effect: viz. motive and volition. is this connexion a necessary connexion? in order to determine this point, and to explain his view of it, he proceeds to discuss the meaning of the terms contained in the above title. this section is entirely occupied with this preliminary discussion. edwards makes two kinds of necessity: . necessity as understood in the common or vulgar use; . necessity as understood in the philosophical or metaphysical use. . in common use, _necessity_ "is a relative term, and relates to some supposed opposition made to the existence of a thing, which opposition is overcome or proves insufficient to hinder or alter it. the word _impossible_ is manifestly a relative term, and has reference to supposed power exerted to bring a thing to pass which is insufficient for the effect. the word _unable_ is relative, and has relation to ability, or endeavour, which is insufficient. the word _irresistible_ is relative, and has reference to resistance which is made, or may be made, to some force or power tending to an effect, and is insufficient to withstand the power or hinder the effect. the common notion of necessity and impossibility implies _something that frustrates endeavour or desire_." he then distinguishes this necessity into _general and particular_. "things are necessary _in general_, which are or will be, notwithstanding any supposable opposition, from whatever quarter:" e. g. that god will judge the world. "things are necessary _to us_ which are or will be, notwithstanding all opposition supposable in the case _from us_." this is _particular_ necessity: e. g. any event which i cannot hinder. in the discussions "about liberty and moral agency," the word is used especially in a particular sense, because we are concerned in these discussions _as individuals_. according to this _common use_ of necessity in the _particular_ sense, "when we speak of any thing necessary _to us_, it is with relation to some supposable opposition _to our wills;_" and "a thing is said to be necessary" in this sense "when we cannot help it, do what _we will_." so also a thing is said to be _impossible to us_ when we cannot do it, although we make the attempt,--that is, put forth the volition; and _irresistible to us_, which, when we put forth a volition to hinder it, overcomes the opposition: and we are _unable_ to do a thing "when our supposable desires and endeavours are insufficient,"--are not followed by any effect. in the common or vulgar use of these terms, we are not considering volition in relation to its own cause; but we are considering volition as itself a cause in relation to its own effects: e. g. suppose a question be raised, whether a certain man can raise a certain weight,--if it be affirmed that it is _impossible_ for him to raise it, that he has not the _ability_ to raise it, and that the weight will _necessarily_ keep its position,--no reference whatever is made to the production of a volition or choice to raise it, but solely to the connexion between the _volition_ and the _raising of the weight_. now edwards remarks, that this common use of the term necessity and its cognates being habitual, is likely to enter into and confound our reasonings on subjects where it is inadmissible from the nature of the case. we must therefore be careful to discriminate. (p. .) . in metaphysical or philosophical use, necessity is not a _relative_, but an _absolute term_. in this use necessity applies "in cases wherein no insufficient will is supposed, or can be supposed; but the very nature of the supposed case itself excludes any opposition, will, or endeavour." (ibid.) thus it is used "with respect to god's existence before the creation of the world, when there was no other being." "_metaphysical_ or _philosophical_ necessity is nothing different from certainty,--not the certainty of knowledge, but the certainty of things in themselves, which is the foundation of the certainty of knowledge, or that wherein lies the ground of the infallibility of the proposition which affirms them. philosophical necessity is really nothing else than the full and fixed connexion between the things signified by the subject and predicate of a proposition which affirms something to be true; and in this sense i use the word necessity, in the following discourse, when i endeavour to prove _that necessity is not inconsistent with liberty_." (p. , , .) "the subject and predicate of a proposition which affirms the existence of something, may have a full, fixed, and certain connexion, in several ways." " . they, may have a full and perfect connexion _in and of themselves_. so god's infinity and other attributes are necessary. so it is necessary, _in its own nature_, that two and two should be four." . the subject and predicate of a proposition, affirming the existence of something which is already come to pass, are fixed and certain. . the subject and predicate of a proposition may be fixed and certain _consequentially_,--and so the existence of the things affirmed may be "consequentially necessary." "things which are _perfectly connected_ with the things that are necessary, are necessary themselves, by a necessity of consequence." this is logical necessity. "and here it may be observed, that all things which are future, or which will hereafter begin to be, which can be said to be necessary, are necessary only in this last way,"--that is, "by a connexion with something that is necessary in its own nature, or something that already is or has been. this is the necessity which especially belongs to controversies about acts of the will." (p. .) philosophical necessity is _general_ and _particular._ . "the existence of a thing may be said to be necessary with a _general_ necessity, when all things considered there is a foundation for the certainty of its existence." this is unconditional necessity in the strictest sense. . _particular_ necessity refers to "things that happen to particular persons, in the existence of which, no will of theirs has any concern, at least at that time; which, whether they are necessary or not with regard to things in general, yet are necessary to them, and with regard to any volition of theirs at that time, as they prevent all acts of the will about the affair." (p. .) this particular necessity is absolute to the individual, because his will has nothing to do with it--whether it be absolute or not in the general sense, does not affect his case. "what has been said to show the meaning of terms _necessary_ and _necessity_, may be sufficient for the explaining of the opposite terms _impossible_ and _impossibility_. for there is no difference, but only the latter are negative and the former positive." (ibid.) _inability and unable._ "it has been observed that these terms in their original and common use, have relation to will and endeavour, as supposable in the case." that is have relation to the connexion of volition with effects. "but as these terms are often used by philosophers and divines, especially writers on controversies about free will, they are used in a quite different and far more extensive sense, and are applied to many cases wherein no will or endeavour for the bringing of the thing to pass is or can be supposed:" e. g. the connexion between volitions and their causes or motives. _contingent and contingency._ "any thing is said to be contingent, or to come to pass by chance or accident, in the original meaning of such words, when its connexion with its causes or antecedents, according to the established course of things, is not discerned; and so is what we have no means of foreseeing. but the word, contingent, is abundantly used in a very different sense; not for that, whose connexion with the series of things we cannot discern so as to foresee the event, but for something which has absolutely no previous ground or reason, with which its existence has any fixed connexion." (p. . .) contingency and chance edwards uses as equivalent terms. in common use, contingency and chance are relative to our knowledge--implying that we discern no cause. in another use,--the use of a certain philosophical school,--he affirms that contingency is used to express absolutely no cause; or, that some events are represented as existing without any cause or ground of their existence. this will be examined in its proper place. i am now only stating edwards's opinions, not discussing them. sec. iv. of the distinction of natural and moral necessary and inability. we now return to the question:--is the connexion between motive and volition necessary? the term necessary, in its common or vulgar use, does not relate to this question, for in that use as we have seen, it refers to the connexion between volition considered as a cause, and its effects. in this question, we are considering volition as an effect in relation to its cause or the motive. if the connexion then of motive and volition be necessary, it must be necessary in the philosophical or metaphysical sense of the term. now this philosophical necessity edwards does hold to characterize the connexion of motive and volition. this section opens with the following distinction of philosophical necessity: "that necessity which has been explained, consisting in an infallible connexion of the things signified by the subject and predicate of a proposition, as intelligent beings are the subjects of it, is distinguished into _moral_ and _natural_ necessity." he then appropriates _moral philosophical necessity_ to express the nature of the connexion between motive and volition: "and sometimes by moral necessity is meant that necessity of connexion and _consequence_ which arises from _moral causes_, as the strength of inclination, or motives, and the connexion which there is in many cases between these, and such certain volitions and actions. and it is in _this_ sense that i use the phrase _moral necessity_ in the following discourse." (p. .) natural _philosophical_ necessity as distinguished from this, he employs to characterize the connexion between natural causes and phenomena of our being, as the connexion of external objects with our various sensations, and the connexion between truth and our assent or belief. (p. .) in employing the term _moral_, however, he does not intend to intimate that it affects at all the absoluteness of the necessity which it distinguishes; on the contrary, he affirms that "moral necessity may be as absolute as natural necessity. that is, the effect may be as perfectly connected with its moral cause, as a natural necessary effect is with its natural cause. it must be allowed that there may be such a thing as a _sure_ and _perfect_ connexion between moral causes and effects; so this only (i. e. the sure and perfect connexion,) is what i call by the name of _moral necessity_." (p. .) nor does he intend "that when a moral habit or motive is so strong that the act of the will infallibly follows, this is not owing to the _nature of things!_" but these terms, moral and natural, are convenient to express a difference which really exists; a difference, however, which "does not lie so much in the nature of the _connexion_ as in the two terms _connected_." indeed, he soon after admits "that choice in _many cases_ arises from nature, as truly as other events." his sentiment is plainly this choice lies in the great system and chain of nature as truly as any other phenomenon, arising from its antecedent and having its consequents or effects: but we have appropriated nature to express the chain of causes and effects, which lie without us, and which are most obvious to us; and choice being, "as it were, a new principle of motion and action," lying within us, and often interrupting or altering the external course of nature, seems to demand a peculiar designation. (p. .) edwards closes his remarks on moral necessity by justifying his reduction of motive and volition under philosophical necessity. "it must be observed, that in what has been explained, as signified by the name of _moral necessity_, the word _necessity_ is not used according to the original design and meaning of the word; for, as was observed before, such terms, _necessary, impossible, irresistible,_ &c. in common speech, and their most proper sense, are always relative, having reference to some supposable voluntary opposition or endeavour, that is insufficient. but no such opposition, or contrary will and endeavour, is supposable in the case of moral necessity; which is a certainty of the inclination and will itself; which does not admit of the supposition of a will to oppose and resist it. for it is absurd to suppose the same individual will to oppose itself in its present act; or the present choice to be opposite to, and resisting present choice: as absurd as it is to talk of two contrary motions in the same moving body at the same time. and therefore the very case supposed never admits of any trial, whether an opposing or resisting will can overcome this necessity." (p. .) this passage is clear and full. common necessity, or necessity in the original use of the word, refers to the connexion between volition and its effects; for here an opposition to will is supposable. i may choose or will to raise a weight; but the gravity opposed to my endeavour overcomes it, and i find it _impossible_ for me to raise it, and the weight _necessarily_ remains in its place. in this common use of these terms, the _impossibility_ and the _necessity_ are _relative_ to my volition; but in the production of choice itself, or volition, or the sense of the most agreeable, there is no reference to voluntary endeavour. choice is not the cause of itself: it cannot be conceived of as struggling with itself in its own production. the cause of volition does not lie within the sphere of volition itself; if any opposition, therefore, were made to the production of a volition, it could not be made by a volition. the mind, with given susceptibilities and habits, is supposed to be placed within the influence of objects and their circumstances, and the choice takes place in the correlation of the two, as the sense of the most agreeable. now choice cannot exist before its cause, and so there can be no choice in the act of its causation. it comes into existence, therefore, by no necessity relating to voluntary endeavour; it comes into existence by a philosophical and absolute necessity of cause and effect. it is necessary as the falling of a stone which is thrown into the air; as the freezing or boiling of water at given temperatures; as sensations of sight, sound, smell, taste, and feeling, when the organs of sense and the objects of sense are brought together. the application of the epithet _moral_ to the necessity of volition, evidently does not alter in the least the character of that necessity. it is still philosophical and absolute necessity, and as sure and perfect as natural necessity. this we have seen he expressly admits, (p. ;) affirming, (p. ,) that the difference between a moral and natural necessity is a mere difference in the "two terms connected," and not a difference "_in the nature of the connexion_." _natural and moral inability._ "what has been said of natural and moral necessity, may serve to explain what is intended by natural and moral _inability_. we are said to be _naturally_ unable to do a thing, when we cannot do it if we will, because what is most commonly called _nature_ does not allow of it, or because of some impeding defect or obstacle that is extrinsic to the will; either in the faculty of the understanding, constitution of body, or external objects." (p. .) we may make a voluntary endeavour to know something, and may find ourselves _unable_, through a defect of the understanding. we may make a voluntary effort _to do_ something by the instrumentality of our hand, and may find ourselves unable through a defect of the bodily constitution; or external objects may be regarded as presenting such a counter force as to overcome the force we exert. this is natural inability; this is all we mean by it. it must be remarked too, that this is _inability_ not _metaphysically_ or _philosophically_ considered, and therefore not _absolute_ inability; but only inability in the common and vulgar acceptation of the term--a relative inability, relative to volition or choice--an inability to do, although we will to do. what is moral inability? "moral inability consists not in any of these things; but either in the want of inclination, or the strength of a contrary inclination, or the want of sufficient motives in view, to induce and excite the act of will, or the strength of apparent motives to the contrary. or both these may be resolved into one; and it may be said, in one word, that moral inability consists in the opposition or want of inclination. for when a person is unable to will or choose such a thing, through a defect of motives, or prevalence of contrary motives, it is the same thing as his being unable through the want of an inclination, or the prevalence of a contrary inclination, in such circumstances and under the influence of such views." (bid.) the inability in this case does not relate to the connexion between volition and its consequents and effects; _but to the production of the volition itself_. now the inability to the production of a volition, cannot be affirmed of the volition, because it is not yet supposed to exist, and as an effect cannot be conceived of as producing itself. the inability, therefore, must belong to the causes of volition, or to the motive. but motive, as we have seen, lies in the _state of the mind_, and in the _nature and circumstances of the object;_ and choice or volition exists when, in the correlation of mind and object, the sense of the most agreeable is produced. now what reason can exist, in any given case, why the volition or sense of the most agreeable is not produced? why simply this, that there is not such a correlation of mind and object as to produce this sense or choice. but wherein lies the deficiency? we may say generally, that it lies in both mind and object--that they are not suited to each other. the mind is not _in a state_ to be agreeably impressed by the object, and the object does not possess qualities of beauty and agreeableness to the mind. on the part of the mind, there is either a want of inclination to the object, or a stronger inclination towards another object: on the part of the object, there is a want of interesting and agreeable qualities to the _particular state_ of mind in question, or a _suitableness_ to a different state of mind: and this constitutes "the want of sufficient motives in view, to induce and excite the act of will, or the strength of apparent motives to the contrary." and both these may clearly be resolved into one, that above mentioned, viz, a want of inclination on the part of the mind to the object, and a stronger inclination towards another object; or, as edwards expresses it, "the opposition or want of inclination." for a want of inclination to one object, implying a stronger inclination to another object, expresses that the _state of the mind_, and the nature and circumstances of the one object, are not correlated; but that the _state of mind_, and the nature and circumstances of the other object, are correlated. the first, is a "want of sufficient motives;" the second, stronger "motives to the contrary." moral inability lies entirely out of the sphere of volition; volition, therefore, cannot produce or relieve it, for this would suppose an effect to modify its cause, and that too before the effect itself has any existence. moral inability is a _metaphysical_ inability: it is the perfect and fixed impossibility of certain laws and principles of being, leading to certain volitions; and is contrasted with _physical inability_, which is the established impossibility of a certain volition, producing a certain effect. so we may say, that _moral ability_ is the certain and fixed connexion between certain laws and principles of being, and volitions; and is contrasted with _natural_ ability, which is the established connexion between certain volitions and certain effects. moral inability, although transcending the sphere of volition, is a _real inability_. where it exists, there is the absolute impossibility of a given volition,--and of course an absolute impossibility of certain effects coming to pass by that volition. the impossibility of water freezing above an established temperature, or of boiling below an established temperature, is no more fixed than the impossibility of effects coming to pass by a volition, when there is a moral inability of the volition. the difference between the two cases does not lie "in the nature of the connexion," but "in the two terms connected." edwards gives several instances in illustration of moral inability. "a woman of great honour and chastity may have a moral inability to prostitute herself to her slave." (ibid.) there is no correlation between _the state of her mind_ and _the act_ which forms the object contemplated,--of course the sense of the most agreeable or choice cannot take place; and while the state of her mind remains the same, and the act and its circumstances remain the same, there is, on the principle of edwards, an utter inability to the choice, and of course to the consequents of the choice. "a child of great love and duty to his parents, may be thus unable to kill his father." (ibid.) this case is similar to the preceding. "a very lascivious man, in case of certain opportunities and temptations, and in the absence of such and such restraints, may be unable to forbear gratifying his lust." there is here a correlation between _the state of mind_ and the _object_, in its _nature and circumstances_,--and of course the sense of the most agreeable or choice takes place. there is a _moral ability_ to the choice, and a _moral inability_ to forbear, or to choose the opposite. "a drunkard, under such and such circumstances, may be unable to forbear taking strong drink." (ibid.) this is similar to the last. "a very malicious man may be unable to exert benevolent acts to an enemy, or to desire his prosperity; yea, some may be so under the power of a vile disposition, that they may be unable to love those who are most worthy of their esteem and affection." (ibid.) the _state of mind_ is such,--that is, the disposition or sensitivity, as not to be at all correlated to the great duty of loving one's neighbour as one's self,--or to any moral excellency in another: of course the sense of the most agreeable is not produced; and in this state of mind it is absolutely impossible that it should be produced. "a strong habit of virtue, a great esteem of holiness, may cause a moral inability to love wickedness in general." (p. .) "on the other hand, a great degree of habitual wickedness may lay a man under an inability to love and choose holiness, and render him _utterly unable_ to love an infinitely holy being, or to choose and cleave to him as the chief good." (ibid.) the love and choice of holiness is necessarily produced by the correlation of the mind with holiness; and the love and choice of holiness is _utterly impossible_ when this correlation does not exist. where a moral inability to evil exists, nothing can be more sure and fixed than this inability. the individual who is the subject of it has absolutely no power to alter it. if he were to proceed to alter it, he would have to put forth a volition to this effect; but this would be an evil volition, and by supposition the individual has no ability to evil volitions. where a moral inability to good exists, nothing can be more sure and fixed than this inability. the individual who is the subject of it, has absolutely no power to alter it. if he were to proceed to alter it, he would have to put forth a volition to this effect; but this would be a good volition, and by supposition the individual has no ability to good volitions. _general and habitual, particular and occasional inability._ the first consists "in a fixed and habitual inclination, or an habitual and stated defect or want of a certain kind of inclination." (p. .) the second is "an inability of the will or heart to a particular act, through the strength or defect of present motives, or of inducements presented to the view of the understanding, _on this occasion_." (ibid.) an habitual drunkard, and a man habitually sober, on some _particular occasion_ getting drunk, are instances of general and particular inability. in the first instance, the _state_ of the man's mind has become correlated to the object; under all times and circumstances _it is fixed_. in the second instance, the _state_ of the man's mind is correlated to the object only when presented on certain occasions and under certain circumstances. in both instances, however, the choice is necessary,--"it not being possible, in any case, that the will should at present go against the motive which has now, all things considered, the greatest advantage to induce it." "will and endeavour against, or diverse from _present_ acts of the will, are in no case supposable, whether those acts be _occasional_ or _habitual_; for that would be to suppose the will at present to be otherwise than at present it is." (ibid.) the passage which follows deserves particular attention. it may be brought up under the following question: although will cannot be exerted against present acts of the will, yet can present acts of the will be exerted to produce future acts of the will, opposed to present habitual or present occasional acts? "but yet there may be will and endeavour against _future_ acts of the will, or volitions that are likely to take place, as viewed at a distance. it is no contradiction, to suppose that the acts of the will at one time may be against the act of the will at another time; and there may be desires and endeavours to prevent or excite future acts of the will; but such desires and endeavours are in many cases rendered insufficient and vain through fixedness of habit: when the occasion returns, the strength of habit overcomes and baffles all such opposition." (p. .) let us take the instance of the drunkard. the choice or volition to drink is the fixed correlation of his disposition and the strong drink. but we may suppose that his disposition can be affected by other objects likewise: as the consideration of the interest and happiness of his wife and children, and his own respectability and final happiness. when his cups are removed, and he has an occasional fit of satiety and loathing, these considerations may awaken at the time the sense of the most agreeable, and lead him to avoid the occasions of drunkenness, and to form resolutions of amendment; but when the appetite and longing for drink returns, and he comes again in the way of indulgence, then these considerations, brought fairly into collision with his habits, are overcome, and drinking, as the most agreeable, asserts its supremacy. "but it may be comparatively easy to make an alteration with respect to such future acts as are only _occasional_ and _transient_; because the occasional or transient cause, if foreseen, may often easily be prevented or avoided." (ibid.) in the case of occasional drunkenness, for instance, the habitual correlation is not of mind and strong drink, but of mind and considerations of honour, prudence, and virtue. but strong drink being associated on some occasion with objects which are correlated to the mind, as hospitality, friendship, or festive celebrations,--may obtain the mastery; and in this case, the individual being under no temptation from strong drink in itself considered, and being really affected with the sense of the most agreeable in relation to objects which are opposed to drunkenness, may take care that strong drink shall not come again into circumstances to give it an adventitious advantage. the repetition of occasional drunkenness would of course by and by produce a change in the sensitivity, and establish an habitual liking for drink. "on this account, the moral inability that attends fixed habits, especially obtains the name of _inability_. and then, as the will may remotely and indirectly resist itself, and do it in vain, in the case of strong habits; so reason may resist present acts of the will, and its resistance be insufficient: and this is more commonly the case, also, when the acts arise from strong habit." (ibid.) in every act of the will, the will at the moment is unable to act otherwise; it is in the strictest sense true, that a man, at the moment of his acting, must act as he does act; but as we usually characterize men by the habitual state of their minds, we more especially speak of moral inability in relation to acts which are known to have no correlation to this habitual state. this habitual state of the mind, if it be opposed to reason, overcomes reason; for nothing, not even reason itself, can be the strongest motive, unless it produce the sense of the most agreeable; and this it cannot do, where the habitual disposition or sensitivity is opposed to it. _common usage with respect to the phrase_ want of power _or_ inability _to act in a certain way._ "but it must be observed concerning _moral inability_, in each kind of it, that the word _inability_ is used in a sense very diverse from its original import. the word signifies only a natural inability, in the proper use of it; and is applied to such cases only wherein a present will or inclination to the thing, with respect to which a person is said to be unable, is supposable. it cannot be truly said, _according to the ordinary use of language_, that a malicious man, let him be never so malicious, cannot hold his hand from striking, or that he is not able to show his neighbour a kindness; or that a drunkard, let his appetite be never so strong, cannot keep the cup from his mouth. _in the strictest propriety of speech, a man has a thing in his power if he has it in his choice or at his election; and a man cannot be truly said to be unable to do a thing, when he can do it if he will_." (ibid.) men, in the common use of language, and in the expression of their common and generally received sentiments, affirm that an individual has any thing in his power when it can be controlled by volition. their connexion of power does not arise from the connexion of volition with its cause, but from the conception of volition as itself a cause with its effects. thus the hand of a malicious man when moved to strike, having for its antecedent a volition; and if withheld from striking, having for its antecedent likewise a volition; according to the common usage of language, he, as the subject of volition, has the power to strike or not to strike. now as it is "improperly said that he cannot perform those external voluntary actions which depend on the will, it is in some respects more improperly said, that he is unable to exert the acts of the will themselves; because it is more evidently false, with respect to these, that he cannot if he will; for to say so is a downright contradiction; it is to say he _cannot_ will if he _does_ will: and, in this case, not only is it true that it is easy for a man to do the thing if he will, but the very willing is the doing." (ibid.) it is improper, according to this, to say that a man cannot do a thing, when nothing is wanting but an act of volition; for that is within our power, as far as it can be within our power, which is within the reach of our volition. it is still more improper to say that a man is unable to exert the acts of the will themselves, or unable to produce volitions. to say that a man has power to produce volitions, would imply that he has power to will volitions; but this would make one volition the cause of another, which is absurd. but, as it is absurd to represent the will as the cause of its own volitions, and of course to say that the man has ability to produce his volitions, it must be absurd likewise to represent the man as _unable_, in any particular case, to produce volitions, for this would imply that in other cases he is able. nay, the very language is self-contradictory. if a man produce volitions, he must produce them by volitions; and if in any case he is affirmed to be unable to produce volitions; then this inability must arise from a want of connexion between the volition by which the required volition is aimed to be produced, and the required volition itself. so that to affirm that he is unable to will is equivalent to saying, that he cannot will _if he will_--a proposition which grants the very point it assumes to deny. "the very willing is the doing," which is required. edwards adopts what he calls the "original" and "proper," meaning of power, and ability, as applied to human agents, and appearing, "in the ordinary use of language," as the legitimate and true meaning. in this use, power, as we have seen, relates only to the connexion of volition with its consequents, and not to its connexion with its antecedents or motives. hence, in reference to the human agent, "to ascribe a non-performance to the want of power or ability," or to the want of motives, (for this is plainly his meaning,) "is not just," "because the thing wanting," that is, immediately wanting, and wanting so far as the agent himself can be the subject of remark in respect of it, "is not a being _able_," that is, a having the requisite motives, or the moral ability, "but a being _willing_, or the act of volition, itself. to the act of volition, or the fact of 'being willing,'" there is no facility of mind or capacity of nature wanting, but only a disposition or state of mind adapted to the act; but with this, the individual can have no concern in reference to his action, because he has all the ability which can be predicated of him legitimately, when he can do the act, if he will to do it. it is evident that there may be an utter moral inability to do a thing--that is the motive may be wanting which causes the volition, which is the immediate antecedent of the thing to be done; but still if it is true that there is such a connexion between the volition and the thing to be done, that the moment the volition takes place the thing is done; then, according to edwards, the man may be affirmed to be able to do it with the only ability that can be affirmed of him. we can exert power only by exerting will, that is by putting forth volitions by choosing; of course we cannot exert power over those motives which are themselves the causes of our volitions. we are not _unable_ to do anything in the proper and original and legitimate use of the word when, for the want of motive, we are not the subjects of the volition required as the immediate antecedent of the thing to be done; but we are _unable_ in this use when, although the volition be made; still, through some impediment, the thing is not done. we are conscious of power, or of the want of power only in the connexion between our actual volitions and their objects. "sec. v. concerning the notion of liberty, and of moral agency." what is liberty? "the plain and obvious meaning of the words _freedom_ and _liberty_, in common speech, is _power, opportunity, or advantage that any one has to do as he pleases_. or, in other words, his being free from hinderance, or impediment in the way of doing, or conducting in any way as he wills. and the _contrary_ to liberty, whatever name we call it by, is a person's being hindered or unable to conduct as he will, or being, necessitated to do otherwise." (p. .) again, "that power and opportunity for one to do and conduct as he will, or according to his choice, is all that is meant by it; without taking into the meaning of the word, anything of the _cause_ of that choice, or at all considering how the person came to have such a volition; whether it was caused by some external motive, or internal habitual bias; whether it was determined by some internal antecedent volition, or whether it happened without a cause; whether it was necessarily connected with something foregoing, or not connected. let the person come by his choice any how, yet if he is able, and there is nothing in the way to hinder his pursuing and executing his will, the man is perfectly free, according to the primary and common notion of freedom." (p. .) this is edwards's definition of liberty, and he has given it with a clearness, a precision, and, at the same time, an amplification, which renders it impossible to mistake his meaning. liberty has nothing to do with the connexion between volition and its cause or motive. liberty relates solely to the connexion between the volition and its objects. he is free in the only true and proper sense, who, when he wills, finds no impediment between the volition and the object, who wills and it is done. he wills to walk, and his legs obey: he wills to talk, and his intellect and tongue obey, and frame and express sentences. if his legs were bound, he would not be free. if his tongue were tied with a thong, or his mouth gagged, he would not be free; or if his intellect were paralysed or disordered, he would not be free. if there should be anything preventing the volition from taking effect, he would not be free. _of what can the attribute of liberty be affirmed?_ from the definition thus given edwards remarks, "it will follow, that in propriety of speech, neither liberty, nor its contrary, can properly be ascribed to any being or thing, but that which has such a faculty, power, or property, as is called will. for that which is possessed of no _will_, cannot have any power or opportunity of doing _according to its will_, nor be necessitated to act contrary to its will, nor be restrained from acting agreeable to it. and therefore to talk of liberty, or the contrary, as belonging to the _very will itself_, is not to speak good sense; for the _will itself_, is not an agent that has _a will_. the power of choosing itself, has not a power of choosing. that which has the power of volition is the man, or the soul, and not the power of volition itself. and he that has the liberty, is the agent who is possessed of the will; and not the will which he is possessed of." (p. .) liberty is the attribute of the agent, because the agent is the spiritual essence or being who is the subject of the power or capacity of choice, and his liberty consists as we have seen in the unimpeded connexion between the volitions produced in him and the objects of those volitions. hence, _free will_ is an objectionable phrase. _free agent_ is the proper phrase, that is, an agent having the power of choice and whose choice reaches effects. _moral agent._ "a _moral agent_ is a being that is capable of those actions that have a _moral_ quality, and which can properly be denominated good or evil in a moral sense, virtuous or vicious, commendable or faulty." (p. .) in what lies the capability of actions having a moral quality? "to moral agency belongs a _moral faculty_, or sense of moral good and evil, or of such a thing as desert or worthiness, of praise or blame, reward or punishment; and a capacity which an agent has of being influenced in his actions by moral inducements or motives, exhibited to the view of the understanding or reason, to engage to a conduct agreeable to moral faculty." (p. .) a moral agent is a being who can perform moral actions, or actions which are subject to praise or blame. now the same action may be committed by a man or by a brute--and the man alone will be guilty: why is the man guilty? because he has a moral sense or perception by which he distinguishes right and wrong: the brute has no such sense or perception. the man having thus the power of perceiving the right and wrong of actions--actions and their moral qualities may be so correlated to him as to produce the sense of the most agreeable or choice. or, we may say generally, moral agency consists in the possession of a reason and conscience to distinguish right and wrong, and the capacity of having the right and wrong so correlated to the mind as to form motives and produce volitions. we might define a man of taste in the fine arts in a similar way; thus,--a man of taste is an agent who has the power of distinguishing beauty and ugliness, and whose mind is so correlated to beauty that the sense of the most agreeable or choice is produced. the only difference between the two cases is this: that, in the latter, the sense of the most agreeable is always produced by the beauty perceived; while in the former, the right perceived does not always produce this sense; on the contrary, the sense of the most agreeable is often produced by the wrong, in opposition to the decisions of reason and conscience. i have now completed the statement of edwards's system, nearly in his own words, as contained in part i. of his work. the remarks and explanations which have been thrown in, i hope will serve to make him more perfectly understood. this end will be still more fully attained by presenting on the basis of the foregoing investigation and statement, a compend of his psychological system, independently of the order there pursued, and without largely introducing quotations, which have already been abundantly made. compend of edwards's psychological system. i. there are two cardinal faculties of the mind. . the intellectual--called reason or understanding. . the active and feeling--called will or affections. ii. the relation of these to each other. the first precedes the second in the order of exercise. the first perceives and knows objects in their qualities, circumstances, and relations. the second experiences emotions and passions, or desires and choices, in relation to the objects perceived. iii. perception is necessary. when the understanding and its objects are brought together, perception takes place according to the constituted laws of the intelligence. iv. the acts of will or the affections are necessary. when this faculty of our being and its objects are brought together, volition or choice, emotions, passions, or desires take place, according to the constituted nature and laws of this faculty. the objects and this faculty are correlates. in relation to the object, we may call this faculty subject. when subject and object are suited to each other, that is, are agreeable, affections are produced which we call pleasant; when they are not suited, that is, are disagreeable, affections take place which are unpleasant or painful. every object in relation to subject, is agreeable or disagreeable, and produces accordingly, in general, affections pleasant or painful. in the perfection and harmony of our being, this correspondence is universal; that is, what is known to be agreeable is felt to be pleasant;--what is known to be disagreeable is felt to be painful. but, in the corruption of our being, this is reversed in respect of moral objects. although what is right is known to be agreeable, that is, suited to us, it is felt to be painful. but the wrong which is known to be unsuited, is felt to be pleasant. it must be remarked here, that pleasant and agreeable, are used by edwards and others, as synonymous terms. the distinction i have here made is at least convenient in describing the same objects as presented to the understanding and to the will. v. the emotions and passions, volitions or choices, are thus produced in the correlation of subject, that is the will, and the object. in assigning the causes of these affections, we may refer to the nature of the will, which is such, as to receive such and such affections when in the presence of such and such objects: or, we may refer to the objects, and say their nature and circumstances are such as to produce such and such affections in the will: or, we may refer to both at once, and say that the affections arise from the state of the mind, and from the nature and circumstances of the object. vi. the affections of the will stand connected with changes or effects in other parts of our being, as stated antecedents. first, they stand thus connected with muscular action,--as walking, talking, striking, resisting, &c. secondly, they stand thus connected with mental operations,--as fixing the attention upon any subject of thought and investigation, or upon any imagination, or any idea of the memory. vii. the affections of the will, when thus connected with effects in other parts of our being, have a peculiar and striking characteristic. it is this: that the effect contemplated takes place at the moment it appears the most agreeable,--the greatest apparent good; which, as edwards uses these phrases, means, that at the moment the effect contemplated produces the most pleasant affection,--the most intense sense of the agreeable,--it takes place. thus, when walking seems most pleasant, we walk; when talking, we talk; when thinking on a particular subject, then we think on that subject. such is the constitution and law of our being. the play of the different parts is reciprocal. perception must bring up the objects, and the affections of will immediately follow. the most agreeable are dwelt upon by the mind, and perception again takes place particularly with regard to these; and according as objects affect the will, do all the activities of our being come forth. viii. various terms and phrases in common use can be easily explained by this system:--_choice_ is the sense or the affection of the most pleasant and agreeable. _preference_ is its synonyme, with scarcely a shade of difference. they both have respect to the _act of selection_. _volition_ is another name for this affection of will, and is used more particularly in relation to effects or changes following the affection. _desire_ is a nascent choice. the strongest desire, at a given moment, is choice. _emotion_ is an affection, pleasant or painful, according to the quality of the object, but not ripened into desire. it is the first sudden affection arising from an object presented; and with respect to certain objects, it expresses all the enjoyment possible in relation to them,--for example, the emotion of sublimity, produced by an object which can hold no other relation to us. but then the sublimity of the object may be the motive which causes the choice of gazing at it; that is, it connects this act of contemplation with the sense of the most agreeable. _passion_ is emotion accompanied by desire in reference to other relations with the object. thus the emotion of beauty awakened by a flower may be accompanied by the desire of possessing it; and if this desire becomes the strongest desire at the moment, then the passion has the characteristic which makes it choice, and some corresponding effects take place in order to possess it,--as walking towards it, stretching out the hand, &c. _the determination of will_ is the production or causation of choice. it is used in reference to the immediate and particular choice, in opposition to all other choices. _the will itself_ is the capacity of being affected by objects with emotion, passion, and desire,--and with that form of passion which we call the sense of the most agreeable or choice, and which is connected with effects or consequents as their stated antecedent. _the motive_ is the cause of choice, and is complex. it lies in the nature and susceptibilities of the will, and in the nature and circumstances of the object chosen. ix. the will and reason may be opposed; that is, what reason commands may seem disagreeable to the will, and of course reason cannot be obeyed. reason can be obeyed only when her commands produce the sense of the most agreeable. x. the terms necessity, and freedom or liberty are opposed in reference to will. freedom or liberty is the attribute of the man--the human soul. the man is free when his volitions or choices are unimpeded,--when, upon choosing to walk, he walks, &c. the man is not free, or is under necessity, when his volitions or choices are impeded,--when, upon choosing to walk, he finds his legs bound or paralysed, &c. then it is _impossible_ for him to walk,--then he has _no liberty_ to walk,--then he is under a _necessity_ of remaining in one place. necessity in any other use is _metaphysical_ or _philosophical_ necessity, and is applied out of the sphere of the will: as the necessity of truth, the necessity of being,--the necessary connexion of cause and effect. hence, the _connexion_ between volitions or choices, or the sense of the most agreeable with the motive or cause, is _necessary_ with a philosophical necessity. the necessity of volitions in reference to motives is also called _moral_ necessity. this term _moral_ is given, not in reference to the nature of the connexion, but in reference to the _terms_ connected. volitions belonging to responsible and moral beings are thus distinguished from those phenomena which we commonly call _natural_. xi. an agent is that which produces effects. a _natural_ agent is that which produces effects without volition. a _moral_ agent is one producing effects by volitions, accompanied with an intellectual perception of the volitions and their effects, as right or wrong, and a sense of desert, or of praiseworthiness, or blameworthiness, on account of the volitions and their effects. _brutes_ or irresponsible beings are agents that have volitions, but have no reason to perceive right and wrong, and consequently have no sense of desert; and as they cannot perceive right and wrong, they cannot be made the subjects of moral appeals and inducements. xii. moral responsibility arises first, from the possession of reason; secondly, from the capacity of choice; thirdly, from natural ability. natural ability exists when the effect or act commanded to be accomplished has an established connexion with volition or choice. thus we say a man has natural ability to walk, because if he chooses to walk, he walks. natural ability differs from freedom only in this:--the first refers to an established connexion between volitions and effects. the second refers to an absence of all impediment, or of all resisting forces from between volitions and effects. hence a man is _naturally unable_ to do anything when there is no established connexion between volition and that thing. a man is naturally unable to push a mountain from its seat. he has no _liberty_ to move his arm when it is bound. _moral inability_ is metaphysical or philosophical inability. philosophical inability in general refers to the impossibility of a certain effect for the want of a cause, or an adequate cause. thus there is a philosophical inability of transmuting metal; or of restoring the decay of old age to the freshness and vigour of youth, because we have no cause by which such effects can be produced. there is a philosophical inability also, to pry up a rock of a hundred tons weight with a pine lath, and by the hand of a single man, because we have not an adequate cause. _moral inability_ relates to the connexion between motives and volitions in distinction from natural ability, which relates to the connexion between volitions and actions consequent upon them: but the term moral as we have seen, does not characterize the nature of the _connexion_,--it only expresses the _quality_ of _terms connected_. hence _moral_ inability, as philosophical inability, is the impossibility of a certain volition or choice for the want of a motive or cause, or an adequate motive. thus there is a moral philosophical inability of paul denying jesus christ, for there is plainly no motive or cause to produce a volition to such an act. there is a moral philosophical inability also, of a man selling an estate for fifty dollars which is worth fifty thousand, because the motive is not adequate to produce a volition to such an act. philosophical necessity and inability are absolute in respect of us, because beyond the sphere of our volition. xiii. praiseworthiness or virtue, blameworthiness or guilt, apply only to volitions. this indeed is not formally brought out in the part of edwards's work we have been examining. his discussion of it will be found in part iv. sec. i. but as it is necessary to a complete view of his system, we introduce it here. he remarks in this part, "if the essence of virtuousness or commendableness, and of viciousness or fault, does not lie in the nature of the disposition or acts of the mind, which are said to be our virtue or our fault, but in their cause, then it is certain it lies no where at all. thus, for instance, if the vice of a vicious act of will lies not in the nature of the act, but in the cause, so that its being of a bad nature will not make it at all our fault, unless it arises from some faulty determination of ours as its cause, or something in us that is our fault, &c." (page .) "disposition of mind," or inclination, --"acts of the mind," "acts of will," here obviously mean the same thing; that is, they mean volition or choice, and are distinguished from their cause or motive. the question is not whether the cause or motive be pure or impure, but whether our virtuousness or viciousness lie in the cause of our volition, or in the volition itself. it plainly results from edwards's psychology, and he has himself in the above quotation stated it, that virtuousness or viciousness lie in the volition itself. the characteristic of our personality or agency is volition. it is in and by our volitions that we are conscious of doing or forbearing to do, and therefore it is in respect of our volitions that we receive praise for well-doing, or blame for evil-doing. if these volitions are in accordance with conscience and the law of god, they are right; if not, they are wrong, and we are judged accordingly. the _metaphysical_ questions, how the volition was produced, and what is the character of the cause, is the cause praiseworthy or blameworthy, are questions which transcend the sphere of our volitions, our actions, our personality, our responsibility. we are concerned only with this:--do _we_ do right? do _we_ do wrong? what is the _nature of our volitions?_ nor does the _necessary connexion_ between the motives and the volitions, destroy the blameworthiness and the praiseworthiness of the volitions. we are blameworthy or praiseworthy according to the character of the volitions in themselves, considered and judged according to the rule of right, without considering how these volitions came to exist. the last inquiry is altogether of a philosophical or metaphysical kind, and not of a moral kind, or that kind which relates to moral agency, responsibility, and duty. and so also we are blameworthy or praiseworthy for doing or not doing external actions, so far only as these actions are naturally connected with volitions, as sequents with their stated antecedents. if the action is one which ought to be done, we are responsible for the doing of it, if we know that upon our willing it, it will be done; although at this very moment there is no such correlation between the action and the will, as to form the motive or cause upon which the existence of the act of willing depends. if the action is one which ought not to be done, we are guilty for doing it, when we know that if we were not to will it, it would not be done; although at this very moment there is such a correlation between the action, and the state of the will, as to form the cause or motive by which the act of willing comes necessarily to exist. the metaphysical or philosophical inquiry respecting the correlation of the state of the will and any action, or respecting the want of such a correlation, is foreign to the question of duty and responsibility. this question relates only to the volition and its connexion with its consequents. this does not clash at all with the common sentiment that our actions are to be judged of by our motives; for this sentiment does not respect volitions in relation to their cause, but external actions in relation to the volitions which produce them. these external actions may be in themselves good, but they may not be what was willed; some other force or power may have come in between the volition and its object, and changed the circumstances of the object, so as to bring about an event different from the will or intention; although being in connexion with the agent, it may still be attributed to his will: or the immediate act which appears good, may, in the mind of the agent be merely part of an extended plan or chain of volitions, whose last action or result is evil. it is common, therefore, to say of an external action, we must know what the man intends, before we pronounce upon him; which is the same thing as to say we must know what his volition really is, or what his motive is--that is, not the cause which produces his volition, but the volition which is aiming at effects, and is the motive and cause of these effects;--which again, is the same thing as to say, that before we can pronounce upon his conduct, we must know what effects he really intends or wills, or desires, that is, what it is which is really connected in his mind with the sense of the most agreeable. _edwards and locke._ their systems are one: there is no difference in the principle. edwards represents the will as necessarily determined so does locke. edwards places liberty in the unimpeded connexion of volition with its stated sequents--so does locke. they differ only in the mode of developing the necessary determination of will. according to locke, desire is in itself a necessary modification of our being produced in its correlation with objects; and volition is a necessary consequent of desire when excited at any given moment to a degree which gives the most intense sense of uneasiness at that moment. "the greatest present uneasiness is the spur of action that is constantly felt, and for the most part, determines the will in its choice of the next action." (book . ch. , § .) according to edwards, desire is not distinguishable from will as a faculty, and the strongest desire, at any moment, is the volition of that moment. edwards's analysis is more nice than locke's, and his whole developement more true to the great principle of the system--necessary determination. locke, in distinguishing the will from the desire, seems about to launch into a different psychology, and one destructive of the principle. ii. the legitimate consequences of edwards's system. these consequences must, i am aware, be deduced with the greatest care and clearness. the deduction must be influenced by no passion or prejudice. it must be purely and severely logical--and such i shall endeavour to make it. i shall begin with a deduction which edwards has himself made. i. there is no self-determining power of will, and of course no liberty consisting in a self-determining power. a self-determining power of will is a supposed power, which will has to determine its own volitions. will is the faculty of choice, or the capacity of desire, emotion, or passion. volition is the strongest desire, or the sense of the most agreeable at any given moment. volition arises from the state of the mind, or of the will, or sensitivity itself, in correlation with the nature and circumstances of the object. now, if the will determined itself, it would determine its own state, in relation to objects. but to determine is to act, and therefore, for the will to determine is for the will to act; and for the will to determine itself, is for the will to determine itself by an act. but an act of the will is a volition; therefore for the will to determine itself is to create a volition by a volition. but then we have to account for this antecedent volition, and it can be accounted for only in the same way. we shall then have an infinite, or more properly, an indefinite series of volitions, without any first volition; consequently we shall have no self-determiner after all, because we can arrive at no first determiner, and thus the idea of self-determination becomes self-destructive. again, we shall have effects without a cause, for the series in the nature of the case never ends in a first, which is a cause per se. volitions are thus contingent, using this word as a synonyme of chance, the negative of cause. now that this is a legitimate deduction, no one can question. if edwards's psychology be right, and if self-determination implies a will to will, or choosing a choice, then a self-determining power is the greatest absurdity possible. ii. it is clearly deducible from this also, that god can exercise a perfect control over his intelligent creatures, or administer perfectly a moral government consisting in the influence of motives. to any given state of mind, he can adapt motives in reference to required determinations. and when an individual is removed from the motives adapted to his state of mind, the almighty providence can so order events as to bring him into contiguity with the motives. if the state of mind should be such that no motives can be made available in reference to a particular determination, it is dearly supposable that he who made the soul of man, may exert a direct influence over this state of mind, and cause it to answer to the motives presented. whether there are motives adapted to every state of mind, in reference to every possible determination required by the almighty lawgiver, so as to render it unnecessary to exert a direct influence over the will, is a question which i am not called upon here to answer. but in either case, the divine sovereignty, perfect and absolute, fore-determining and bringing to pass every event in the moral as well as the physical world; and the election of a certain number to eternal life, and the making of this election sure, are necessary and plain consequences of this system. and as god is a being all-wise and good, we may feel assured in connexion with this system, that, in the working out of his great plan, whatever evil may appear in the progress of its developement, the grand consummation will show that all things have been working together for good. iii. it is plainly deducible from this system that moral beings exert an influence over each other by the presentation of motives. and thus efforts may be made either to the injury or benefit of society. iv. if, as edwards contends, the sense of responsibility, the consciousness of guilt or of rectitude, and consequently the expectation of punishment or reward, connect themselves simply with the nature of the mere fact of volition.--that is, if this is a true and complete representation of consciousness in relation to this subject, then upon the mere fact of volition considered only in its own nature, and wholly independently of its causes, can the processes of justice go forth. thus we may view the system in relation both to god and to man. in relation to god. it makes him supreme and absolute--foreseeing and fore-determining, and bringing everything to pass according to infinite wisdom, and by the energy of an infinite will. in relation to man. it shuts him up to the consideration of the simple fact of volition, and its connexion as a stated or established antecedent with certain effects. he is free to accomplish these effects, because he can accomplish them if he will. he is free to forbear, because he can forbear if he will. it is affirmed to be the common judgement of men, and of course universally a fact of consciousness, that an individual is fully responsible for the doing of anything which ought to be done, if nothing is wanting to the doing of it but a volition: that he is guilty and punishable for doing anything wrong, because it was done by his volition: that he is praiseworthy and to be rewarded for doing anything right, because it was done by his volition. in vain does he attempt to excuse himself from right-doing on the plea of _moral inability;_ this is _metaphysical_ inability, and transcends the sphere of volition. he can do it if he will--and therefore he has all the ability required in the case. nothing is immediately wanting but a willingness, and all his responsibility relates to this; he can do nothing, can influence nothing, except by will; and therefore that which goes before will is foreign to his consideration, and impossible to his effort. in vain does he attempt to excuse himself for wrong-doing on the ground of moral _necessity_. this _moral necessity_ is _metaphysical_ necessity, and transcends the sphere of volition. he could have forborne to do wrong, if he had had the will. whatever else may have been wanting, there was not wanting to a successful resistance of evil, anything with which the agent has any concern, and for which he is under any responsibility, but the volition. by his volitions simply is he to be tried. no court of justice, human or divine, that we can conceive of, could admit the plea--"i did not the good because i had not the will to do it," or "i did the evil because i had the will to do it." "this is your guilt," would be the reply of the judge, "that you had no will to do the good--that you had a will to do the evil." we must now take up a different class of deductions. they are such as those abettors of this system who wish to sustain the great interests of morality and religion do not make, but strenuously contend against. if however they are logical deductions, it is in vain to contend against them. i am conscious of no wish to _force_ them upon the system, and do most firmly believe that they are logical. let the reader judge for himself, but let him judge _thoughtfully_ and _candidly_. i. the system of edwards leads to an absolute and unconditional necessity, particular and general. . a particular necessity--a necessity absolute in relation to the individual. it is granted in the system, that the connexion of motive and volition is necessary with an absolute necessity, because this precedes and therefore is not within the reach of the volition. so also, the state of mind, and the nature and circumstances of the object in relation to this state, forming a correlation, in which lies the motive, is dependent upon a cause, beyond the reach of volition. as the volition cannot make its motive, so neither can the volition make the cause of its motive, and so on in the retrogression of causes, back to the first cause. hence, all the train of causes preceding the volition are related by an absolute necessity; and the volition itself, as the effect of motive, being necessary also with an absolute necessity, the only place for freedom that remains, if freedom be possible, is the connexion of volition and effects, internal and external. and this is the only place of freedom which this system claims. but what new characteristic appears in this relation? have we here anything beyond stated antecedents and sequents? i will to walk, and i walk; i will to talk, and i talk; i will to sit down, and i sit down. the volition is an established antecedent to these muscular movements. so also, when i will to think on a certain subject, i think on that subject. the volition of selecting a subject, and the volition of attending to it, are stated antecedents to that mental operation which we call thought. we have here only another instance of cause and effect; the relation being one as absolute and necessary as any other relation of cause and effect. the curious organism by which a choice or a sense of the most agreeable produces muscular movement, has not been arranged by any choice of the individual man. the connexion is pre-established for him, and has its cause beyond the sphere of volition. the constitution of mind which connects volition with thinking is also pre-established, and beyond the sphere of volition. as the volition itself appears by an absolute necessity in relation to the individual man, so also do the stated sequents or effects of volition appear by an absolute necessity in relation to him. it is true, indeed, that the connexion between volition and its objects may be interrupted by forces coming between, or overcome by superior forces, but this is common to cause and effect, and forms no peculiar characteristic; it is a lesser force necessarily interrupted or overcome by a greater. besides, the interruption or the overcoming of a force does not prove its freedom when it is unimpeded; its movement may still be necessitated by an antecedent force. and this is precisely the truth in respect of volition, according to this system. the volition could have no being without a motive, and when the motive is present it must have a being, and no sooner does it appear than its effects follow, unless impeded. if impeded, then we have two trains of causes coming into collision, and the same necessity which brought them together, gives the ascendency to the one or the other. it seems to me impossible to resist the conclusion, that necessity, absolute and unconditional, as far at least as the man himself is concerned, reigns in the relation of volition and its effect, if the volition itself be a necessary existence. all that precedes volition is necessary; volition itself is necessary. all that follows volition is necessary: humanity is but a link of the inevitable chain. . general necessity--a necessity absolute, in relation to all being and causality, and applicable to all events. an event proved to be necessary in relation to an individual--is this event likewise necessary in the whole train of its relations? let this event be a volition of a given individual; it is necessary in relation to that individual. now it must be supposed to have a connexion by a chain of sequents and antecedents with a first cause. let us now take any particular antecedent and sequent in the chain, and that antecedent and sequent, in its particular place and relations, can be proved necessary in the same way that the volition is proved necessary in its particular place and relations; that is, the antecedent being given under the particular circumstances, the sequent must follow. but the antecedent is linked by like necessity to another antecedent, of which it is the sequent; and the sequent is linked by like necessity to another sequent, of which it is the antecedent; and thus the whole chain, from the given necessary volition up to the first cause, is necessary. we come therefore at last to consider the connexion between the first sequent and the first antecedent, or the first cause. is this a necessary connexion? if that first antecedent be regarded as a volition, then the connexion must be necessary. if god will the first sequent, then it was absolutely necessary that that sequent should appear. but the volition itself cannot really be the first antecedent or cause, because volition or choice, from its very nature, must itself have a determiner or antecedent. what is this antecedent? the motive:--for self-determination, in the sense of the will determining itself, would involve the same absurdities on this system in relation to god as in relation to man; since it is represented as an absurdity in its own nature--it is determining a volition by a volition, in endless retrogression. as the motive therefore determines the divine volition, what is the nature of the connexion between the motive and the volition? it cannot but be a necessary connexion; for there is nothing to render it otherwise, save the divine will. but the divine will cannot be supposed to do this, for the motive is already taken to be the ground and cause of the action of the divine will. the necessity which applies to volition, in the nature of the case must therefore apply to the divine volition. no motives, indeed, can be supposed to influence the divine will, except those drawn from his infinite intelligence, wisdom, and goodness; but then the connexion between these motives and the divine volitions is a connexion of absolute necessity. this edwards expressly affirms--"if god's will is steadily and surely determined in everything by _supreme_ wisdom, then it is in everything _necessarily determined_ to that which is _most_ wise." (p. .) that the universe is governed by infinite wisdom, is a glorious and satisfactory thought, and is abundantly contended for by this system; but still it is a government of necessity. this may be regarded as the most excellent government, and if it be so regarded it may fairly be contended for. let us not, however, wander from the question, and in representing it as the government of wisdom, forget that it is a government of necessity, and that absolute. the volition, therefore, with which we started, is at last traced up to a necessary and infinite wisdom as its first and final cause; for here the efficient cause and the motive are indeed one. what we have thus proved in relation to one volition, must be equally true in reference to every other volition and every other event, for the reasoning must apply to every possible case. every volition, every event, must be traced up to a first and final cause, and this must be necessary and infinite wisdom. ii. it follows, therefore, from this system, that every volition or event is both necessary, and necessarily the best possible in its place and relations. the whole system of things had its origin in infinite and necessary wisdom. all volitions and events have their last and efficient cause in infinite and necessary wisdom. all that has been, all that is, all that can be, are connected by an absolute necessity with the same great source. it would be the height of absurdity to suppose it possible for any thing to be different from what it is, or to suppose that any change could make any thing better than it is; for all that is, is by absolute necessity,--and all that is, is just what and where infinite wisdom has made it, and disposed of it. iii. if that which we call evil, in reality be evil, then it must be both necessary evil and evil having its origin in infinite wisdom. it is in vain to say that man is the agent, in the common acceptation of the word; that he is the author, because the particular volitions are his. these volitions are absolutely necessary, and are necessarily carried back to the one great source of all being and events. hence, iv. the creature man cannot be blameable. every volition which appears in him, appears by an absolute necessity,--and it cannot be supposed to be otherwise than it is. now the ground of blameworthiness is not only the perception of the difference between right and wrong, and the conviction that the right ought to be done, but the possession of a power to do the right and refrain from the wrong. but if every volition is fixed by an absolute necessity, then neither can the individual be supposed to have power to do otherwise than he actually does, nor, all things considered, can it be supposed there could have been, at that precise moment and in that precise relation, any other volition. the volition is fixed, and fixed by an infinite and necessary wisdom. we cannot escape from this difficulty by perpetually running the changes of--"he can if he will,"--"he could if he would,"--"there is nothing wanting but a will,"--"he has a natural ability," &c. &c. let us not deceive ourselves, and endeavour to stop thought and conclusions by these words, "he can if he will"! but he cannot if he don't will. the will is wanting,--and while it is wanting, the required effect cannot appear. and how is that new volition or antecedent to be obtained? the man cannot change one volition for another. by supposition, he has not the moral or metaphysical ability,--and yet this is the only ability that can produce the new volition. it is passing strange that the power upon which volition is absolutely dependent, should be set aside by calling it _metaphysical_,--and the man blamed for an act because the consequent of his volition, when the volition itself is the necessary consequent of this power! the man is only in his volition. the volition is good or bad in itself. the cause of volition is none of his concern, because it transcends volition. he can if he will. that is enough for him! but it is not enough to make him blameable, when whether he will or not depends not only upon an antecedent out of his reach, but the antecedent itself is fixed by a necessity in the divine nature itself. i am not now disputing the philosophy. the philosophy may be true; it may be very good: but then we must take its consequences along with it; and this is all that i now insist upon. v. it is another consequence of this system, that there can be nothing evil in itself. if infinite wisdom and goodness are the highest form of moral perfection, as indeed their very names imply, then all the necessary consequences of these must partake of their nature. infinite wisdom and goodness, as principles, can only envelope parts of themselves. it would be the destruction of all logic to deny this. it would annihilate every conclusion that has ever been drawn. if it be said that infinite wisdom has promulged a law which defines clearly what is essentially right, and that it is a fact that volitions do transgress this law, still this cannot affect what is said above. the promulgation of the law was a necessary developement of infinite wisdom; and the volition which transgresses it is a developement of the same nature. if this seems contradictory, i cannot help it. it is drawn from the system, and the system alone is responsible for its conclusions. if it should be replied here, that every system must be subject to the same difficulty, because if evil had a beginning, it must have had a holy cause, inasmuch as it could not exist before it began to exist,--i answer, this would be true if evil is the _necessary_ developement of a holy cause. but more of this hereafter. vi. the system of edwards is a system of utilitarianism. every volition being the sense of the most agreeable, and arising from the correlation of the object and the sensitivity; it follows that every motive and every action comes under, and cannot but come under, the one idea of gratification or enjoyment. according to this system, there can be no collision between principle and passion, because principle can have no power to determine the will, except as it becomes the most agreeable. universally, justice, truth, and benevolence, obtain sway only by uniting with desire, and thus coming under conditions of yielding the highest enjoyment. justice, truth, and benevolence, when obeyed, therefore, are not obeyed as such, but simply as the most agreeable; and so also injustice, falsehood, and malignity, are not obeyed as such, but simply as the most agreeable. in this quality of the most agreeable, as the quality of all motive and the universal principle of the determinations of the will, intrinsic moral distinctions fade away. we may indeed _speculate_ respecting these distinctions,--we may say that justice evidently is right in itself, and injustice wrong in itself; but this judgement has practical efficiency only as one of the terms takes the form of the most agreeable. but we have seen that the most agreeable depends upon the state of the sensitivity in correlation with the object,--a state and a correlation antecedent to action; and that therefore it is a necessary law of our being, to be determined by the greatest apparent good or the most agreeable. utility, therefore, is not only in point of fact, but also in point of necessity, the law of action. there is no other law under which it is conceivable that we can act. vii. it follows from this system, again, that no individual can make an effort to change the habitual character of his volitions,--and of course cannot resist his passions, or introduce any intellectual or moral discipline other than that in which he is actually placed, or undertake any enterprise that shall be opposite to the one in which he is engaged, or not part or consequent of the same. if he effect any change directly in the habitual character of his volitions, he must do it by a volition; that is, he must will different from his actual will,--his will must oppose itself in its own act: but this is absurd, the system itself being judge. as, therefore, the will cannot oppose itself, a new volition can be obtained only by presenting a new motive; but this is equally impossible. to present a new motive is to call up new objects and circumstances in relation to the actual state of the mind, touching upon some principles which had been slumbering under the habitual volitions; or the state of the mind itself must be changed in relation to the objects now before it; or a change must take place both of subject and object, for the motive lies in the correlation of the two. but the volition to call up new objects and circumstances in relation to some principle of the mind that had been slumbering,--for example, fear, must itself have a motive; but the motive to call up objects of fear must preexist; if it exist at all. if it preexist, then of necessity the volition to call up objects of fear will take place; and, it will not be a change effected by the man himself, out of the actually existing state of mind and objects. if there be no such motive pre-existing, then it would become necessary to present a new motive, to cause the choice of objects of fear; and here would be a recurrence of the original difficulty,--and so on, ad infinitum. if the problem be to effect a change in the state of the mind in relation to existing objects, in the first place, this cannot be effected by a direct act of will, for the act of will is caused by the state of mind, and this would be an effect changing or annihilating its cause. nor can it be done indirectly. for to do it indirectly, would be to bring influences to bear upon the state of mind or the sensitivity; but the choice and volition of these influences would require a motive--but the motive to change the state of mind must pre-exist in the state of mind itself. and thus we have on the one hand, to show the possibility of finding a principle in the state of mind on which to bring about its change. and then if this be shown, the change is not really a change, but a new developement of the long chain of the necessary causes and volitions. and on the other, if this be not shown, we must find a motive to change the state of mind in order to a change of the state: but this motive, if it exist, must pre-exist in the state of mind. if it pre-exist, then no change is required; if it do not; then we must seek still an antecedent motive, and so in endless retrogression. if the problem be to change both subject and object, the same difficulties exist in two-fold abundance. the grand difficulty is to find a _primum mobile_, or first mover, when the very act of seeking implies a _primum mobile_, which the conditions of the act deny. any new discipline, therefore, intellectual or moral, a discipline opposite to that which the present state of the mind would naturally and necessarily bring about, is impossible. of course, it is impossible to restrain passion, to deny or mortify one's self. the present volition is as the strongest present desire--indeed, is the strongest present desire itself. "will and desire do not run counter at all." "a man never in any instance, wills anything contrary to his desires, or desires anything contrary to his will." (p. .) hence to restrain a present passion would be to will against will--would be to desire opposite ways at the same moment. desires may be relatively stronger and weaker, and the stronger will overcome the weaker; but the strongest desire must prevail and govern the man; it is utterly impossible for him to oppose any resistance, for his whole power, activity, and volition, are in the desire itself. he can do nothing but will; and the nature and direction of his volitions are, at least in reference to any effort of his own, immutable as necessity itself. viii. all exhortations and persuasions which call upon the man to bestir himself, to think, to plan, to act, are inconsistent and absurd. in all such exhortations and persuasions, the man is urged to will or put forth volitions, as if he were the author, the determiner of the volitions. it may be replied, 'that the man does will, that the volitions are his volitions.' but then he wills only passively, and these volitions are his only because they appear in his consciousness. you exhort and persuade him to arouse himself into activity; but what is his real condition according to this system? the exhortations and persuasions do themselves contain the motive power: and instead of arousing himself to action, he is absolutely and necessarily passive under the motives you present. whether he be moved or not, as truly and absolutely depends upon the motives you present, as the removing of any material mass depends upon the power and lever applied. and the material mass, whether it be wood or stone, may with as much propriety be said to arouse itself as the man; and the man's volition is his volition in no other sense than the motion of the material mass is its motion. in the one case, the man perceives; and in the other case, the material mass does not perceive--but perception is granted by all parties to be necessary; the addition of perception, therefore, only modifies the character of the being moved, without altering the nature of his relation to the power which moves him. in the material mass, too, we have an analogous property, so far as motion is considered. for as motive cannot determine the will unless there be perception, so neither can the lever and power move the mass unless it possess resistance, and cohesion of parts. if i have but the wisdom to discover the proper correlation of object and sensitivity in the case of individuals or of masses of men, i can command them in any direction i please, with a necessity no less absolute than that with which a machine is caused to work by the application of a steam or water-power. when i bring motives before the minds of my fellow-beings in the proper relation, the volition is necessarily produced; but let me not forget, that in bringing these motives i put forth volitions, and that of course i am myself moved under the necessity of some antecedent motive. my persuasions and exhortations are necessary sequents, as well as necessary antecedents. the water must run through the water-course; the wheel must turn under the force of the current; i must exhort and persuade when motives determine me. the minds i address must yield when the motives are properly selected. ix. divine commands, warnings, and rebukes, when obeyed and yielded to, are obeyed and yielded to by the necessary force which they possess in relation to the state of mind to which they are addressed. when not obeyed and yielded to, they fail necessarily, through a moral inability on the part of the mind addressed; or, in other words, through the want of a proper correlation between them and the state of mind addressed: that is, there is not in the case a sufficient power to produce the required volitions, and their existence of course is an utter impossibility. divine commands, warnings, and rebukes, produce volitions of obedience and submission, only as they produce the sense of the most agreeable; and as the will of the creature can have no part in producing this sense, since this would be producing a volition by a volition, it is produced in a correlation antecedent to will, and of course by a positive necessity. this is so clear from all that has gone before; that no enlargement here is required. when no obedience and submission take place, it is because the divine commands, warnings, and rebukes, do not produce the sense of the most agreeable. and as the will of the creature can have no part in producing this sense, since this would be producing a volition by a volition; and as it is produced in a correlation antecedent to will, and of course by a positive necessity; so likewise the will of the creature can have no part in preventing this sense from taking place. the volition of obedience and the volition of disobedience are manifestations of the antecedent correlations of certain objects with the subject, and are necessarily determined by the nature of the correlation. now the divine being must know the precise relation which his commands will necessarily hold to the vast variety of mind to which they are addressed, and consequently must know in what cases obedience will be produced, and in what cases disobedience. both results are equally necessary. the commands have therefore, necessarily and fitly, a two-fold office. when they come into connexion with certain states of mind, they necessarily and fitly produce what we call obedience: when in connexion with other states of mind, they necessarily and fitly produce what we call rebellion: and as all volitions are predetermined and fixed by a necessary and infinite wisdom, and are therefore in their time and place the best, it must follow that rebellion no less than obedience is a wise and desirable result. the consequences i am here deducing seem almost too shocking to utter. but show me, he that can, that they are not logical deductions from this system? i press the system to its consequences,--not to throw any reproach upon those great and good men who unfortunately were led away by a false philosophy, but to expose and bring to its close this philosophy itself. it has too long been consecrated by its association with the good. i know i shall be justified in the honest, though bold work, of destroying this unnatural and portentous alliance. x. the sense of guilt and shame and the fear of retribution cannot, according to this system, have a real and necessary connexion with any volitions, but must be regarded as prejudices or errors of education, from which philosophy will serve to relieve us. edwards labours to prove, (part iv. sec. ,) that virtue and vice lie essentially in the volitions themselves, and that of course the consciousness of evil volitions is the consciousness of guilt. i will, or put forth volitions. the volitions are mine, and therefore i am guilty. this reasoning is plausible, but not consequential; for, according to this system, i put forth volitions in entire passivity: the volitions appear necessarily and by antecedent motives in my consciousness, and really are mine only because they are produced in me. connected with this may be the perception that those volitions are wrong; but if there is likewise the conviction that they are necessary, and that to suppose them different from what they are, is to suppose what could not possibly have been,--since a series of sequents and antecedents connect these volitions which now appear, by absolutely necessary relations, with a first and necessary cause,--then the sense of guilt and shame, and the judgement i ought to be punished, can have no place in the human mind. it is of no avail to tell me that i will, and, according to the common judgement of mankind, i must be guilty when i will wrong,--if, at the same time, philosophy teaches me that i will under the necessary and inevitable governance of an antecedent motive. the common judgement of mankind is an error, and philosophy must soon dissipate the sense of guilt and shame, and of moral desert, which have hitherto annoyed me and made me fearful: and much more must such a result ensue, when i take into consideration, likewise, that the necessity which determines me, is a necessity which takes its rise in infinite and necessary wisdom. what is true of guilt and retribution is true also of well-doing and reward. if i do well, the volitions being determined by an antecedent necessity, i could not possibly have done otherwise. it does not answer the conditions of the case at all, to say i might have done otherwise, if i had willed to do otherwise; because the will to do as i actually am doing, is a will that could not have been otherwise. give me, then, in any action called good, great, noble, glorious, &c. the conviction that the choice of this action was a necessary choice, predetermined in a long and unbroken chain of necessary antecedents, and the sense of praiseworthiness, and the judgement i ought to be rewarded, remain no longer. merit and demerit are connected in our minds with our volitions, under the impression that the good we perform, we perform in opposition to temptation, and with the power and possibility of doing evil; and that the evil we perform, we perform in opposition to motives of good, and with the power and possibility of doing good. but when we are informed that all the power and possibility of a conduct opposite to our actual conduct is this,--that if we had put forth opposite volitions, there would have been opposite external acts, but that nevertheless the volitions themselves were necessary, and could not have been otherwise,--we cannot but experience a revulsion of mind. we perhaps are first led to doubt the philosophy,--or if, by acute reasonings, or by the authority of great names, we are influenced to yield an implicit belief,--the sense of merit and demerit must either die away, or be maintained by a hasty retreat from the regions of speculation to those of common sense. xi. it follows from this system, also, that nature and spirit, as causes or agents, cannot be distinguished in their operations. there are three classes of natural causes or agents generally acknowledged . inanimate,--as water, wind, steam, magnetism, &c.; . animate, but insensible,--as the life and affinities of plants; . animate and sensitive, or brute animal power. these all properly come under the denomination of _natural_, because they are alike _necessitated_. "whatever is comprised in the chain and mechanism of cause and effect, of course necessitated, and having its necessity in some other thing antecedent or concurrent,--this is said to be _natural_; and the aggregate and system of all such things is _nature_." now spirit, as a cause or agent, by this system, comes under the same definition: in all its acts it is necessitated. it is in will particularly that man is taken as a cause or agent, because it is by will that he directly produces phenomena or effects; and by this system it is not possible to distinguish, so far as necessary connexion is considered, a chain of antecedents and sequents made up of motives, volitions, and the consequents of volitions, from a chain of sequents and antecedents into which the three first mentioned classes of natural agents enter. all the several classes have peculiar and distinguishing characteristics; but in the relation of antecedence and sequence,--their relation as causes or agents producing effects,--no distinction can be perceived. wind, water, &c. form one kind of cause; organic life forms another; brute organization and sensitivity another; intelligent volition another: but they are all necessary, absolutely necessary; and therefore they are the co-ordinate parts of the one system of nature. the difference which exists between them is a difference of terms merely. there is no difference in the nature of the relation between the terms. the nature of the relation between the water-wheel and the water,--of the relation between the organic life of plants and their developement,--of the relation between passion and volition in brutes,--of the relation between their efforts and material effects,--and the nature of the relation between motive and volition,--are one: it is the relation of cause and effect considered as stated antecedent and sequent, and no more and no less necessary in one subject than in another. xii. it follows, again, that sensations produced by external objects, and all emotions following perception, and all the acts of the intelligence, whether in intuitive knowledge or in ratiocination, are as really our acts, and acts for which we are as really responsible, if responsibility be granted to exist, as acts of volition. sensations, emotions, perceptions, reasonings, are all within us; they all lie in our consciousness; they are not created by our volitions, like the motions of the hands and feet; they take place by their own causes, just as volitions take place by their causes. the relation of the man to all is precisely the same. he is in no sense the cause of any of these affections of his being; he is simply the subject: the subject of sensation, of perception, of emotion, of reasoning, and of volition; and he is the subject of all by the same necessity. xiii. the system of punishment is only a system accommodated to the opinions of society. there is nothing evil in itself, according to this system of necessity, as we have already shown. every thing which takes place is, in its time, place, and relations generally, the necessary result of necessary and infinite wisdom. but still it is a fact that society are desirous of preventing certain acts,--such as stealing, adultery, murder, &c.; and they are necessarily so desirous. now the system of punishment is a mere collection of motives in relation to the sense of pain and the emotion of fear, which prevent the commission of these acts. where these acts do take place, it is best they should take place; but where they are prevented by the fear of punishment, it is best they should be prevented. where the criminal suffers, he has no right to complain, because it is best that he should suffer; and yet, if he does complain, it is best that he should complain. the system of punishment is good, as every thing else is good. the system of divine punishments must be considered in the same light. indeed, what are human punishments, when properly considered, but divine punishments? they are comprehended in the pre-ordained and necessary chain of being and events. xiv. hence we must conclude, also, that there cannot really be any calamity. the calamities which we may at any time experience, we ought to endure and rejoice in, as flowing from the same perfect and necessary source. but as calamity does nevertheless necessarily produce suffering and uneasiness, and the desire of relief, we may be permitted to hope that perfect relief and entire blessedness will finally ensue, and that the final blessedness will be enhanced just in proportion to the present suffering. the necessitarian may be an optimist of a high order. it he commits what is called crime, and remorse succeeds, and punishment is inflicted under law, the crime is good, the remorse is good, the punishment is good, all necessary and good, and working out, as he hopes, a result of pure happiness. nothing can be bad in itself: it may be disagreeable; but even this will probably give way to the agreeable. and so also with all afflictions: they must be good in themselves, although disagreeable, --and will probably lead the way to the agreeable, just as hunger and thirst, which are disagreeable, lead the way to the enjoyments of eating and drinking. all is of necessity, and of a necessary and perfect wisdom. xv. but as all is of necessity, and of a necessary and perfect wisdom, there really can no more be folly in conduct, or error in reasoning and belief, than there can be crime and calamity, considered as evils in themselves. every act that we call folly is a necessary act, in its time, place, and relations generally, and is a necessary consequence of the infinite wisdom; but a necessary consequence of infinite wisdom cannot be opposed to infinite wisdom; so that what we call folly, when philosophically considered, ceases to be folly. in any act of pure reasoning, the relations seem necessary, and the assent of the mind is necessary. this is granted by all parties. but it must be admitted, that when men are said to reason falsely, and to yield their assent to false conclusions, the relations seem necessary to them; and, according to this system, they necessarily so seem, and cannot seem otherwise: and the assent of the mind is also necessary. the reasoning, to others, would be false reasoning, because it so necessarily seems to them; but to the individual to whom it seems different, it must really be different, and be good and valid reasoning. again: as all these different reasonings and beliefs proceed necessarily from the same source, they must all be really true where they seem true, and all really false where they seem false. it would follow, from this, that no one can really be in a false position except the hypocrite and sophist, pretending to believe and to be what he does not believe and what he is not, and purposely reasoning falsely, and stating his false conclusions as if they were truths. i say this would follow, were we not compelled by this system to allow that even the hypocrite and sophist cannot hold a false position, inasmuch as his position is a necessary one, predetermined in its necessary connexion with the first necessary wisdom. xvi. another consequence of this system is fatalism,--or, perhaps, more properly speaking, the system is itself a system of fatalism. this, indeed, has already been made to appear substantially. the word, however, has not yet been used. i here, then, charge directly this consequence or feature upon the system. fatalism is the absolute negation of liberty. this system is fatalism, because it is the absolute negation of liberty. no liberty is contended for, in this system, in relation to man, but physical liberty: viz. that when he wills, the effect will follow,--that when he wills to walk, he walks, &c. "liberty, as i have explained it, is the power, opportunity, or advantage, that any one has to do as he pleases, or conducting himself in any respect according to his pleasure, without considering how his pleasure comes to be as it is." (p. .) in the first place, this is no higher liberty than what brutes possess. they have power, opportunity, or advantage, to do as they please. effects follow their volitions by as certain a law as effects follow the volitions of men. in the second place, this is no higher liberty than slaves possess. slaves uniformly do as they please. if the motive be the lash, or the fear of the lash, still, in their case as well as in that of brutes under similar circumstances, the volition which takes place is the most pleasing at the moment. the slave and the animal do what is most pleasing to them, or do according to their pleasure, when the one drags the plough and the other holds it. nay, it is impossible for any animal, rational or irrational, to act without doing what is most pleasing to him or it. volition is always as the greatest apparent good, or as the sense of the most pleasant or agreeable. if any should reply that slaves and animals are _liable_ to be fettered, and this distinguishes them from the free, i rejoin that every being is liable to various restraints; none of us can do many things which in themselves appear desirable, and would be objects of volition if there were known to be an established connexion between them and our wills. we are limited in our actions by the powers of nature around us; we cannot overturn mountains, or command the winds. we are limited in the nature of our physical being. we are limited by our want of wealth, knowledge, and influence. in all these respects, we may, with as much propriety as the slave, be regarded as deprived of liberty. it does not avail to say that, as we never really will what we know to be impossible or impracticable, so in relation to such objects, neither liberty or a want of liberty is to be affirmed; for the same will apply to the fettered slave; he does not will to walk or run when he knows it to be impossible. but in relation to him as well as to every other being, according to this system it holds true, that whether he act or forbear to act, his volitions are as the most agreeable. all creatures, therefore, acting by volition, are to be accounted free, and one really as free as another. in the third place, the liberty here affirmed belongs equally to every instance of stated antecedence and sequence. the liberty which is taken to reside in the connexion between volition and effects, is a liberty lying in a connexion of stated antecedence and sequence, and is perfect according as this connexion is necessary and unimpeded. the highest form of liberty, therefore, is to be found in the most absolute form of necessity. liberty thus becomes identified also with power: where there is power, there is liberty; and where power is the greatest, that is, where it overcomes the most obstacles and moves on irresistibly to its effects, there is the greatest degree of liberty. god is the most free of all beings, because nothing can impede his will. his volitions are always the antecedents of effects. but obviously we do not alter the relation, when we change the terms. if liberty lie in the stated antecedence of volition to effects, and if liberty is measured by the necessity of the relation, then when the antecedent is changed, the relation remaining the same, liberty must still be present. for example: when a volition to move the arm is followed by a motion of the arm, there is liberty; now let galvanism be substituted for the volition, and the effect as certainly takes place; and as freedom is doing as we please, or will, "without considering how this pleasure (or will) comes to be as it is;" that is, without taking its motive into the account. so likewise, freedom may be affirmed to be doing according to the galvanic impulse, "without considering how" that impulse "comes to be as it is." if we take any other instance of stated antecedence and sequence, the reasoning is the same. for example, a water wheel in relation to the mill-stone: when the wheel turns, the mill-stone moves. in this case freedom may be defined: the mill-stone moving according to the turn of the wheel, "without considering how" that turn of the wheel "comes to be as it is." in the case of human freedom, freedom is defined, doing according to our volitions, without considering how the volition comes to be as it is; doing "according to choice, without taking into the meaning of the word anything of the cause of that choice." (p. .) if it be said that in the case of volition, we have the man of whom to affirm freedom; but in the case of the wheel and mill-stone, we have nothing of which liberty can properly be affirmed. i reply, that liberty must be affirmed, and is properly affirmed, of that to which it really belongs; and hence as volition is supposed to belong to the spiritual essence, man; and this spiritual essence is pronounced free, because volition appears in it, and is attended by consequences:--so, likewise, the material essence of the wheel may be pronounced free, because motion belongs to it, and is followed by consequences. as every being that has volition is free, so likewise every thing that hath motion is free:--in every instance of cause and effect, we meet with liberty. but volition cannot be the characteristic of liberty, if volition itself be governed by necessity: and yet this system which affirms liberty, wherever there is unimpeded volition, makes volition a necessary determination. in the fact of unimpeded volition, it gives liberty to all creatures that have volition; and then again, in the fact of the necessary determination of volition it destroys the possibility of liberty. but even where it affirms liberty to exist, there is no new feature to characterize it as liberty. the connexion between volition and its stated consequences, is a connexion as necessary and absolute as the connexion between the motive and the volition, and between any antecedent and sequent whatever. that my arm should move when i make a volition to this effect, is just as necessary and just as incomprehensible too, as that water should freeze at a given temperature: when the volition is impeded, we have only another instance of necessity,--a lesser force overcome by a greater. the liberty therefore which this system affirms in the fact of volition and its unimpeded connexion with its consequents, is an assumption--a mere name. it is a part of the universal necessity arbitrarily distinguished and named, its liberty does not reside in human volition, so neither can it reside in the divine volition. the necessary dependence of volition upon motive, and the necessary sequence of effects upon volition, can no more be separated from the divine mind than from ours. it is a doctrine which, if true, is implied in the universal conception of mind. it belongs to mind generically considered. the creation of volition by volition is absurd in itself--it cannot but be an absurdity. the determination of will by the strongest motive, if a truth is a truth universally; on this system, it contains the whole cause and possibility of volition. the whole liberty of god, it is affirmed, is contained in this, to do as pleases him, or, in other words, that what he wills is accomplished, and necessarily accomplished: what pleases him is also fixed in the necessity of his own nature. his liberty, therefore, by its own definition, differs nothing from necessity. if the movements of mind are necessary, no argument is required to prove that all being and events are necessary. we are thus bound up in a universal necessity. whatever is, is, and cannot be otherwise, and could not have been otherwise. as therefore there is no liberty, we are reduced to the only remaining alternative of fatalism. edwards does not indeed attempt to rebut wholly the charge of fatalism. (part iv. § vi.) in relation to the stoics, he remarks:--"it seems they differed among themselves; and probably the doctrine of _fate_ as maintained by most of them, was, in some respects, erroneous. but whatever their doctrines was, if any of them held such a fate, as is repugnant to any _liberty, consisting in our doing as we please,_ i utterly deny such a fate." he objects to fatalism only when it should deny our actions to be connected with our pleasure, or our sense of the most agreeable, that is our volition. but this connexion we have fully proved to be as necessary as the connexion between the volition and its motive. this reservation therefore does not save him from fatalism. in the following section, (sec. vii.) he represents the liberty and sovereignty of god as consisting in an ability "to do whatever pleases him." his idea of the divine liberty, therefore, is the same as that attributed to man. that the divine volitions are necessarily determined, he repeatedly affirms, and indeed represents as the great excellence of the divine nature, because this necessity of determination is laid in the infinite wisdom and perfection of his nature. if necessity govern all being and events, it is cheering to know that it is necessity under the forms of infinite wisdom and benevolence. but still it remains true that necessity governs. if "it is no disadvantage or dishonour to a being, _necessarily_ to act in the most excellent and happy manner from the necessary perfection of his own nature," still let us remember that under this representation _he does act necessarily_. fate must have some quality or form; it must be what we call good or evil: but in determining its quality, we do not destroy its nature. now if we call this fate a nature of goodness and wisdom, eternal and infinite, we present it under forms beautiful, benign, and glorious, but it is nevertheless fate,--and as such it governs the divine volitions; and through the divine volitions, all the consequents and effects of these volitions;--the universe of being and things is determined by fate;--and all volitions of angels or men are determined by fate--by this fate so beautiful, benign, and glorious. now if all things thus _proceeding_ from fate were beautiful, benign, and glorious, the theory might not alarm us. but that deformity, crime, and calamity should have place as developements of this fate, excites uneasiness. the abettors of this system, however, may perhaps comfort themselves with the persuasion that deformity, crime, and calamity, are names not of realities, but of the limited conceptions of mankind. we have indeed an instance in point in charles bonnet, whom dugald stewart mentions as "a very learned and pious disciple of leibnitz." says bonnet--"thus the same chain embraces the physical and moral world, binds the past to the present, the present to the future, the future to eternity. that wisdom which has ordained the existence of this chain, has doubtless willed that of every link of which it is composed. a caligula is one of these links; and this link is of iron. a marcus aurelius is another link; and this link is of gold. _both_ are necessary parts of one whole, which could not but exist. shall god then be angry at the sight of the iron link? what absurdity! god esteems this link at its proper value. he sees it in its cause, and he approves this cause, for it is good. god beholds moral monsters as he beholds physical monsters. happy is the link of gold! still more happy if he know that he is _only fortunate_. he has attained the highest degree of moral perfection, and is nevertheless without pride, knowing that what he is, is the necessary result, of the place which he must occupy in the chain. the gospel is the allegorical exposition of this system; the simile of the potter is its summary." he might have added, "happy is the link of iron, if he know that he is not guilty, but at worst _only unfortunate;_ and really not unfortunate, because holding a necessary place in the chain which both as a whole and in its parts, is the result of infinite wisdom." if anything more is required in order to establish this consequence of the system we are examining, i would call attention to the inquiry, whether after a contingent self-determining will there remains any theory of action except fatalism? a contingent self-determining will is a will which is the cause of its own volitions or choices--a self-conscious power, self-moved and directed, and at the moment of its choice, or movement towards a particular object, conscious of ability of choosing, or moving towards, an opposite object. now what conception have we to oppose to this but that of a will not determining itself,--not the cause of its own volitions,--a power not self-moved and directed,--and not conscious of ability at the moment of a particular choice, to make a contrary choice? and this last conception is a will whose volitions are determined by some power antecedent to itself, not contingently, but necessarily. as the will is the only power for which contingent self-determination is claimed, if it be proved to be no such power, then no such power exists. the whole theory of action and causality will then be expressed as follows: . absolute and necessary connexion of motives and volitions. . absolute and necessary connexion of volitions and effects. . absolute and necessary connexion of all sequents and antecedents in nature. . absolute and necessary connexion of all things existent with a first and necessary principle or cause. . the necessary determination of this principle or cause. denying a contingent self-determining will, this theory is all that remains. if liberty be affirmed to reside in the d particular of this theory, it becomes a mere arbitrary designation, because the _nature_ of the relation is granted to be the same; it is not _contingent_, but necessary. nor can liberty be affirmed to reside in the th; because in the first place, the supposed demonstration of the absurdity of a contingent self-determining will, by infinite series of volitions, must apply to this great first principle considered as god. and in the second place, the doctrine of the necessary determination of motive must apply here likewise, since god as will and intelligence requires motives no less than we do. such determination is represented as arising from the very nature of mind or spirit. now this theory advanced in opposition to a self-determining will, is plainly the negation of liberty as opposed to necessity. and this is all that can be meant by fatalism. liberty thus becomes a self-contradictory conception, and fatalism alone is truth and reality. xvii. it appears to me also, that pantheism is a fair deduction from this system. according to this system, god is the sole and universal doer--the only efficient cause. . his volition is the creative act, by which all beings and things exist. thus far it is generally conceded that god is all in all. "by him we live, and move, and have our being." . the active powers of the whole system of nature he has constituted and regulated. the winds are his messengers. the flaming fire his servant. however we may conceive of these powers, whether as really powers acting under necessary laws, or as immediate manifestations of divine energy, in either case it is proper to attribute all their movements to god. these movements were ordained by his wisdom, and are executed directly or indirectly by his will. every effect which we produce in the material world, we produce by instrumentality. our arms, hands, &c. are our first instruments. all that we do by the voluntary use of these, we attribute to ourselves. now if we increase the instrumentality by the addition of an axe, spade, or hammer, still the effect is justly attributed in the same way. it is perfectly clear that to whatever extent we multiply the instruments, the principle is the same. whether i do the deed directly with my hand, or do it by an instrument held in my hand, or by a concatenation of machinery, reaching from "the centre to the utmost pole,"--if i contemplate the deed, and designedly accomplish it in this way, the deed is mine. and not only is the last deed contemplated as the end of all this arrangement mine, all the intermediary movements produced as the necessary chain of antecedents and sequents by which the last is to be attained, are mine likewise. i use powers and instruments whose energy and capacity i have learned by experience, but in whose constitution i have had no hand. they are provided for me, and i merely use them. but god in working by these, works by what his own wisdom and power have created; and therefore _a fortiori_ must every effect produced by these, according to his design, and by his volition as at least the first power of the series, be attributed to him,--be called his doing. he causeth the sun to rise and set. "he causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man." "he watereth the hills from his chambers." this is not merely poetry. it is truth. now the system we are considering goes one step further; it makes human volitions as much the objects of the eternal design, and as really the effects of the divine volition, as the rising of the stars, the flight of the lightning, the tumult of the waters, or the light which spreadeth itself like a garment over creation. every volition of created mind is god's act, as really as any effect in nature. we have seen how every volition is connected with its motive; how the motive lies in a pre-constitution; how the series of antecedents and sequents necessarily runs back and connects itself with the infinite wisdom. god's volition is his own act; the effect immediately produced by that volition is his own deed. let that effect be the creation of man: the man in all his powers and susceptibilities is god's work; the objects around him are god's work; the correlation of the objects with the sensitivity of man is god's work; the volition which necessarily takes place as the result of this correlation is god's work. the volition of the man is as strictly attributable to god, as, according to our common apprehensions, the blow which i give with an axe is attributable to me. what is true of the first man, must be equally true of the man removed by a thousand generations, for the intermediary links are all ordained by god under an inevitable necessity. god is really, therefore, the sole doer--the only efficient, the only cause. all beings and things, all motion and all volition, are absolutely resolved into divine volition. god is the author of all beings, things, motions, and volitions, and as much the author of any one of these as of any other, and the author of all in the same way and in the same sense. set aside self-determining will, and there is no stopping-place between a human volition and the divine volition. the human volition is but the divine, manifested through a lengthened it may be, but a connected and necessary chain of antecedents and sequents. i see no way of escaping from this, as a necessary and legitimate consequence of the necessary determination of will. and what is this consequence but pantheism? god is the universal and all-pervading intelligence--the universal and only power. every movement of nature is necessary; every movement of mind is necessary; because necessarily caused and determined by the divine volition. there is no life but his, no thought but his, no efficiency but his. he is the soul of the world. spinosa never represented himself as an atheist, and according to the following representation appears rather as a pantheist. "he held that god is the _cause_ of all things; but that he acts, not from choice, but from necessity; and, of consequence, that he is the involuntary author of all the good and evil, virtue and vice, which are exhibited in human life." (dugald stewart, vol. . p. , note.) cousin remarks, too, that spinosa deserves rather the reproach of pantheism than of atheism. his pantheism was fairly deduced from the doctrine of necessary determination, which he advocated. xviii. spinosa, however, is generally considered an atheist. "it will not be disputed," says stewart, "by those who comprehend the drift of his reasonings, that in point of practical tendency atheism and spinosism are one and the same." the following is cousin's view of his system. it apparently differs from the preceding in some respects, but really tends to the same conclusions. "instead of accusing spinosa of atheism, he ought to be reproached for an error in the other direction. spinosa starts from the perfect and infinite being of descartes's system, and easily demonstrates that such a being is alone a being in itself; but that a being, finite, imperfect, and relative, only participates of being, without possessing it, in itself: that a being in itself is one necessarily: that there is but one substance; and that all that remains has only a phenomenal existence: that to call phenomena, finite substances, is affirming and denying, at the same time; whereas, there being, but one substance which possesses being in itself, and the finite being that which participates of existence without possessing it in itself, a substance finite implies two contradictory notions. thus, in the philosophy of spinosa, man and nature are pure phenomena; simple attributes of that one and absolute substance, but attributes which are co-eternal with their substance: for as phenomena cannot exist without a subject, the imperfect without the perfect, the finite without the infinite, and man and nature suppose god; so likewise, the substance cannot exist without phenomena, the perfect without the imperfect, the infinite without the finite, and god on his part supposes man and nature. the error of his system lies in the predominance of the relation of phenomenon to being, of attribute to substance, over the relation of effect to cause. when man has been represented, not as a cause, voluntary and free, but as necessary and uncontrollable desire, and as an imperfect and finite thought; god, or the supreme pattern of humanity, can be only a substance, and not a cause--a being, perfect, infinite, necessary--the immutable substance of the universe, and not its producing and creating cause. in cartesianism, the notion of substance figures more conspicuously than that of cause; and this notion of substance, altogether predominating, constitutes spinosism." (hist. de la phil tom. . p. .) the predominance of the notion of substance and attribute, over that of cause and effect, which cousin here pronounces the vice of spinosa's system, is indeed the vice of every system which contains the dogma of the necessary determination of will. the first consequence is pantheism; the second, atheism. i will endeavour to explain. when self -determination is denied to will, and it is resolved into mere desire, necessitated in all its acts from its pre-constituted correlation with objects, then will really ceases to be a cause. it becomes an instrument of antecedent power, but is no power in itself, creative or productive. the reasoning employed in reference to the human will, applies in all its force to the divine will, as has been already abundantly shown. the divine will therefore ceases to be a cause, and becomes a mere instrument of antecedent power. this antecedent power is the infinite and necessary wisdom; but infinite and necessary wisdom is eternal and unchangeable; what it is now, it always was; what tendencies or energies it has now, it always had; and therefore, whatever volitions it now necessarily produces, it always necessarily produced. if we conceive a volition to have been, in one direction, the immediate and necessary antecedent of creation; and, in another, the immediate and necessary sequent of infinite, and eternal, and necessary wisdom; then this volition must have always existed, and consequently, creation, as the necessary effect of this volition, must have always existed. the eternal and infinite wisdom thus becomes the substance, because this is existence in itself, no antecedent being conceivable; and creation, consisting of man and nature, imperfect and finite, participating only of existence, and not being existence in themselves, are not substances, but phenomena. but what is the relation of the phenomena to the substance? not that of effect to cause;--this relation slides entirely out of view, the moment will ceases to be a cause. it is the relation simply of phenomena to being, considered as the necessary and inseparable manifestations of being; the relation of attributes to substance, considered as the necessary and inseparable properties of substance. we cannot conceive of substance without attributes or phenomena, nor of attributes or phenomena without substance; they are, therefore, co-eternal in this relation. who then is god? substance and its attributes; being and its phenomena. in other words, the universe, as made up of substance and attributes, is god. this is spinosism; this is pantheism; and it is the first and legitimate consequence of a necessitated will. the second consequence is atheism. in the denial of will as a cause _per se_,--in resolving all its volitions into the necessary phenomena of the eternal substance,--we destroy personality: we have nothing remaining but the universe. now we may call the universe god; but with equal propriety we call god the universe. this destruction of personality,--this merging of god into necessary substance and attributes,--is all that we mean by atheism. the conception is really the same, whether we name it fate, pantheism, or atheism. the following remark of dugald stewart, shows that he arrived at the same result: "whatever may have been the doctrines of some of the ancient atheists about man's free agency, it will not be denied that, in the history of modern philosophy, the schemes of atheism and of necessity have been hitherto always connected together. not that i would by any means be understood to say, that every necessitarian must _ipso facto_ be an atheist, or even that any presumption is afforded, by a man's attachment to the former sect, of his having the slightest bias in favour of the latter; but only that every modern atheist i have heard of has been a necessitarian. i cannot help adding, that the most consistent necessitarian who have yet appeared, have been those who followed out their principles till they ended in _spinosism_,--a doctrine which differs from atheism more in words than in reality." (vol. , p. .) cudworth, in his great work entitled "the true intellectual system of the universe," shows clearly the connexion between fatalism and atheism. this work seems to have grown out of another undertaking, which contemplated specifically the question of liberty and necessity, and its bearing upon morality and religion. the passage in the preface, in which he informs us of his original plan, is a very full expression of his opinion. "first, therefore, i acknowledge," says he, "that when i engaged the press, i intended only a discourse concerning liberty and necessity, or, to speak out more plainly, against the fatal necessity of all actions and events; which, upon whatsoever grounds or principles maintained, will, as we conceive, serve the design of atheism, and undermine christianity, and all religion, as taking away all guilt and blame, punishments and rewards, and plainly rendering a day of judgement ridiculous." this opinion of the tendency of the doctrine of a necessitated will, is the germ of his work. the connexion established in his mind between this doctrine and atheism, naturally led him to his masterly and elaborate exposition and refutation of the latter. the arguments of many atheists might be referred to, to illustrate the connexion between necessity and atheism. i shall here refer, however, to only one individual, remarkable both for his poetic genius and metaphysical acumen. i mean the late piercy bysshe shelley. he openly and unblushingly professed atheism. in his queen mab we find this line: "there is no god." in a note upon this line, he remarks: "this negation must be understood solely to affect a creative deity. the hypothesis of a pervading spirit, co-eternal with the universe, remains unshaken." this last hypothesis is pantheism. pantheism is really the negation of a creative deity,--the identity or at least necessary and eternal co-existence of god and the universe. shelley has expressed this clearly in another passage: "spirit of nature! all-sufficing power, necessity! thou mother of the world!" in a note upon this passage, shelley has argued the doctrine of the necessary determination of will by motive, with an acuteness and power scarcely inferior to collins or edwards. he makes, indeed, a different application of the doctrine, but a perfectly legitimate one. collins and edwards, and the whole race of necessitarian theologians, evidently toil under insurmountable difficulties, while attempting to base religion upon this doctrine, and effect their escape only under a fog of subtleties. but shelley, in daring to be perfectly consistent, is perfectly clear. he fearlessly proceeds from necessity to pantheism, and thence to atheism and the destruction of all moral distinctions. "we are taught," he remarks, "by the doctrine of necessity, that there is neither good nor evil in the universe, otherwise than as the events to which we apply these epithets have relation to our own peculiar mode of being. still less than with the hypothesis of a god, will the doctrine of necessity accord with the belief of a future state of punishment." i here close my deductions from this system. if these deductions be legitimate, as i myself cannot doubt they are, then, to the largest class of readers, the doctrine of necessity is overthrown: it is overthrown by its consequences, and my argument has the force of a _reductio ad absurdum_. if a self-determined will appear an absurdity, still it cannot be as absurd as the contrary doctrine, if this doctrine involve the consequences above given. at least, practical wisdom will claim that doctrine which leaves to the world a god, and to man a moral and responsible nature. a question will here very naturally arise: how can we account for the fact that so many wise and good men have contended for a necessitated will, as if they were contending for the great basis of all morality and religion? for example, take edwards himself as a man of great thought and of most fervent piety. in the whole of his treatise, he argues with the air and manner of one who is opposing great errors as really connected with a self-determined will. what can be stronger than the following language: "i think that the notion of liberty, consisting in a _contingent self-determination of the will_, as necessary to the morality of men's dispositions and actions, is almost inconceivably pernicious; and that the contrary truth is one of the most important truths of moral philosophy that ever was discussed, and most necessary to be known." the question is a fair one, and i will endeavour to answer it. . the impossibility of a self-determining will as being in itself a contradictory idea, and as leading to the consequence of affirming the existence of effects without causes, takes strong hold of the mind in these individuals. this i believe, and hope to prove in the course of this treatise, to be a philosophical error;--but it is no new thing for great and good men to fall into philosophical errors. as, therefore, the liberty consisting in a self-determining will, or the _liberty of indifference_, as it has been technically called, is conceived to be exploded, they endeavour to supply a _liberty of spontaneity_, or a liberty lying in the unimpeded connexion between volition and sequents. hobbes has defined and illustrated this liberty in a clearer manner than any of its advocates: "i conceive," says he, "liberty to be rightly defined,--the absence of all impediments to action, that are not contained in the nature and intrinsical quality of the agent. as for example, the water is said to descend _freely_, or is said to have liberty to descend by the channel of the river, because there is no impediment that way; but not across, because the banks are impediments: and though water cannot ascend, yet men never say, it wants the _liberty_ to ascend, but the _faculty_ or _power_, because the impediment is in the nature of the water, and intrinsical. so also we say, he that is tied, wants the _liberty_ to go, because the impediment is not in him, but in his hands; whereas, we say not so of him who is sick or lame, because the impediment is in himself,"--that is, he wants the faculty or power of going:--this constitutes natural _inability_. liberty is volition acting upon physical instrumentalities, or upon mental faculties, according to a fixed and constituted law of antecedents, and meeting with no impediment or overcoming antagonistic power. natural ability is the fixed and constituted antecedence itself. hence there may be natural ability without liberty; but liberty cannot be affirmed without natural ability. both are necessary to constitute responsibility. natural ability is volition known as a stated antecedent of certain effects. liberty is this antecedent existing without impediment or frustration. since this is the only possible liberty remaining, and as they have no wish to be considered fatalists, they enlarge much upon this; not only as the whole of liberty actually existing, but as the full and satisfactory notion of liberty. in basing responsibility and praise and blameworthiness upon this liberty, an appeal is made to the common ideas, feelings, and practices of men. every man regards himself as free when he does as he pleases,--when, if he pleases to walk, he walks,--when, if he pleases to sit down, he sits down, &c. if a man, in a court of justice, were to plead in excuse that he committed the crime because he pleased or willed to do it, the judge would reply--"this is your guilt, that you pleased or willed to commit it: nay, your being pleased or willing to commit it was the very doing of it." now all this is just. i readily admit that we are free when we do as we please, and that we are guilty when, in doing as we please, we commit a crime. well, then, it is asked, is not this liberty sufficient to constitute responsibility? and thus the whole difficulty seems to be got over. the reasoning would be very fair, as far as it goes, if employed against fatalists, but amounts to nothing when employed against those who hold to the self-determining power of the will. the latter receive these common ideas, feelings, and practices of men, as facts indicative of freedom, because they raise no question against human freedom. the real question at issue is, how are we to account for these facts? the advocates of self-determining power account for them by referring them to a self-determined will. we say a man is free when he does as he pleases or according to his volitions, and has the sense of freedom in his volitions, because he determines his own volitions; and that a man is guilty for crime, if committed by his volition, because he determined this volition, and at the very moment of determining it, was conscious of ability to determine an opposite volition. and we affirm, also, that a man is free, not only when he does as he pleases, or, in other words, makes a volition without any impediment between it and its object,--he is free, if he make the volition without producing effects by it: volition itself is the act of freedom. but how do those who deny a self-determining power account for these facts? they say that the volition is caused by a motive antecedent to it, but that nevertheless, inasmuch as the man feels that he is free and is generally accounted so, he must be free; for liberty means nothing more than "power and opportunity to do and conduct as he will, or according to his choice, without taking into the meaning of the word any thing of the _cause_ of that choice, or at all considering how the person came to have such a volition,"--that is, the man is free, and feels himself to be so, when he does as he pleases, because this is all that is meant by freedom. but suppose the objection be brought up, that the definition of liberty here given is assumed, arbitrary, and unsatisfactory; and that the sense or consciousness of freedom in the act of volition, and the common sentiments and practices of men in reference to voluntary action, are not adequately accounted for,--then the advocates of necessitated volition return to the first argument, of the impossibility of any other definition,--and affirm that, inasmuch as this sense of freedom does exist, and the sentiments and practices of men generally correspond to it, we must believe that we are free when volition is unimpeded in its connexion with sequents, and that we are blame or praiseworthy, according to the perceived character of our volitions,--although it cannot but be true that the volitions themselves are necessary. on the one hand, they are compelled by their philosophy to deny a self-determining will. on the other hand, they are compelled, by their moral sense and religious convictions, to uphold moral distinctions and responsibility. in order to do this, however, a _quasi_ liberty must be preserved: hence the attempt to reconcile liberty and necessity, by referring the first exclusively to the connexion between volition and its sequents, and the second exclusively to the connexion between the volition and its antecedents or motives. liberty is physical; necessity is metaphysical. the first belongs to man; the second transcends the sphere of his activity, and, is not his concern. in this very difficult position, no better or more ingenious solution could be devised; but that it is wholly illogical and ineffectual, and forms no escape from absolute and universal necessity, has already been abundantly proved. . the philosophers and divines of whom we are speaking, conceive that when volitions are supposed to exist out of the necessary determination of motives, they exist fortuitously and without a cause. but to give up the necessary and universal dependence of phenomena upon causes, would be to place events beyond the divine control: nay, more,--it would destroy the great _a posteriori_ argument for the existence of a god. of course it would be the destruction of all morality and religion. . the doctrine of the divine foreknowledge, in particular, is much insisted upon as incompatible with contingent volitions. divine foreknowledge, it is alleged, makes all events certain and necessary. hence volitions are necessary; and, to carry out the reasoning, it must be added likewise that the connexion between volitions and their sequents is equally necessary. god foresees the sequent of the volition as well as the volition. the theory, however, is careful to preserve the _name_ of liberty, because it fears the designation which properly belongs to it. . by necessary determination, the sovereignty of god and the harmony of his government are preserved. his volitions are determined by his infinite wisdom. the world, therefore, must be ruled in truth and righteousness. these philosophers and divines thus represent to themselves the theory of a self-determining will as an absurdity in itself, and, if granted to be true, as involving the most monstrous and disastrous consequences, while the theory which they advocate is viewed only in its favourable points, and without reaching forth to its legitimate consequences. if these consequences are urged by another hand, they are sought to be evaded by concentrating attention upon the fact of volition and the sense of freedom attending it: for example, if fatalism be urged as a consequence, of this theory, the ready reply is invariably--"no such necessity is maintained as goes to destroy the liberty which consists in doing as one pleases;" or if the destruction of responsibility be urged as a consequence, the reply is--"a man is always held a just subject of praise or blame when he acts voluntarily." the argumentation undoubtedly is as sincere as it is earnest. the interests at stake are momentous. they are supposed to perish, if this philosophy be untrue. no wonder, then, that, reverencing and loving morality and religion, they should by every possible argument aim to sustain the philosophy which is supposed to lie at their basis, and look away from consequences so destructive, persuading themselves that these consequences are but the rampant sophistries of infidelity. it is a wonderful fact in the history of philosophy, that the philosophy of fate, pantheism, and atheism, should be taken as the philosophy of religion. good men have misapprehended the philosophy, and have succeeded in bringing it into fellowship with truth and righteousness. bad men and erring philosophers have embraced it in a clear understanding of its principles, and have both logically reasoned out and fearlessly owned its consequences. xix. assuming, for the moment, that the definition of liberty given by the theologians above alluded to, is the only possible definition, it must follow that the most commonly received modes of preaching the truths and urging the duties of religion are inconsistent and contradictory. a class of theologians has been found in the church, who, perhaps without intending absolutely to deny human freedom, have denied all ability on the part of man to comply with the divine precepts. a generic distinction between inability and a want of freedom is not tenable, and certainly is of no moment, where, as in this case, the inability contended for is radical and absolute. these theologians clearly perceived, that if volition is necessarily determined by motive, and if motive lies in the correlation of desire and object, then, in a being totally depraved, or a being of radically corrupt desires, there can be no ability to good deeds: the deed is as the volition, and the volition is as the strongest desire or the sense of the most agreeable. hence these theologians refer the conversion of man exclusively to divine influence. the man cannot change his own heart, nor employ any means to that end; for this would imply a volition for which, according to the supposition, he has no ability. now, at the same time, that this class represent men as unable to love and obey the truths of religion, they engage with great zeal in expounding these truths to their minds, and in urging upon them the duty of obedience. but what is the aim of this preaching? perhaps one will reply, i know the man cannot determine himself to obedience, but in preaching to him, i am presenting motives which may influence him. but in denying his ability to do good, you deny the possibility of moving him by motives drawn from religious truth and obligation. his heart, by supposition, is not in correlation with truth and duty; the more, therefore, you preach truth and duty, the more intense is the sense of the disagreeable which you awaken. as when you present objects to a man's mind which are correlated to his feelings, the more clearly and frequently you present them, the more you advance towards the sense of the most agreeable or choice. so when you present objects which are not correlated to his feelings, the more clearly and frequently you present them, the more you must advance towards the sense of the most disagreeable, or positive refusal. if it be affirmed, in reply to this, that the presentation of truth forms the occasion or condition on which the divine influence is exerted for the regeneration of the heart, then i ask, why do you urge the man to repent, and believe, and love god, and discharge religious duty generally, and rebuke him for sin, when you know that he is utterly unable to move, in the slightest degree, towards any of these affections and actions, and utterly unable to leave off sinning, until the divine influence be exerted, which brings his heart into correlation with religion, and makes it possible for him to put forth the volitions of piety and duty? it can be regarded in no other light than playing a solemn farce, thus to rebuke and urge and persuade, as if the man ought to make some exertion when you feel convinced that exertion is impossible. it certainly can form no occasion for divine interposition, unless it be in pity of human folly. if you say that such a course does succeed in the conversion of men, then we are constrained to believe that your philosophy is wrong, and that your practice succeeds, because inconsistent with it, and really belonging to some other system which you know not, or understand not and deny. a total inability to do good makes man the passive subject of influences to be employed for his regeneration, and he can no more be considered active in effecting it than he is in the process of digesting food, or in the curative action of medicines upon any diseased part of his system. if you urge him to exert himself for his regeneration, you urge him to put forth volitions which, according to this philosophy, are in no sense possible until the regeneration has been effected, or at least commenced. i will go one step farther in this reasoning:--on supposition of total inability, not only is the individual a passive subject of regenerating influences, but he is also incapable of regeneration, or any disposition or tendency towards regeneration, from any influences which lie merely in motives, produced by arraying objects before the mind. motive, according to the definition, exhibited in the statement of edwards's system, lies in the nature and circumstances of the object standing in correlation with the state of mind. now the state of mind, in an unregenerate state, is a state represented by this system itself, as totally adverse to the objects of religion. hence, there is no conceivable array of religious truth, and no conceivable religious exhortation and persuasion that could possibly come into such a relation to this state of mind as to form the motive of a religious choice or volition. it is perfectly plain, that before such a result could take place, the state of mind itself would have to be changed. but as the array of religious truth and the energy of religious exhortation must fail to produce the required volitions, on account of the state of mind, so neither can the state of mind be changed by this array of truth or by this exhortation. there is a positive opposition of mind and object, and the collision becomes more severe upon every attempt to bring them together. it must follow, therefore, that preaching truth and duty to the unregenerate, so far from leading to their conversion, can only serve to call out more actively the necessary determination, not to obey. the very enlightening of the intelligence, as it gives a clearer perception of the disagreeable objects, only increases the disinclination. nor can we pause in this consequence, at human instrumentality. it must be equally true, that if divine interposition lies in the presentation of truth and persuasions to duty, only that these are given with tenfold light and power, it must fail of accomplishing regeneration, or of producing any tendency towards regeneration. the heart being in no correlation with these,--its sense of the disagreeable,--and therefore the energy of its refusal will only be the more intense and decided. if it should be remarked that hope and fear are feelings, which, even in a state of unregeneracy, can be operated upon, the state of things is equally difficult. no such hope can be operated upon as implies desire after religious principles and enjoyments; for this cannot belong to the corrupt nature; nor can any fear be aroused which implies a reverence of the divine purity, and an abhorrence of sin. the fear could only relate to danger and suffering; and the hope, to deliverance and security, independently of moral qualities. the mere excitement of these passions might awaken attention, constrain to an outward obedience, and form a very prudent conduct, but could effect no purification of the heart. there is another class of theologians, of whom edwards is one, who endeavour to escape the difficulties which attend a total inability, by making the distinction of moral and natural inability:--man, they say, is morally unable to do good, and naturally able to do good, and therefore he can justly be made the subject of command, appeal, rebuke, and exhortation. the futility of this distinction i cannot but think has already been made apparent. it may be well, however, inasmuch as so great stress is laid upon it, to call up a brief consideration of it in this particular connexion. moral inability, as we have seen, is the impossibility of a given volition, because there are no motives or causes to produce it. it is simply the impossibility of an effect for the want of a cause: when we speak of moral cause and effect, according to edwards, we speak of nothing different from physical cause and effect, except in the quality of the terms--the relation of the terms is the same. the impossibility of a given volition, therefore, when the appropriate motive is wanting, is equal to the impossibility of freezing water in the sun of a summer's noon-tide.[ ] when objects of volition are fairly presented, an inability to choose them must lie in the state of the mind, sensitivity, desire, will, or affections, for all these have the same meaning according to this system. there is no volition of preference where there is no motive to this effect; and there is no motive to this effect where the state of the mind is not in correlation with the objects presented: on the contrary, the volition which now takes place, is a volition of refusal. natural inability, as defined by this system, lies in the connexion between the volition considered as an antecedent, and the effect required. thus i am naturally unable to walk, when, although i make the volition, my limbs, through weakness or disease, do not obey. any defect in the powers or instrumentalities dependent for activity upon volition, or any impediment which volition cannot surmount, constitutes natural inability.[ ] according to this system, i am not held responsible for anything which, through natural inability, cannot be accomplished, although the volition is made. but now let us suppose that there is no defect in the powers or instrumentalities dependent for activity upon volition, and no impediment which volition cannot surmount, so that there need be only a volition in order to have the effect, and then the natural ability is complete:--i will to walk, and i walk. now it is affirmed that a man is fairly responsible for the doing of anything, and can be fairly urged to do it when all that is necessary for the doing of it is a volition although there may be a moral inability to the volition itself. nothing it seems to me can be more absurd than this distinction. if liberty be essential to responsibility, liberty, as we have clearly shown, can no more lie in the connexion between volition and its effects, than in the connexion between volition and its motives. one is just as necessary as the other. if it be granted to be absurd with the first class of theologians to urge men to do right when they are conceived to be totally unable to do right, it is equally so when they are conceived to have only a natural ability to do right, because this natural ability is of no avail without a corresponding moral ability. if the volition take place, there is indeed nothing to prevent the action; nay, "the very willing is the doing of it;" but then the volition as an effect cannot take place without a cause; and to acknowledge a moral inability, is nothing less than to acknowledge that there is no cause to produce the required volition. the condition of men as represented by the second class of theologians, is not really different from their condition as represented by the first class. the inability under both representations is a total inability. in the utter impossibility of a right volition on these, is the utter impossibility of any good deed. when we have denied liberty, in denying a self-determining power, these definitions in order to make out a _quasi_ liberty and ability, are nothing but ingenious folly and plausible deception. you tell the man, indeed, that he can if he will; and when he replies to you, that on your own principles the required volition is impossible, you refer him to the common notions of mankind. according to these, you say a man is guilty when he forbears to do right, since nothing is wanting to right-doing but a volition,--and guilty when he does wrong, because he wills to do wrong. according to these common notions, too, a man may fairly be persuaded to do right, when nothing is wanting but a will to do right. but do we find this distinction of natural and moral ability in the common notions of men? when nothing is required to the performance of a deed but a volition, do men conceive of any inability whatever? do they not feel that the volition has a metaphysical possibility as well as that the sequent of the volition has a physical possibility? have we not at least some reason to suspect that the philosophy of responsibility, and the basis of rebuke and persuasion lying in the common notions of men, are something widely different from the scheme of a necessitated volition? this last class of theologians, equally with the first, derive all the force of their preaching from a philosophy, upon which they are compelled to act, but which they stoutly deny. let them carry out their philosophy, and for preaching no place remains. preaching can produce good effects only by producing good volitions; and good volitions can be produced only by good motives: but good motives can exist under preaching only when the subjects of the preaching are correlated with the state of mind. but by supposition this is not the case, for the heart is totally depraved. to urge the unregenerate man to put forth volitions in reference to his regeneration, may consist with a self-determining power of will, but is altogether irrelevant on this system. it is urging _him_ to do what _he_ cannot do; and indeed what all persuasion must fail to do _in him_ as a mere passive subject. to assure him that the affair is quite easy, because nothing is required of him but to will, is equivalent to assuring him that the affair is quite easy, because it will be done when he has done it. the man may reply, the affair would indeed be quite easy if there existed in me a motive to produce the volition; but as there does not, the volition is impossible. and as i cannot put forth the volition without the motive, so neither can i make the motive which is to produce the volition--for then an effect would make its cause. what i cannot do for myself, i fear neither you, nor indeed an angel from heaven will succeed in doing for me. you array the truths, and duties, and prospects of religion before my mind, but they cannot take the character of motives to influence my will, because they are not agreeable to my heart. you indeed mean well; but do you not perceive that on your own principles all your zeal and eloquence must necessarily have an opposite effect from what you intend? my affections not being in correlation with these subjects, the more you urge them, the more intense becomes my sense of the most disagreeable, or my positive refusal; and this, my good friends, by a necessity which holds us all alike in an inevitable and ever-during chain. it is plainly impossible to escape from this conclusion, and yet maintain the philosophy. all efforts of this kind, made by appealing to the common sentiments of mankind, we have seen are self-contradictory. it will not do to press forward the philosophy until involved in difficulty and perplexity, and then to step aside and borrow arguments from another system which is assumed to be overthrown. there is no necessity more absolute and sovereign, than a logical necessity.[ ] xviii. the cardinal principles of edwards's system in the sections we have been examining, from which the above consequences are deduced, are the three following: . the will is always determined by the strongest motive. . the strongest motive is always "the most agreeable." . the will is necessarily determined. i shall close this part of the present treatise with a brief examination of the reasoning by which he endeavours to establish these points. the reasoning by which the first point is aimed to be established, is the general reasoning respecting cause and effect. volition is an effect, and must have a cause. its cause is the motive lying in the correlation of mind and object. when several physical causes conflict with each other, we call that the strongest which prevails and produces its appropriate effects, to the exclusion of the others. so also where there are several moral causes or motives conflicting with each other, we call that the strongest which prevails. where a physical cause is not opposed by any other force, it of course produces its effect; and in this case we do not say the _strongest_ cause produces the effect, because there is no comparison. so also there are cases in which there is but one moral cause or motive present, when there being no comparison, we cannot affirm that the volition is determined by the _strongest_ motive: the doing of something may be entirely agreeable, and the not doing of it may be utterly disagreeable: in this case the motive is only for the doing of it. but wherever the case contains a comparison of causes or of motives, it must be true that the effect which actually takes place, is produced by the strongest cause or motive. this indeed is nothing more than a truism, or a mere postulate, as if we should say,--let a cause or motive producing effects be called the strongest. it may be represented, also, as a _petitio principii_, or reasoning in a circle,--since the proof that the will is determined by the strongest motive is no other than the fact that it is determined. it may be stated thus: the will is determined by the strongest motive. how do you know this? because it is determined. how does this prove it? because that which determines it must be the strongest.[ ] edwards assumes, also, that motive is the cause of volition. this assumption he afterwards endeavours indirectly to sustain, when he argues against a self-determining will. if the will do not cause its own volitions, then it must follow that motive is the cause. the argument against a self-determining will we are about to take up. . _the strongest motive is always the most agreeable_. edwards maintains that the motive which always prevails to cause volition, has this characteristic,--that it is the most agreeable or pleasant at the time, and that volition itself is nothing but the sense of the most agreeable. if there should be but one motive present to the mind, as in that case there would be no comparison, we presume he would only say that the will is determined by _the agreeable_. but how are we to know whether the motive of every volition has this characteristic of agreeableness, or of most agreeableness, as the case may be? we can know it only by consulting our consciousness. if, whenever we will, we find the sense of the most agreeable identified with the volition, and if we are conscious of no power of willing, save under this condition of willing what is most agreeable to us, then certainly there remains no farther question on this point. the determination of consciousness is final. whether such be the determination of consciousness, we are hereafter to consider. does edwards appeal to consciousness? he does,--but without formally announcing it. the following passage is an appeal to consciousness, and contains edwards's whole thought on this subject: "there is scarcely a plainer and more universal dictate of the sense and experience of mankind, than that when men act voluntarily, and do what they please, then they do what suits them best, or what is most _agreeable to them_. to say that they do what _pleases_ them, but yet what is not _agreeable_ to them, is the same thing as to say, they do what they please, but do not act their pleasure; and that is to say, that they do what they please, and yet do not what they please." (p. .) motives differ widely, intrinsically considered. some are in accordance with reason and conscience; some are opposed to reason and conscience. some are wise; some are foolish. some are good; some are bad. but whatever may be their intrinsic properties, they all have this characteristic of agreeableness when they cause volition; and it is by this characteristic that their strength is measured. the appeal, however, which is made to sustain this, is made in a way to beg the very point in question. will not every one admit, that "when men act _voluntarily and do what they please_, they do what suits them best, and what is most agreeable to them?" yes. is it not a palpable contradiction, to say that men "do what pleases them," and yet do "what is not agreeable to them," according to the ordinary use of these words? certainly. but the point in question is, whether men, acting voluntarily, always do what is pleasing to them: and this point edwards assumes. he assumes it here, and he assumes it throughout his treatise. we have seen that, in his psychology, he identifies will and desire or the affections:--hence volition is the prevailing desire or affection, and the object which moves the _desire_ must of course appear _desirable_, or agreeable, or pleasant; for they have the same meaning. if men always will what they most desire, and desire what they will, then of course when they act voluntarily, they do what they please; and when they do what they please, they do what suits them best and is most agreeable to them. edwards runs the changes of these words with great plausibility, and we must say deceives himself as well as others. the great point,--whether will and desire are one,--whether the volition is as the most agreeable,--he takes up at the beginning as an unquestionable fact, and adheres to throughout as such; but he never once attempts an analysis of consciousness in relation to it, adequate and satisfactory. his psychology is an assumption. . the will is necessarily determined. how does edwards prove this? . on the general connexion of causes and effects. causes necessarily produce effects, unless resisted and overcome by opposing forces; but where several causes are acting in opposition, the strongest will necessarily prevail, and produce its appropriate effects. now, edwards affirms that the nature of the connexion between motives and volitions is the same with that of any other causes and effects. the difference is merely in the terms: and when he calls the necessity which characterizes the connexion of motive and volition "a moral necessity," he refers not to the connexion itself, but only to the terms connected. in this reasoning he plainly assumes that the connexion between cause and effect in general, is a necessary connexion; that is, all causation is necessary. a contingent, self-determining cause, in his system, is characterized as an absurdity. hence he lays himself open to all the consequences of a universal and absolute necessity. . he also endeavours to prove the necessity of volition by a method of approximation. (p. .) he here grants, for the sake of the argument, that the will may oppose the strongest motive in a given case; but then he contends that it is supposable that the strength of the motive may be increased beyond the strength of the will to resist, and that at this point, on the general law of causation, the determination of the will must be considered necessary. "whatever power," he remarks, "men may be supposed to have to surmount difficulties, yet that power is not infinite." if the power of the man is finite, that of the motive may be supposed to be infinite: hence the resistance of the man must at last be necessarily overcome. this reasoning seems plausible at first; but a little examination, i think, will show it to be fallacious. edwards does not determine the strength of motives by inspecting their intrinsic qualities, but only by observing their degrees of agreeableness. but agreeableness, by his own representation, is relative,--relative to the will or sensitivity. a motive of infinite strength would be a motive of infinite agreeableness, and could be known to be such only by an infinite sense of agreeableness in the man. the same of course must hold true of any motive less than infinite: and universally, whatever be the degree of strength of the motive, there must be in the man an affection of corresponding intensity. now, if there be a power of resistance in the will to any motive, which is tending strongly to determine it, this power of resistance, according to edwards, must consist of a sense of agreeableness opposing the other motive, which is likewise a sense of agreeableness: and the question is simply, which shall predominate and become a sense of the most agreeable. it is plain that if the first be increased, the second may be supposed to be increased likewise; if the first can become infinite, the second can become infinite likewise: and hence the power of resistance may be supposed always to meet the motive required to be resisted, and a point of necessary determination may never be reached. if edwards should choose to throw us upon the strength of motives intrinsically considered, then the answer is ready. there are motives of infinite strength, thus considered, which men are continually resisting: for example, the motive which urges them to obey and love god, and seek the salvation of their souls. iii. an examination of the arguments against a self-determining and contingent will. edwards's first and great argument against a self-determining will, is given in part ii. sec. , of his work, and is as follows: the will,--or the soul, or man, by the faculty of willing, effects every thing within its power as a cause, by acts of choice. "the will determines which way the hands and feet shall move, by an act of choice; and there is no other way of the will's determining, directing, or commanding any thing at all." hence, if the will determines itself, it does it by an act of choice; "and if it has itself under its command, and determines itself in its own actions, it doubtless does it in the same way that it determines other things which are under its command." but if the will determines its choice by its choice, then of course we have an infinite series of choices, or we have a first choice which is not determined by a choice,--"which brings us directly to a contradiction; for it supposes an act of the will preceding the first act in the whole train, directing and determining the rest; or a free act of the will before the first free act of the will: or else we must come at last to an act of the will determining the consequent acts, wherein the will is not self-determined, and so is not a free act, in this notion of freedom." (p. .) this reasoning, and all that follows in the attempt to meet various evasions, as edwards terms them, of the advocates of a self-determining will, depend mainly upon the assumption, that if the will determines itself, it must determine itself by an act of choice; that is, inasmuch as those acts of the will, or of the soul, considered in its power of willing, or in its personal activity, by which effects are produced out of the activity or will itself, are produced by acts of choice, for example, walking and talking, rising up and sitting down: therefore, if the soul, in the power of willing, cause volitions, it must cause them by volitions. the causative act by which the soul causes volitions, must itself be a volition. this assumption edwards does not even attempt to sustain, but takes for granted that it is of unquestionable validity. if the assumption be of unquestionable validity, then his position is impregnable; for nothing can be more palpably absurd than the will determining volitions by volitions, in an interminable series. before directly meeting the assumption, i remark, that if it be valid, it is fatal to all causality. will is simply cause; volition is effect. i affirm that the will is the sole and adequate cause of volition. edwards replies: if will is the cause of volition, then, to cause it, it must put forth a causative act; but the only act of will is volition itself: hence if it cause its own volitions, it must cause them by volitions. now take any other cause: there must be some effect which according to the general views of men stands directly connected with it as its effect. the effect is called the phenomenon, or that by which the cause manifests itself. but how does the cause produce the phenomenon? by a causative act:--but this causative act, according to edwards's reasoning, must itself be an effect or phenomenon. then this effect comes between the cause, and what was at first considered the immediate effect but the effect in question must likewise be caused by a causative act; and this causative act, again, being an effect, must have another causative act before it; and so on, _ad infinitum_. we have here then an infinite series of causative acts--an absurdity of the same kind, with an infinite series of volitions. it follows from this, that there can be no cause whatever. an infinite series of causative acts, without any first, being, according to this reasoning, the consequence of supposing a cause to cause its own acts, it must therefore follow, that a cause does not cause its own acts, but that they must be caused by some cause out of the cause. but the cause out of the cause which causes the causative acts in question, must cause these causative acts in the other cause by a causative act of its own:--but the same difficulties occur in relation to the second cause as in relation to the first; it cannot cause its own acts, and they must therefore be caused out of itself by some other cause; and so on, _ad infinitum_. we have here again the absurdity of an infinite series of causative acts; and also, the absurdity of an infinite series of causes without a first cause. otherwise, we must come to a first cause which causes its own acts, without an act of causation; but this is impossible, according to the reasoning of edwards. as, therefore, there cannot be a cause causing its own acts, and inasmuch as the denial of this leads to the absurdities above mentioned, we are driven to the conclusion, that there is no cause whatever. every cause must either cause its own acts, or its acts must be caused out of itself. neither of these is possible; therefore, there is no cause. take the will itself as an illustration of this last consequence. the will is cause; the volition, effect. but the will does not cause its own volition; the volition is caused by the motive. but the motive, as a cause, must put forth a causative act in the production of a volition. if the motive determine the will, then there must be an act of the motive to determine the will. to determine, to cause, is to do, is to act. but what determines the act of the motive determining the act of the will or volition if it determine its own act, or cause its own act, then it must do this by a previous act, according to the principle of this reasoning; and this again by another previous act; and so on, _ad infinitum_. take any other cause, and the reasoning must be the same. it may be said in reply to the above, that volition is an effect altogether peculiar. it implies selection or determination in one direction rather than in another, and therefore that in inquiring after its cause, we inquire not merely after the energy which makes it existent, but also after the cause of its particular determination in one direction rather than in another. "the question is not so much, how a spirit endowed with activity comes to _act_, as why it exerts _such_ an act, and not another; or why it acts with a particular determination? if activity of nature be the cause why a spirit (the soul of man, for instance) acts and does not lie still; yet that alone is not the cause why its action is thus and thus limited, directed and determined." (p. .) every phenomenon or effect is particular and limited. it must necessarily be one thing and not another, be in one place and not in another, have certain characteristics and not others; and the cause which determines the phenomenon, may be supposed to determine likewise all its properties. the cause of a particular motion, for example, must, in producing the motion, give it likewise a particular direction. volition must have an object; something is willed or chosen; particular determination and direction are therefore inseparable from every volition, and the cause which really gives it a being, must necessarily give it character, and particular direction and determination. selection is the attribute of the cause, and answers to particular determination and direction in the effect. as a phenomenon or effect cannot come to exist without a particular determination, so a cause cannot give existence to a phenomenon, or effect, without selection. there must necessarily be one object selected rather than another. thus, if fire be thrown among various substances, it selects the combustibles, and produces phenomena accordingly. it selects and gives particular determination. we cannot conceive of cause without selection, nor of effect without a particular determination. but in what lies the selection? in the nature of the cause in correlation with certain objects. fire is in correlation with certain objects, and consequently exhibits phenomena only with respect to them. in chemistry, under the title of affinities, we have wonderful exhibitions of selection and particular determination. now motive, according to edwards, lies in the correlation of the nature of the will, or desire, with certain objects; and volition is the effect of this correlation. the selection made by will, arising from its nature, is, on the principle of edwards, like the selection made by any other cause; and the particular determination or direction of the volition, in consequence of this, is like that which appears in every other effect. in the case of will, whatever effect is produced, is produced of necessity, by a pre-constitution and disposition of will and objects, just as in the case of any other cause. from this it appears sufficiently evident, that on edwards's principles there is no such difference between volition and any other effect, as to shield his reasonings respecting a self-determining will, against the consequences above deduced from them. the distinction of final and efficient causes does not lie in his system. the motive is that which produces the sense of the most agreeable, and produces it necessarily, and often in opposition to reason and conscience; and this sense of the most agreeable is choice or volition. it belongs to the opposite system to make this distinction in all its clearness and force--where the efficient will is distinguished, both from the persuasions and allurements of passion and desire, and from the laws of reason and conscience. thus far my argument against edwards's assumption,--that, to make the will the cause of its own volitions, is to make it cause its volitions by an act of volition,--has been indirect. if this indirect argument has been fairly and legitimately conducted, few probably will be disposed to deny that the assumption is overthrown by its consequences. in addition to the above, however, on a subject so important, a direct argument will not be deemed superfluous. self-determining will means simply a will causing its own volitions; and consequently, particularly determining and directing them. will, in relation to volition, is just what any cause is in relation to its effect. will causing volitions, causes them just as any cause causes its effects. there is no intervention of anything between the cause and effect; between will and volition. a cause producing its phenomena by phenomena, is a manifest absurdity. in making the will a self-determiner, we do not imply this absurdity. edwards assumes that we do, and he assumes it as if it were unquestionable. the will, he first remarks, determines all our external actions by volitions, as the motions of the hands and feet. he next affirms, generally, that all which the will determines, it determines in this way; and then concludes, that if it determines its own volitions, they must come under the general law, and be determined by volitions. the first position is admitted. the second, involving the last, he does not prove, and i deny that it is unquestionable. in the first place, it cannot legitimately be taken as following from the first. the relation of will to the sequents of its volitions, is not necessarily the same as its relation to its volitions. the sequents of volitions are changes or modifications, in external nature, or in parts of the being external to the will; but the volitions are modifications of the will itself. now if the modification of external nature by the will can be effected only by that modification of itself called volition, how does it appear that this modification of itself, if effected by itself, must be effected by a previous modification of itself? we learn from experience, that volitions have sequents in external nature, or in parts of our being, external to will; but this experience teaches us nothing respecting the production of volitions. the acts of the will are volitions, and all the acts of wills are volitions; but this means nothing more than that all the acts of the will are acts of the will, for volition means only this--an act of the will. but has not the act of the will a cause? yes, you have assigned the cause, in the very language just employed. it is the act of the will--the will is the cause. but how does the will cause its own acts? i do not know, nor do i know how any cause exerts itself, in the production of its appropriate phenomena; i know merely the facts. the connexion between volition and its sequents, is just as wonderful and inexplicable, as the connexion between will and its volitions. how does volition raise the arm or move the foot? how does fire burn, or the sun raise the tides? and how does will cause volitions? i know not; but if i know that such are the facts, it is enough. volitions must have a cause; but, says edwards, will cannot be the cause, since this would lead to the absurdity of causing volitions by volitions. but we cannot perceive that it leads to any such absurdity. it is not necessary for us to explain how a cause acts. if the will produce effects in external nature by its acts, it is impossible to connect with this as a sequence, established either by experience or logic, that in being received as the cause of its own acts, it becomes such only by willing its own acts. it is clearly an assumption unsupported, and incapable of being supported. besides, in denying will to be the cause of its own acts, and in supplying another cause, namely, the motive, edwards does not escape the very difficulty which he creates; for i have already shown, that the same difficulty appertains to motive, and to every possible cause. every cause produces effects by exertion or acting; but what is the cause of its acting? to suppose it the cause of its own acts, involves all the absurdities which edwards attributes to self-determination. but, _in the second place_,--let us look at the connexion of cause and phenomena a little more particularly. what is cause? it is that which is the ground of the possible, and actual existence of phenomena. how is cause known? by the phenomena. is cause visible? no: whatever is seen is phenomenal. we observe phenomena, and by the law of our intelligence we assign them to cause. but how do we conceive of cause as producing phenomena? by a _nisus_, an effort, or energy. is this _nisus_ itself a phenomenon? it is when it is observed. is it always observed? it is not. the _nisus_ of gravitation we do not observe; we observe merely the facts of gravitation. the _nisus_ of heat to consume we do not observe; we observe merely the facts of combustion. where then do we observe this _nisus?_ only in will. really, volition is the _nisus_ or effort of that cause which we call will. i do not wish to anticipate subsequent investigations, but i am constrained here to ask every one to examine his consciousness in relation to this point. when i wish to do anything i make an effort--a _nisus_ to do it; i make an effort to raise my arm, and i raise it. this effort is simply the volition. i make an effort to lift a weight with my hand,--this effort is simply the volition to lift it,--and immediately antecedent to this effort, i recognise only my will, or really only myself. this effort--this _nisus_--this volition--whatever we call it,--is in the will itself, and it becomes a phenomenon to us, because we are causes that know ourselves. every _nisus_, or effort, or volition, which we may make, is in our consciousness: causes, which are not self-conscious, of course do not reveal this _nisus_ to themselves, and they cannot reveal it to us because it is in the very bosom of the cause itself. what we observe in relation to all causes--not ourselves, whether they be self-conscious or not, is not the _nisus_, but the sequents of the _nisus_. thus in men we do not observe the volition or _nisus_ in their wills, but the phenomena which form the sequents of the _nisus_. and in physical causes, we do not observe the _nisus_ of these causes, but only the phenomena which form the sequents of this _nisus_. but when each one comes to himself, it is all different. he penetrates himself--knows himself. he is himself the cause--he, himself, makes the _nisus_, and is conscious of it; and this _nisus_ to him becomes an effect--a phenomenon, the first phenomenon by which he reveals himself, but a phenomenon by which he reveals himself only to himself. it is by the sequents of this _nisus_,--the effects produced in the external visible world, that he reveals himself to others. sometimes the _nisus_ or volition expends itself in the will, and gives no external phenomena. i may make an effort to raise my arm, but my arm may be bound or paralyzed, and consequently the effort is in vain, and is not known without. how energetic are the efforts made by the will during a fit of the night-mare! we struggle to resist some dreadful force; we strive to run away from danger but all in vain. it is possible for me to make an effort to remove a mountain: i may place my hand against its side, and tug, and strive: the _nisus_ or volition is the most energetic that i can make, but, save the straining of my muscles, no external expression of the energy of my will is given; i am resisted by a greater power than myself. the most original movement of every cause is, then, this _nisus_ in the bosom of the cause itself, and in man, as a cause, the most original movement is this _nisus_ likewise, which in him we call volition. to deny such a _nisus_ would be to deny the activity, efficiency, and energy of cause. this _nisus_, by its very conception and definition, admits of no antecedent, phenomenon, or movement: it is in the substance of the cause; its first going forth to effects. a first movement or _nisus_ of cause is just as necessary a conception as first cause itself. there is no conception to oppose to this, but that of every cause having its first movement determined by some other cause out of itself--a conception which runs back in endless retrogression without arriving at a first cause, and is, indeed, the annihilation of all cause. the assumption of edwards, therefore, that if will determine its own volitions, it must determine them by an act of volition, is unsupported alike by the facts of consciousness and a sound logic,--while all the absurdities of an infinite series of causation of acts really fasten upon his own theory, and destroy it by the very weapons with which it assails the opposite system. _in the third place_,--edwards virtually allows the self-determining power of will. will he defines as the desire, the affections, or the sensibility. there is no personal activity out of the affections or sensitivity. volition is as the most agreeable, and is itself the sense of the most agreeable. but what is the cause of volition? he affirms that it cannot be will, assuming that to make will the cause of its own volitions, involves the absurdity of willing volitions or choosing choices; but at the same time he affirms the cause to be the state of the affections or will, in correlation with the nature and circumstances of objects. but all natural causes are in correlation with certain objects,--as, for example, heat is in correlation with combustibles; that is, these natural causes act only under the condition of meeting with objects so constituted as to be susceptible of being acted upon by them. so, likewise, according to edwards's representation, we may say that the cause of volition is the nature and state of the affections or the will, acting under the condition of objects correlated to it. the sense of the most agreeable or choice cannot indeed be awakened, unless there be an object presented which shall appear the most agreeable; but then its appearing most agreeable, and its awakening the sense of the most agreeable, depends not only upon "what appears in the object viewed, but also in the manner of the view, and _the state and circumstances_ of the mind that views." (p. .) now "the _state_ and _circumstances_ of the mind that views, and the _manner_ of its view," is simply the mind acting from its inherent nature and under its proper conditions, and is a representation which answers to every natural cause with which we are acquainted: the state of the mind, therefore, implying of course its inherent nature, may with as much propriety be taken as the cause of volition, on edwards's own principles, as the nature and state of heat may be taken as the cause of combustion: but by "the state, of mind," edwards means, evidently, the state of the will or the affections. it follows, therefore, that he makes the state of the will or the affections the cause of volition; but as the state of the will or the affections means nothing more in reference to will than the state of any other cause means in reference to that cause,--and as the state of a cause, implying of course its inherent nature or constitution, means nothing more than its character and qualities considered as a cause,--therefore he virtually and really makes will the cause of its own volitions, as much as any natural cause is the cause of its invariable sequents. edwards, in contemplating and urging the absurdity of determining a volition by a volition, overlooked that, according to our most common and necessary conceptions of cause, the first movement or action of cause must be determined by the cause itself, and that to deny this, is in fact to deny cause. if cause have not within itself a _nisus_ to produce phenomena, then wherein is it a cause? he overlooked, too, that in assigning as the cause or motive of volition, the state of the will, he really gave the will a self-determining power, and granted the very point he laboured to overthrow. the point in dispute, therefore, between us and edwards, is not, after all, the self-determining power of the will. if will be a cause, it will be self-determining; for all cause is self-determining, or, in other words, is in its inherent nature active, and the ground of phenomena. but the real point in dispute is this: "_is the will necessarily determined, or not?_" the inherent nature of cause may be so constituted and fixed, that the _nisus_ by which it determines itself to produce phenomena, shall take place according to invariable and necessary laws. this we believe to be true with respect to all physical causes. heat, electricity, galvanism, magnetism, gravitation, mechanical forces in general, and the powers at work in chemical of affinities, produce their phenomena according to fixed, and, with respect to the powers themselves, necessary laws. we do not conceive it possible for these powers to produce any other phenomena, under given circumstances, than those which they actually produce. when a burning coal is thrown into a mass of dry gunpowder, an explosion must take place. now, is it true likewise that the cause which we call will, must, under given circumstances, necessarily produce such and such phenomena? must its _nisus_, its self-determining energy, or its volition, follow a uniform and inevitable law? edwards answers yes. will is but the sensitivity, and the inherent nature of the will is fixed, so that its sense of the most agreeable, which is its most original _nisus_ or its volition, follows certain necessary laws,--necessary in relation to itself. if we know the state of any particular will, and its correlation to every variety of object, we may know, with the utmost certainty, what its volition will be at a given time, and under given circumstances. moral necessity and physical necessity differ only in the terms,--not in the nature of the connexion between the terms. volition is as necessary as any physical phenomenon. now, if the will and the affections or sensitivity are one, then, as a mere psychological fact, we must grant that volition is necessary; for nothing can be plainer than that the desires and affections necessarily follow the correlation of the sensitivity and its objects. but if we can distinguish in the consciousness, the will as a personal activity, from the sensitivity,--if we can distinguish volition from the strongest desire or the sense of the most agreeable,--then it will not follow, because the one is necessary, the other is necessary likewise, unless a necessary connexion between the two be also an observed fact of consciousness. this will be inquired into in another part of our undertaking. what we are now mainly concerned with, is edwards's argument against the conception of a will not necessarily determined. this he calls a contingent determination of will. we adopt the word contingent; it is important in marking a distinction. edwards, in his argument against a contingent determination, mistakes and begs the question under discussion. . he mistakes the question. contingency is treated of throughout as if identical with chance or no cause. "any thing is said to be contingent, or to come to pass by chance or accident, in the original meaning of such words, when its connexion with its causes or antecedents, according to the established course of things, is not discerned; and so is what we have no means of foreseeing. and especially is any thing said to be contingent or accidental, with regard to us, when it comes to pass without our foreknowledge, and beside our design and scope. but the word _contingent_ is used abundantly in a very different sense; not for that whose connexion with the series of things we cannot discern so as to foresee the event, but for something which has absolutely no previous ground or reason with which its existence has any fixed and certain connexion." (p. .) thus, according to edwards, not only is _contingent_ used in the same sense as chance and accident, in the ordinary and familiar acceptation of these words, but it is also gravely employed to represent certain phenomena, as without any ground, or reason, or cause of their existence; and it is under this last point of view that he opposes it as applied to the determination of the will. in part , sec. , he elaborately discusses the question--"whether any event whatsoever, and volition in particular, can come to pass without a cause of its existence;" and in sec. ,--"whether volition can arise without a cause, through the activity of the nature of the soul." if, in calling volitions contingent,--if, in representing the determination of the will as contingent, we intended to represent a class of phenomena as existing without "any previous ground or reason with which their existence has a fixed and certain connexion,"--as existing without any cause whatever, and therefore as existing by chance, or as really self-existent, and therefore not demanding any previous ground for their existence,--it seems to me that no elaborate argument would be required to expose the absurdity of our position. that "every phenomenon must have a cause," is unquestionably one of those primitive truths which neither require nor admit of a demonstration, because they precede all demonstration, and must be assumed as the basis of all demonstration. by a contingent will, i do not mean a will which is not a cause. by contingent volitions, i do not mean volitions which exist without a cause. by a contingent will, i mean a will which is not a necessitated will, but what i conceive only and truly to be a _free will_. by contingent volitions, i mean volitions belonging to a contingent or free will. i do not oppose contingency to cause, but to necessity. let it be supposed that we have a clear idea of necessity, then whatever is not necessary i call contingent. now an argument against contingency of will on the assumption that we intend, under this title, to represent volitions as existing without a cause, is irrelevant, since we mean no such thing. but an argument attempting to prove that contingency is identical with chance, or no cause, is a fair argument; but then it must be remembered that such an argument really goes to prove that nothing but necessity is possible, for we mean by contingency that which is opposed to necessity. the argument must therefore turn upon these two points: first, is contingency a possible conception, or is it in itself contradictory and absurd? this is the main question; for if it be decided that contingency is a contradictory and absurd conception, then we are shut up to a universal and an absolute necessity, and no place remains for inquiry respecting a contingent will. but if it be decided to be a possible and rational conception, then the _second_ point will be, to determine whether the will be contingent or necessary. the first point is the only one which i shall discuss in this place. the second properly belongs to the psychological investigations which are to follow. but i proceed to remark, . that edwards, in his argument against a contingent will, really begs the question in dispute. in the first place, he represents the will as necessarily determined. this is brought out in a direct and positive argument contained in the first part of his treatise. here necessity is made universal and absolute. then, in the second place, when he comes particularly to discuss contingency, he assumes that it means no cause, and that necessity is inseparable from the idea of cause. now this is plainly a begging of the question, as well as a mistaking of it; for when we are inquiring whether there be any thing contingent, that is, any thing opposed to necessity, he _begins_ his argument by affirming all cause to be necessary, and contingency as implying no cause. if all cause be necessary, and contingency imply no cause, there is no occasion for inquiry after contingency; for it is already settled that there can be no contingency. the very points we are after, as we have seen, are these two: whether contingency be possible; and whether there be any cause, for example, will, which is contingent. if edwards has both mistaken and begged the question respecting a contingent will, as i think clearly appears, then of course he has logically determined nothing in relation to it. but whether this be so or not, we may proceed now to inquire whether contingency be a possible and rational conception, or whether it be contradictory and absurd. necessity and contingency are then two ideas opposed to each other. they at least cannot co-exist in relation to the same subject. that which is necessary cannot be contingent at the same time, and vice versa. whether contingency is a possible conception and has place in relation to any subject, remains to be determined. let us seek a definition of these opposing ideas: we will begin with necessity, because that this idea is rational and admits of actual application is not questioned. the only point in question respecting it, is, whether it be universal, embracing all beings, causes, and events. what is necessity? edwards defines necessity under two points of view:-- . viewed in relation to will. . viewed irrespective of will. the first, supposes that opposition of will is possible, but insufficient;--for example: it is possible for me to place myself in opposition to a rushing torrent, but my opposition is insufficient, and the progress of the torrent relatively to me is _necessary_. the second does not take will into consideration at all, and applies to subjects where opposition of will is not supposable; for example, logical necessity, a is b, and c is a, therefore c is b: mathematical necessity, x = . the centre of a circle is a point equally distant from every point in the circumference: metaphysical necessity, the existence of a first cause, of time, of space. edwards comprehends this second kind of necessity under the general designation of metaphysical or philosophical. this second kind of necessity undoubtedly is absolute. it is impossible to conceive of these subjects differently from what they are. we cannot conceive of no space; no time; or that x = , and so of the rest. necessity under both points of view he distinguishes into particular and general. relative necessity, as particular, is a necessity relative to individual will; as general, relative to all will. metaphysical necessity, as particular, is a necessity irrespective of individual will; as general, irrespective of all will. relative necessity is relative to the will in the connexion between volition and its sequents. when a volition of individual will takes place, without the sequent aimed at, because a greater force is opposed to it, then the sequent of this greater force is necessary with a particular relative necessity. when the greater force is greater than all supposable will, then its sequents take place by a general relative necessity. it is plain however, that under all supposable will, the will of god cannot be included, as there can be no greater force than a divine volition. metaphysical necessity, when particular, excludes the opposition of individual will. under this edwards brings the connexion of motive and volition. the opposition of will, he contends, is excluded from this connexion, because will can act only by volition, and motive is the cause of volition. volition is necessary by a particular metaphysical necessity, because the will of the individual cannot be opposed to it; but not with a general metaphysical necessity, because other wills may be opposed to it. metaphysical necessity, when general, excludes the opposition of all will--even of infinite will. that x = --that the centre of a circle is a point equally distant from every point in the circumference--the existence of time and space--are all true and real, independently of all will. will hath not constituted them, nor can will destroy them. it would imply a contradiction to suppose them different from what they are. according to edwards, too, the divine volitions are necessary with a general metaphysical necessity, because, as these volitions are caused by motives, and infinite will, as well as finite will, must act by volitions, the opposition of infinite will itself is excluded in the production of infinite volitions. now what is the simple idea of necessity contained in these two points of view, with their two-fold distinction? _necessity is that which is and which cannot possibly not be, or be otherwise than it is_. . an event necessary by a relative particular necessity, is an event which is and cannot possibly not be or be otherwise by the opposition of an individual will. . an event necessary by a relative general necessity, is an event which cannot possibly not be, or be otherwise by the opposition of all finite will. in these cases, opposition of will of course is supposable. . an event is necessary by a metaphysical particular necessity, when it is, and admits of no possible opposition from the individual will. . an event is necessary by a metaphysical general necessity, when it is, and cannot possibly admit of opposition even from infinite will. all this, however, in the last analysis on edwards's system, becomes absolute necessity. the infinite will is necessarily determined by a metaphysical general necessity. all events are necessarily determined by the infinite will. hence, all events are necessarily determined by a metaphysical general necessity. particular and relative necessity are merely the absolute and general necessity viewed in the particular individual and relation:--the terms characterize only the manner of our view. the opposition of the particular will being predetermined by the infinite will, which comprehends all, is to the precise limit of its force absolutely necessary; and the opposite force which overcomes the opposition of the particular will, produces its phenomena necessarily not only in reference to the particular will, but also in reference to the infinite will which necessarily pre-determines it. having thus settled the definition of necessity, and that too, on edwards's own grounds, we are next to inquire, what is the opposite idea of contingency, and whether it has place as a rational idea? necessity is that which is, and which cannot possibly not be, or be otherwise than it is. contingency then, as the opposite idea, must be _that which is, or may be, and which possibly might not be, or might be otherwise than it is_. now, contingency cannot have place with respect to anything which is independent of will;--time and space;--mathematical and metaphysical truths, for example, that all right angles are equal, that every phenomenon supposes a cause, cannot be contingent, for they are seen to be real and true in themselves. they do not arise from will, nor is it conceivable that will can alter them, for it is not conceivable that they admit of change from any source. if the idea of contingency have place as a rational idea, it must be with respect to causes, being, and phenomena, which depend upon will. the whole creation is the effect of divine volition. "god said, let there be light, and there was light:" thus did the whole creation come to be. now every one will grant, that the creation does not seem necessary as time and space; and intuitive truths with their logical deductions, seem necessary. we cannot conceive of these as having not been, or as ceasing to be; but we can conceive of the creation as not having been, and as ceasing to be. no space is an impossible conception; but no body, or void space, is a possible conception; and as the existence of body may be annihilated in thought, so, likewise, the particular forms and relations of body may be modified in thought, indefinitely, different from their actual form. now, if we wish to express in one word this difference between space and body, or in general this difference between that which exists independently of will, and that which exists purely as the effect of will, we call the first necessary; the second, contingent. the first we cannot conceive to be different from what it is. the second we can conceive to be different from what it is. what is true of the creation considered as a collection of beings and things, is true likewise of all the events taking place in this creation. all these events are either directly or mediately the effects of will, divine or human. now we can conceive of these as not being at all, or as being modified indefinitely, different from what they are;--and under this conception we call them contingent. no one i think will deny that we do as just represented, conceive of the possibility of the events and creations of will, either as having no being, or as being different from what they are. this conception is common to all men. what is the meaning of this conception? is it a chimera? it must be a chimera, if the system of edwards be true; for according to this, there really is no possibility that any event of will might have had no being at all, or might have been different from what it is. will is determined by motives antecedent to itself. and this applies to the divine will, likewise, which is determined by an infinite and necessary wisdom. the conception, therefore, of the possibility of that which is, being different from what it is, must on this system be chimerical. but although the system would force us to this conclusion, the conception still reigns in our minds, and does not _seem_ to us chimerical;--the deduction from the system strangely conflicts with our natural and spontaneous judgements. there are few men who would not be startled by the dogma that all things and all events, even the constantly occuring volitions of their minds, are absolutely necessary, as necessary as a metaphysical axiom or a mathematical truth,--necessary with a necessity which leaves no possibility of their being otherwise than they actually are. there are few perhaps of the theological abettors of edwards's system, who would not also be startled by it. i suppose that these would generally attempt to evade the broad conclusion, by contending that the universal necessity here represented, being merely a metaphysical necessity, does not affect the sequents of volition; that if a man can do as he pleases, he has a natural liberty and ability which relieves him from the chain of metaphysical necessity. i have already shown how utterly futile this attempted distinction is--how completely the metaphysical necessity embraces the so called natural liberty and ability. if nothing better than this can be resorted to, then we have no alternative left but to exclaim with shelley, "necessity, thou mother of the world!" but why the reluctance to escape from this universal necessity? do the abettors of this system admit that there is something opposed to necessity? but what is this something opposed to necessity? do they affirm that choice is opposed to necessity? but how opposed--is choice contingent? do they admit the possibility that any choice which is, might not have been at all, or might have been different from what it is? we surely do not distinguish choice from necessity by merely calling it choice, or an act of the will. if will is not necessitated, we wish to know under what condition it exists. volition is plainly under necessity on edwards's system, just as every other event is under necessity. and the connexion between volition and its sequents is just as necessary as the connexion between volition and its motives. explain,--why do you endeavour to evade the conclusion of this system when you come to volition? why do you claim liberty here? do _you_ likewise have a natural and spontaneous judgement against a necessitated will? it is evident that while edwards and his followers embrace the doctrine of necessity in its cardinal principles, they shrink from its application to will. they first establish the doctrine of necessity universally and absolutely, and then claim for will an exception from the general law,--not by logically and psychologically pointing out the grounds and nature of the exception, but by simply appealing to the spontaneous and natural judgements of men, that they are free when they do as they please: but no definition of freedom is given which distinguishes it from necessity;--nor is the natural and spontaneous judgement against necessity of volition explained and shown not be a mere illusion. there is an idea opposed to necessity, says this spontaneous judgement--and the will comes under the idea opposed to necessity. but what is this idea opposed to necessity, and how does the will come under it? edwards and his followers have not answered these questions--their attempt at a solution is self-contradictory and void. is there any other idea opposed to necessity than that of contingency, viz.--that which is or may be, and possibly might not be, or might be otherwise than it is? that x = is a truth which cannot possibly not be, or be otherwise than it is. but this book which i hold in my hand, i can conceive of as not being at all, or being different from what it is, without implying any contradiction, according to this spontaneous judgement. the distinction between right and wrong, i cannot conceive of as not existing, or as being altered so as to transpose the terms, making that right which now is wrong, and that wrong which now is right. but the volition which i now put forth to move this pen over the paper, i can conceive of as not existing, or as existing under a different mode, as a volition to write words different from those which i am writing. that this idea of contingency is not chimerical, seems settled by this, that all men naturally have it, and entertain it as a most rational idea. indeed even those who hold the doctrine of necessity, do either adopt this idea in relation to will by a self-contradiction, and under a false position, as the abettors of the scheme which i am opposing for example, or in the ordinary conduct of life, they act upon it. all the institutions of society, all government and law, all our feelings of remorse and compunction, all praise and blame, and all language itself, seem based upon it. the idea of contingency as above explained, is somehow connected with will, and all the creations and changes arising from _will_. that the will actually does come under this idea of contingency, must be shown psychologically if shown at all. an investigation to this effect must be reserved therefore for another occasion. in this place, i shall simply inquire, how the will may be conceived as coming under the idea of contingency? the contingency of any phenomenon or event must depend upon the nature of its cause. a contingent phenomenon or event is one which may be conceived of, as one that might not have been at all, or might have been different from what it is; but wherein lies the possibility that it might not have been at all, or might have been different from what it is? this possibility cannot lie in itself, for an effect can determine nothing in relation to its own existence. neither can it lie in anything which is not its cause, for this can determine nothing in relation to its existence. the cause therefore which actually gives it existence, and existence under its particular form, can alone contain the possibility of its not having existed at all, or of its having existed under a different form. but what is the nature of such a cause? it is a cause which in determining a particular event, has at the very moment of doing so, the power of determining an opposite event. it is a cause not chained to any class of effects by its correlation to a certain class of objects--as fire, for example, is chained to combustion by its correlation to a certain class of objects which we thence call combustibles. it is a cause which must have this peculiarity in opposition to all other causes, that it forbears of itself to produce an effect which it may produce, and of any given number of effects alike within its power, it may take any one of them in opposition to all the others; and at the very moment it takes one effect, it has the power of taking any other. it is a cause contingent and not necessitated. the contingency of the event, therefore, arises from the contingency of the cause. now every cause must be a necessary or not necessary cause. a necessary cause is one which cannot be conceived of as having power to act differently from its actual developements--fire must burn--gravitation must draw bodies towards the earth's centre. if there be any cause opposed to this, it can be only the contingent cause above defined, for there is no third conception. we must choose therefore between a universal and absolute necessity, and the existence of contingent causes. if we take necessity to be universal and absolute, then we must take all the consequences, likewise, as deduced in part ii. there is no possible escape from this. as then all causes must be either necessary or contingent, we bring will under the idea of contingency, by regarding it as a contingent cause--"a power to do, or not to do,"[ ]--or a faculty of determining "to do, or not to do something which we conceive to be in our power."[ ] we may here inquire wherein lies the necessity of a cause opposed to a contingent cause? its necessity lies in its nature, also. what is this nature? it is a nature in fixed correlation with certain objects, so that it is inconceivable that its phenomena might be different from those which long and established observation have assigned to it. it is inconceivable that fire might not burn when thrown amid combustibles; it is inconceivable that water might not freeze at the freezing temperature. but is this necessity a necessity _per se_, or a determined necessity? it is a determined necessity--determined by the creative will. if the creative will be under the law of necessity, then of course every cause determined by will becomes an absolute necessity. the only necessity _per se_ is found in that infinite and necessary wisdom in which edwards places the determining motives of the divine will. all intuitive truths and their logical deductions are necessary _per se_. but the divine will is necessary with a determined necessity on edwards's system,--and so of all other wills and all other causes, dependent upon will--the divine will being the first will determined. we must recollect, however, that on edwards's theory of causation, a cause is always determined out of itself; and that consequently there can be no cause necessary _per se_; and yet at the same time there is by this theory, an absolute necessity throughout all causality. now let us consider the result of making will a contingent cause. in the first place, we have the divine will as the first and supreme contingent cause. then consequently in the second place, all causes ordained by the divine will, considered as effects, are contingent. they might not have been. they might cease to be. they might be different from what they are. but in the third place, these causes considered as causes, are not all contingent. only will is contingent. physical causes are necessary with a determined necessity. they are necessary as fixed by the divine will. they are necessary with a relative necessity--relatively to the divine will. they put forth their _nisus_, and produce phenomena by a fixed and invariable law, established by the divine will. but will is of the nature, being made after the image of the divine will. the divine will is infinite power, and can do everything possible to cause. the created will is finite power, and can do only what is within its given capacity. its volitions or its efforts, or its _nisus_ to do, are limited only by the extent of its intelligence. it may make an effort, or volition, or _nisus_, to do anything of which it can conceive--but the actual production of phenomena out of itself, must depend upon the instrumental and physical connexion which the divine will has established between it and the world, external to itself. of all the volitions or _nisus_ within its capacity, it is not necessitated to any one, but may make any one, at any time; and at the time it makes any one _nisus_ or volition, it has the power of making any other. it is plain, moreover, that will is efficient, essential, and first cause. whatever other causes exist, are determined and fixed by will, and are therefore properly called secondary or instrumental causes. and as we ourselves are will, we must first of all, and most naturally and most truly gain our idea of cause from ourselves. we cannot penetrate these second causes--we observe only their phenomena; but we know ourselves in the very first _nisus_ of causation. to reason therefore from these secondary causes to ourselves, is indeed reversing the natural and true order on this subject. now what is the ground of all this clamour against contingency? do you say it represents phenomena as existing without cause? we deny it. we oppose contingency not to cause, but to necessity. do you say it is contrary to the phenomena of physical causation,--we reply that you have no right to reason from physical causes to that cause which is yourself. for in general you have no right to reason from the laws and properties of matter to those of mind. do you affirm that contingency is an absurd and pernicious doctrine--then turn and look at the doctrine of an absolute necessity in all its bearings and consequences, and where lies the balance of absurdity and pernicious consequences? but we deny that there is anything absurd and pernicious in contingency as above explained. that it is not pernicious, but that on the contrary, it is the basis of moral and religious responsibility, will clearly appear in the course of our inquiries. after what has already been said in the preceding pages, it perhaps is unnecessary to make any further reply to its alleged absurdity. there is one form under which this allegation comes up, however, which is at first sight so plausible, that i shall be pardoned for prolonging this discussion in order to dispose of it. it is as follows: that in assigning contingency to will, we do not account for a volition being in one direction rather than in another. the will, it is urged, under the idea of contingency, is indifferent to any particular volition. how then can we explain the fact that it does pass out of this state of indifferency to a choice or volition? in answer to this, i remark:--it has already been made clear, that selection and particular determination belong to every cause. in physical causes, this selection and particular determination lies in the correlation of the nature of the cause with certain objects; and this selection and particular determination are necessary by a necessity determined out of the cause itself--that is, they are determined by the creative will, which gave origin to the physical and secondary causes. now edwards affirms that the particular selection and determination of will take place in the same way. the nature of the will is correlated to certain objects, and this nature, being fixed by the creative will, which gave origin to the secondary dependent will, the selection and particular determination of will, is necessary with a necessity determined out of itself. but to a necessitated will, we have nothing to oppose except a will whose volitions are not determined by the correlation of its nature with certain objects--a will, indeed, which has not its nature correlated to any objects, but a will indifferent; for if its nature were correlated to objects, its particular selection and determination would be influenced by this, and consequently its action would become necessary, and that too by a necessity out of itself; and fixed by the infinite will. in order to escape an absolute and universal necessity, therefore, we must conceive of a will forming volitions particular and determinate, or in other words, making a _nisus_ towards particular objects, without any correlation of its nature with the objects. is this conception a possible and rational conception? it is not a possible conception if will and the sensitivity, or the affections are identical--for the very definition of will then becomes that of a power in correlation with objects, and necessarily affected by them. but now let us conceive of the will as simply and purely an activity or cause, and distinct from the sensitivity or affections--a cause capable of producing changes or phenomena in relation to a great variety of objects, and conscious that it is thus capable, but conscious also that it is not drawn by any necessary affinity to any one of them. is this a possible and rational conception? it is indeed the conception of a cause different from all other causes; and on this conception there are but two _kinds_ of causes. the physical, which are necessarily determined by the correlation of their nature with certain objects, and will, which is a pure activity not thus determined, and therefore not necessitated, but contingent. now i may take this as a rational conception, unless its palpable absurdity can be pointed out, or it can be proved to involve some contradiction. does the objector allege, as a palpable absurdity, that there is, after all, nothing to account for the particular determination? i answer that the particular determination is accounted for in the very quality or attribute of the cause. in the case of a physical cause, the particular determination is accounted for in the quality of the cause, which quality is to be necessarily correlated to the object. in the case of will, the particular determination is accounted for in the quality of the cause, which quality is to have the power to make the particular determination without being necessarily correlated to the object. a physical cause is a cause fixed, determined, and necessitated. the will is a cause contingent and free. a physical cause is a cause instrumental of a first cause:--the will is first cause itself. the infinite will is the first cause inhabiting eternity, filling immensity, and unlimited in its energy. the human will is first cause appearing in time, confined to place, and finite in its energy; but it is the same in kind, because made in the likeness of the infinite will; as first cause 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. this does not make the created will independent of the uncreated. the very fact of its being a created will, settles its dependence. the power which created it, has likewise limited it, and could annihilate it. the power which created it, has ordained and fixed the instrumentalities by which volitions become productive of effects. the man may make the volition or _nisus_, to remove a mountain, but his arm fails to carry out the _nisus_. his volitions are produced freely of himself; they are unrestrained within the capacity of will given him, but he meets on every side those physical causes which are mightier than himself, and which, instrumental of the divine will, make the created will aware of its feebleness and dependence. but although the will is an activity or cause thus contingent, arbitrary, free, and indifferent, it is an activity or cause united with sensitivity and reason; and forming the unity of the soul. will, reason, and, the sensitivity or the affections, constitute mind, or spirit, or soul. although the will is arbitrary and contingent, yet it does not follow that it _must_ act without regard to reason or feeling. i have yet to make my appeal to consciousness; i am now only giving a scheme of psychology in order to prove the possibility of a contingent will, that we have nothing else to oppose to an absolute and universal necessity. according to this scheme, we take the will as the _executive_ of the soul or the _doer_. it is a doer having life and power in itself, not necessarily determined in any of its acts, but a power to do or not to do. _reason_ we take as the _lawgiver_. it is the "source and substance" of pure, immutable, eternal, and necessary truth. this teaches and commands the executive will what ought to be done. the sensitivity or the affections, or the desire, is the seat of enjoyment: it is the capacity of pleasure and pain. objects, in general, hold to the sensitivity the relation of the agreeable or the disagreeable, are in correlation with it; and, according to the degree of this correlation, are the emotions and passions awakened. next let the will be taken as the chief characteristic of personality, or more strictly, as the personality itself. by the personality, i mean the me, or myself. the personality--the me--the will, a self-moving cause, directs itself by an act of attention to the reason, and receives the laws of its action. the perception of these laws is attended with the conviction of their rectitude and imperative obligation; at the same time, there is the consciousness of power to obey or to disobey them. again, let the will be supposed to direct itself in an act of attention to the pleasurable emotions connected with the presence of certain objects; and the painful emotions connected with the presence of other objects; and then the desire of pleasure, and the wish to avoid pain, become rules of action. there is here again the consciousness of power to resist or to comply with the solicitations of desire. the will may direct itself to those objects which yield pleasure, or may reject them, and direct itself towards those objects which yield only pain and disgust. we may suppose again two conditions of the reason and sensitivity relatively to each other; a condition of agreement, and a condition of disagreement. if the affections incline to those objects which the reason approves, then we have the first condition. if the affections are repelled in dislike by those objects which reason approves, then we have the second condition. on the first condition, the will, in obeying reason, gratifies the sensitivity, and vice versa. on the second, in obeying the reason, it resists the sensitivity, and vice versa. now if the will were always governed by the highest reason, without the possibility of resistance, it would be a necessitated will; and if it were always governed by the strongest desire, without the possibility of resistance, it would be a necessitated will; as much so as in the system of edwards, where the strongest desire is identified with volition. the only escape from necessity, therefore, is in the conception of a will as above defined--a conscious, self-moving power, which may obey reason in opposition to passion, or passion in opposition to reason, or obey both in their harmonious union; and lastly, which may act in the indifference of all, that is, act without reference either to reason or passion. now when the will obeys the laws of the reason, shall it be asked, what is the cause of the act of obedience? the will is the cause of its own act; a cause _per se_, a cause self-conscious and self-moving; it obeys the reason by its own _nisus_. when the will obeys the strongest desire, shall we ask, what is the cause of the act of obedience? here again, the will is the cause of its own act. are we called upon to ascend higher? we shall at last come to such a self-moving and contingent power, or we must resign all to an absolute necessity. suppose, that when the will obeys the reason, we attempt to explain it by saying, that obedience to the reason awakens the strongest desire, or the sense of the most agreeable; we may then ask, why the will obeys the strongest desire? and then we may attempt to explain this again by saying, that to obey the strongest desire seems most reasonable. we may evidently, with as much propriety, account for obedience to passion, by referring to reason; as account for obedience to reason, by referring to passion. if the act of the will which goes in the direction of the reason, finds its cause in the sensitivity; then the act of the will which goes in the direction of the sensitivity, may find its cause in the reason. but this is only moving in a circle, and is no advance whatever. why does the will obey the reason? because it is most agreeable: but why does the will obey because it is most agreeable? because to obey the most agreeable seems most reasonable. acts of the will may be conceived of as analogous to intuitive or first truths. first truths require no demonstration; they admit of none; they form the basis of all demonstration. acts of the will are first movements of primary causes, and as such neither require nor admit of antecedent causes, to explain their action. will is the source and basis of all other cause. it explains all other cause, but in itself admits of no explanation. it presents the primary and all-comprehending _fact_ of power. in god, will is infinite, primary cause, and untreated: in man, it is finite, primary cause, constituted by god's creative act, but not necessitated, for if necessitated it would not be will, it would not be power after the likeness of the divine power; it would be mere physical or secondary cause, and comprehended in the chain of natural antecedents and sequents. god's will explains creation as an existent fact; man's will explains all his volitions. when we proceed to inquire after the characteristics of creation, we bring in the idea of infinite wisdom and goodness. but when we inquire _why_ god's will obeyed infinite wisdom and goodness, we must either represent his will as necessitated by infinite wisdom and goodness, and take with this all the consequences of an absolute necessity; or we must be content to stop short, with will itself as a first cause, not necessary, but contingent, which, explaining all effects, neither requires nor admits of any explanation itself. when we proceed to inquire after the characteristics of human volition, we bring in the idea of right and wrong; we look at the relations of the reason and the sensitivity. but when we inquire _why_ the will now obeys reason, and now passion; and why this passion, or that passion; we must either represent the will as necessitated, and take all the consequences of a necessitated will, or we must stop short here likewise, with the will itself as a first cause, not necessary, but contingent, which, in explaining its own volitions, neither requires nor admits of any explanation itself, other than as a finite and dependent will it requires to be referred to the infinite will in order to account for the fact of its existence. edwards, while he burdens the question of the will's determination with monstrous consequences, relieves it of no one difficulty. he lays down, indeed, a uniform law of determination; but there is a last inquiry which he does not presume to answer. the determination of the will, or the volition, is always as the most agreeable, and is the sense of the most agreeable. but while the will is granted to be one simple power or capacity, there arise from it an indefinite variety of volitions; and volitions at one time directly opposed to volitions at another time. the question now arises, how this one simple capacity of volition comes to produce such various volitions? it is said in reply, that whatever may be the volition, it is at the time the sense of the most agreeable: but that it is always the sense of the most agreeable, respects only its relation to the will itself; the volition, intrinsically considered, is at one time right, at another wrong; at one time rational, at another foolish. the volition really varies, although, relatively to the will, it always puts on the characteristic of the most agreeable. the question therefore returns, how this simple capacity determines such a variety of volitions, always however representing them to itself as the most agreeable? there are three ways of answering this. _first_, we may suppose the _state_ of the will or sensitivity to remain unchanged, and the different volitions to be effected by the different arrangements and conditions of the objects relatively to it. _secondly_, we may suppose the arrangements and conditions of the objects to remain unchanged, and the different volitions to be effected by changes in the _state_ of the sensitivity, or will, relatively to the objects. or, _thirdly_, we may suppose both the state of the will, and the arrangements and conditions of the objects to be subject to changes, singly and mutually, and thus giving rise to the different volitions. but our questionings are not yet at an end. on the first supposition, the question comes up, how the different arrangements and conditions of the objects are brought about? on the second supposition, how the changes in the state of the sensitivity are effected? on the third supposition, how the changes in both, singly and mutually, are effected? if it could be said, that the sensitivity changes itself relatively to the objects, then we should ask again, why the sensitivity chooses at one time, as most agreeable to itself, that which is right and rational, and at another time, that which is wrong and foolish? or, if it could be said, that the objects have the power of changing their own arrangements and conditions, then also we must ask, why at one time the objects arrange themselves to make the right and rational appear most agreeable, and at another time, the wrong and foolish. these last questions are the very questions which edwards does not presume to answer. the motive by which he accounts for the existence of the volition, is formed of the correlation of the state of the will, and the nature and circumstances of the object. but when the correlation is such as to give the volition in the direction of the right and the rational, in opposition to the wrong and the foolish,--we ask _why_ does the correlation give the volition in this direction. if it be said that the volition in this direction appears most agreeable, the answer is a mere repetition of the question; for the question amounts simply to this:--why the correlation is such as to make the one agreeable rather than the other? the volition which is itself only the sense of the most agreeable, cannot be explained by affirming that it is always as the most agreeable. the point to be explained is, why the mind changes its state in relation to the objects; or why the objects change their relations to the mind, so as to produce this sense of the most agreeable in one direction rather than in another? the difficulty is precisely of the same nature which is supposed to exist in the case of a contingent will. the will now goes in the direction of reason, and now in the direction of passion,--but why? we say, because as will, it has the power of thus varying its movement. the change is accounted for by merely referring to the will. according to edwards, the correlation of will and its objects, now gives the sense of the most agreeable, or volition, in the direction of the reason; and now in the direction of passion--but why?--why does the reason _now_ appear most agreeable,--and now the indulgences of impure desire? i choose this because it is most agreeable, says edwards, which is equivalent to saying,--i have the sense of the most agreeable in reference to this, because it is most agreeable; but how do you know it is the most agreeable? because i choose it, or have the sense of the most agreeable in reference to it. it is plain, therefore, that on edwards's system, as well as on that opposed to it, the particular direction of volition, and the constant changes of volition, must be referred simply to the cause of volition, without giving any other explanation of the different determinations of this cause, except referring them to the nature of the cause itself. it is possible, indeed, to refer the changes in the correlation to some cause which governs the correlation of the will and its objects; but then the question must arise in relation to this cause, why it determines the correlation in one direction at one time, and in another direction at another time? and this could be answered only by referring it to itself as having the capacity of these various determinations as a power to do or not to do, and a power to determine in a given direction, or in the opposite direction; or by referring it to still another antecedent cause. now let us suppose this last antecedent to be the infinite will: then the question would be, why the infinite will determines the sensitivity, or will of his creatures at one time to wisdom, and at another to folly? and what answer could be given? shall it be said that it seems most agreeable to him? but why does it seem most agreeable to him? is it because the particular determination is the most reasonable, that it seems most agreeable? but why does he determine always according to the most reasonable? is it because to determine according to the most reasonable, seems most agreeable? now, inasmuch as according to edwards, the volition and the sense of the most agreeable are the same; to say that god wills as he does will, because it is most agreeable to him, is to say that he wills because he wills; and to say that he wills as he does will, because it seems most reasonable to him, amounts to the same thing, because he wills according to the most reasonable only because it is the most agreeable. to represent the volitions, or choices, either in the human or divine will, as determined by motives, removes therefore no difficulty which is supposed to pertain to contingent self-determination. let us compare the two theories particularly, although at the hazard of some repetition. contingent self-determination represents the will as a cause making its _nisus_ or volitions of itself, and determining their direction of itself--now obeying reason, and now obeying passion. if it be asked why it determines in a particular direction?--if this particular direction in which it determines be that of the reason?--then it may be said, that it determines in this direction because it is reasonable;--if this particular direction be that of passion, as opposed to reason, then it may be said that it determines in this direction, because it is pleasing. but if it be asked why the will goes in the direction of reason, rather than in that of passion, as opposed to reason?--we cannot say that it is most reasonable to obey reason and not passion; because the one is all reason, and the other is all passion, and of course they cannot be compared under the reasonable; and no more can they be compared under the pleasing,--when, by the pleasing, we understand, the gratification of desire, as opposed to reason. to obey reason because it is reasonable, is nothing more than the statement of the fact that the will does obey reason. to obey desire because it is desirable, is nothing more than the statement of the fact that the will does obey desire. the will goes in one direction rather than in another by an act of self-determination, which neither admits of, nor indeed requires any other explanation than this, that the will has power to do one or the other, and in the exercise of this power, it does one rather than the other. to this stands contrasted the system of edwards; and what is this system? that the will is determined by the strongest motive;--and what is the strongest motive? the greatest apparent good, or the most agreeable:--what constitutes the greatest apparent good, or the most agreeable? the correlation of will or sensitivity and the object. but why does the correlation make one object appear more agreeable than another; or make the same object at one time appear agreeable, at another time disagreeable? now this question is equivalent to the question,--why does the will go in the direction of one object rather than of another; or go in the direction of a given object at one time, and in opposition to it at another time? for the will to determine itself toward an object in one system, answers to the will having the sense of the most agreeable towards an object in edwards's system. if edwards should attempt to give an answer without going beyond the motive, he could only say that the sensitivity has the power of being affected with the sense of the most agreeable or of the most disagreeable; and that in the exercise of this power it is affected with the one rather than with the other. he could not say that to obey reason appears more agreeable than to obey passion as opposed to reason, for the obedience of the will on his system, is nothing more than a sense of the most agreeable. nor could he say it is more reasonable to obey reason, for reason cannot be compared with its opposite, under the idea of itself; and if he could say this, it amounts to no more than this, on his system, that it is most agreeable to obey the reasonable;--that is, the reasonable is obeyed only as the most agreeable: but obedience of will being nothing more than the sense of the most agreeable, to say it is obeyed because most agreeable, is merely to say that it awakens the sense of the most agreeable; that is, it is obeyed, because it is obeyed. to refer the motive to the divine determination makes volition necessary to the man, and throws the difficulty in question, if it is to be considered a difficulty, only farther back. if god's will determines in the direction of the reasonable because it is most agreeable, then we ask, why is it the most agreeable? if the reply be, because it is most reasonable, then we are only moving in a circle; but if the agreeable be taken as an ultimate fact, then inasmuch as to will is only to have the sense of the most agreeable, it follows that god has the sense of the most agreeable towards an object only because it is most agreeable to him, or awakens this sense in him; and thus the question why god wills in one direction rather than in another, or what is the cause of his determination, is not answered by edwards, unless he says with us that the will in itself as a power to do or not to do, or to do one thing, or its opposite, is a sufficient explanation, and the only possible explanation;--or unless he refers the divine will to an antecedent cause, and this again to another antecedent cause, in an endless series--and thus introduce the two-fold error of an endless series, and an absolute necessity. all possible volitions, according to the scheme of psychology i have above given, must be either in the direction of the reason or of the sensitivity, or in the indifferency of both. if the volition be in the direction of the reason, it takes the characteristics of rational, good, &c. if in the direction of the sensitivity, it takes its characteristic from the nature of the particular desire which it obeys:--it is generous, benevolent, kind, &c.--or it is malicious, envious, unkind, vicious, &c. what moves the will to go in the direction of the reason? nothing moves it; it is a cause _per se_; it goes in that direction because it has power to go in that direction. what moves the will to go in the direction of the sensitivity? nothing moves it; it is a cause _per se_; it goes in that direction because it has power to go in that direction. there are in the intelligence or reason, as united with the will in the constitution of the mind, necessary convictions of the true, the just, the right. there are in the sensitivity, as united in the same constitution, necessary affections of the agreeable and the disagreeable in reference to various objects. the will as the power which by its _nisus_ produces changes or phenomena, is conscious of ability to go in either of these directions, or in opposition to both. now when it makes its _nisus_ or volition in reference to the true, the just, the good; should we attempt to explain this _nisus_ by saying that the true, the just, the good, affect the sensitivity agreeably, this would only amount to saying that the _nisus_ is made towards the true, not as the true, but only as the agreeable; and then we would introduce the law that the _nisus_ is always made in the direction of the agreeable. but then again we might seek to explain why the _nisus_ is always made in the direction of the agreeable. is it of an antecedent necessity? then we have an absolute and universal necessity. is it because to go in the direction of the agreeable seems most rational? then it follows that the _nisus_ is made towards the agreeable not as the agreeable, but only as the rational; and then we would introduce the law that the _nisus_ is always made in the direction of the rational. but then again we might seek to explain why this _nisus_ is always made in the direction of the rational. is it of an antecedent necessity? then here likewise we have an absolute and universal necessity. is it because to go in the direction of the rational seems most agreeable? then we are winding back in a circle to our first position. how shall we escape from these difficulties? shall we adopt the psychology of edwards, and make the will and the sensitivity one? then as the volition is always the strongest affection of the agreeable, if the sensitivity be necessary, volitions are necessary, and we are plunged headlong again into an absolute and universal necessity. if the sensitivity be not necessary, then we have shown fully, above, that we have to account for its various determinations just as we are supposed to be called upon to account for the various determinations of the will when considered as a power distinct from the sensitivity:--we are met with the questions, why does the sensitivity represent this object as more agreeable than that object?--or the same object as agreeable at one time, and disagreeable at another? or if these various determinations are resolved into an antecedent necessity comprehending them, then we go up to the antecedent cause in which this necessity resides, and question it in like manner. but one thing remains, and that is to consider the will as primary cause, contingent in opposition to being necessitated--a cause having in itself the power of making these various volitions or _nisus_, and neither asking nor allowing of any explanation of its acts, or their particular direction, save its own peculiarity and energy as will. the question respecting the indifferency of will must now be considered. the term _indifferency_ comes up in consequence of considering the will as distinct from the sensitivity. it is not desire or feeling--it is a power indifferent to the agreeableness or disagreeableness of objects. it is also a power distinct from the reason; it is not conviction or belief--it is a power indifferent to the true and the right, to the false and the wrong, in the sense that it is not necessarily determined by conviction and belief, by the true and the right, or by the false and the wrong. the conception of will in its utmost simplicity is the conception of pure power, self-moving, and self-conscious--containing within itself the ground and the possibility of creation and of modification. in god it is infinite, eternal, uncreated power; and every _nisus_ in his will is really creative or modifying, according to its self-directed aim. in man it is constituted, dependent, limited, and accountable. now in direct connexion with power, we have the conception of law or rule, or what power _ought_ to do. this law or rule is revealed in the reason. in man as pure, and we conclude in god likewise, as the archetype of all spirit, there is given a sensitivity or a capacity to be affected agreeably by, and to be drawn towards the objects approved and commanded by the reason. if this sensitivity does not move in harmony with the reason, it is corrupted. now will is placed in a triunity with these two other powers. we can distinguish but not separate it from them. a will without reason would be a power without eyes, or light. a will without sensitivity would be a power stern and isolated;--just as a reason and sensitivity without will, would be without efficiency, or capacity of giving real manifestations. the completeness and perfection of each, lies in a union with all; but then each in its proper movements is in some sense independent and free of the others. the convictions, beliefs, or perceptions of reason are not made, nor can they be unmade by the energy of the will. nor has the will any direct command over the sensitivity. and yet the will can excite and direct both the reason and the sensitivity, by calling up objects and occasions. the sensitivity does not govern the reason, and yet it supplies conditions which are necessary to its manifestations. the reason does not govern the sensitivity, and yet the latter would have no definite perception, and of course its highest sensibilities would lie dormant without the reason. so also the reason and the sensitivity do not determine the acts of the will. the will has efficiency, or creative and modifying power in itself--self-moved, self-directed. but then without reason and sensitivity, the will would be without objects, without designs, without rules,--a solitary power, conscious of ability to do, but not knowing what to do. it addition to the above, the will has this high and distinguishing peculiarity. that it alone is free--that it alone is opposed to necessity. reason _must_ perceive, _must_ believe. sensitivity _must_ feel when its objects are presented; but will, when the reason has given its light and uttered its commands, and when the sensitivity has awakened all its passions and emotions, is not compelled to obey. it is as conscious of power not to do, as of power to do. it may be called a power arbitrary and contingent; but this means only that it is a power which absolutely puts forth its own _nisus_, and is free. it follows from this, that the will can act irrespective of both reason and sensitivity, if an object of action, bearing no relation to reason or sensitivity, be possible. it is plain that an object bearing no such relation, must be very trifling. if a case in illustration could not be called up, it would not argue anything against the indifferency of will;--it would only prove that all objects of action actually existing, bear some relation to reason and sensitivity. there is a case, however, frequently called up, and much disputed, which deserves some attention, and which it appears to me, offers the illustration required. let it be required to select one of the squares of the chess-board. in selecting one of the squares, does the will act irrespective of reason and sensitivity, or not? those who hold that the will is necessarily determined, must make out some connexion between the act of selection, and the reason and sensitivity. it is affirmed that there is a general motive which determines the whole process, viz: the aim or desire to illustrate, if possible, the question in dispute. the motive is, to prove that the will can act without a motive. i reply to this, that this is undoubtedly the motive of bringing the chess-board before the eye, and in making all the preparations for a selection;--but now the last question is, which square shall i select? the illustration will have the same force whichever square is selected, and there is no motive that can be drawn either from the reason or the sensitivity for taking one square in preference to the other: under the absence of all such motives, and affording each time the same attempt at illustration, i can vary the selection sixty-four times: in making this selection, therefore, it appears to me, there is an entire indifferency as to which particular square is selected;--there is no command of the reason directing to one square rather than another;--there is no affection of the sensitivity towards one square rather than another, as most agreeable and yet the will does select one of the squares. it will be proper, in this place, to consider the following argument of edwards against indifferency of will: "choice may be immediately _after_ a state of indifference, but cannot co-exist with it: even the very beginning of it is not in a state of indifference. and, therefore, if this be liberty, no act of the will, in any degree, is ever performed in a state of liberty, or in the time of liberty. volition and liberty are so far from agreeing together, and being essential one to another, that they are contrary one to another, and one excludes and destroys the other, as much as motion and rest, light and darkness, or life and death." (p. .) edwards reasons according to his own psychology: if the will and the sensitivity are one, the will cannot well be conceived of as in a state of indifference, and if it could be conceived of as in a state of indifference before it exercises volition, inasmuch as, according to his system again, volition is the sense of the most agreeable, the moment volition begins, indifference ceases; and hence, if liberty consist in indifference, liberty must cease when volition takes place, just as rest ceases with motion. but according to the system of psychology, which we adopt, and which i shall verify hereafter, the will is not one with the sensitivity, but is clearly distinguishable from it:--the sensitivity is the capacity of feeling; the will is the causality of the soul:--a movement of the sensitivity, under the quality of indifference, is self-contradictory; and a movement of the will being a mere _nisus_ of cause, under the quality of any sense and feeling whatever, would be self-contradictory likewise; it would be confounding that which we had already distinguished. from edwards's very definition of will it cannot be indifferent; from our very definition of will it cannot be otherwise than indifferent. when it determines exclusively of both reason and sensitivity, it of course must retain, in the action, the indifference which it possessed before the action; but this is no less true when it determines in the direction either of reason or sensitivity. when the determination is in the direction of the reason, there is an exercise of reason in connexion with the act, and all the interest of the reason is wakened up, but the will considered in its entire simplicity, knows only the _nisus_ of power. when the determination is in the direction of the sensitivity, there is a play of emotions and passions, but the will again knows only the _nisus_ of power which carries it in this direction. in the unity of the soul these powers are generally found acting together. it may be difficult to distinguish them, and this, in connexion with the constantly observed fact of the fixed correlation between physical causes and the masses which they operate upon, may lead to the conclusion that there is a fixed correlation likewise between the will and its objects, regarding the will as the sensitivity; or at least, that there is a fixed connexion between the will and the sensitivity, so that the former is invariably governed by the latter. we have already shown, that to identify sensitivity and will does not relieve us from the difficulties of a self-determined and contingent will, unless we plunge into absolute necessity; and that to make the sensitivity govern the will, is only transferring to the sensitivity the difficulties which we suppose, to encompass the will. in our psychological investigations it will appear how clearly distinguishable those powers are, and also how clearly independent and sovereign will is, inasmuch as it does actually determine at one time, in opposition to the most agreeable; at another, in opposition to reason; and at another, in opposition to both conjoined. in the unity of our being, however, we perceive that will is designed to obey the reason, and as subordinated to reason, to move within the delights of the sensitivity; and we know that we are acting _unreasonably_ and _senselessly_ when we act otherwise; but yet _unreasonably_ and _senselessly_ do we often act. but when we do obey reason, although we characterize the act from its direction, will does not lose its simplicity and become reason; and when we do obey the sensitivity, will does not become sensitivity--will is still simply cause, and its act the _nisus_ of power: thought, and conviction, and design, hold their place in the reason alone: emotion and passion their place in the sensitivity alone. argument from the divine prescience. edwards's argument against a contingent, self-determining will, drawn from the divine prescience, remains to be considered. the argument is introduced as follows: "that the acts of the wills of moral agents are not contingent events, in such a sense as to be without all necessity, appears by god's certain foreknowledge of such events." (sec. xi. p. .) edwards devotes this section to "the evidence of god's certain foreknowledge of the volitions of moral agents." in the following section, (sec. xii. p. ,) he proceeds formally with his argument. before examining this argument, let us look at the consequences of his position. god foresees all volitions; that he foresees them makes their existence necessary. if their existence were not necessary, he could not foresee them; or, to express it still more generally, foreknowledge extends to all events, and foreknowledge proves the necessary existence of everything to which it extends. it follows from this, that all events exist with an absolute necessity, all physical phenomena, all volitions, and moral, phenomena, whether good or evil, and all the divine volitions, for god cannot but foresee his own volitions. in no part of his work, does edwards lay down more summarily and decidedly, the doctrine of absolute and universal necessity. we have already, in part ii. of this treatise, deduced the consequences of this doctrine. if then we are placed upon the alternative of denying the divine prescience of volitions, or of acknowledging the doctrine of necessity, it would practically be most desirable and wisest to take the first part of the alternative. "if it could be demonstrated," remarks dugald stewart, (vol. . app. sec. viii.) "which in my opinion has not yet been done, that the prescience of the volitions of moral agents is incompatible with the free agency of man, the logical inference would be, _not_ in favour of the scheme of necessity, but that there are some events, the foreknowledge of which implies an impossibility. shall we venture to affirm, that it exceeds the power of god to permit such a train of contingent events to take place, as his own foreknowledge shall not extend to? does not such a proposition detract from the omnipotence of god, in the same proportion in which it aims to exalt his omniscience?" if the divine foreknowledge goes to establish the doctrine of necessity, there is nothing left that it is worth while to contend for; all moral and theological interests vanish away. but let us examine the argument of edwards. this argument consists of three parts; we shall consider them in order. i. edwards lays down, that a past event is necessary, "having already made sure of existence;" but divine foreknowledge is such an event, and is therefore necessary. this is equivalent to the axiom, that whatever is, is. he next affirms, that whatever is "indissolubly connected with other things that are necessary, are themselves necessary;" but events infallibly foreknown, have an indissoluble connexion with the foreknowledge. hence, the volitions infallibly foreknown by god, have an indissoluble connexion with his foreknowledge, and are therefore necessary. the force of this reasoning turns upon the connexion between foreknowledge and the events foreknown. this connexion is affirmed to be "indissoluble;" that is, the foreknowledge is certainly connected with the event. but this only amounts to the certainty of divine foreknowledge, and proves nothing as to the nature of the existence foreknown. we may certainly know a past or present event, but our knowledge of its existence defines nothing as to the manner in which it came to exist. i look out of my window, and i see a man walking in a certain direction: i have a positive knowledge of this event, and it cannot but be that the man is walking; but then my knowledge of his walking has no influence upon his walking, as cause or necessary antecedent; and the question whether his walking be contingent or necessary is entirely distinct, and relates to the cause of walking. i looked out of my window yesterday, and saw a man walking; and the knowledge of that event i now retain, so that it cannot but be that the man walked yesterday: but this again leaves the question respecting the mode of existence untouched:--did the man walk of necessity, or was it a contingent event? now let me suppose myself endowed with the faculty of prescience, sufficiently to know the events of to-morrow; then by this faculty i may see a man walking in the time called to-morrow, just as by the faculty of memory i see a man walking in the time called yesterday. the knowledge, whether it relate to past, present, or future, as a knowledge in relation to myself, is always a present knowledge; but the object known may stand in various relations of time, place, &c. now in relation to the future, no more than in relation to the past and present, does the act of knowledge on my part, explain anything in relation to the mode of the existence of the object of knowledge. edwards remarks, (p. .) "all certain knowledge, whether it be foreknowledge, or after-knowledge, or concomitant knowledge, proves the thing known now to be necessary, by some means or other; or proves that it is impossible that it should now be otherwise than true." edwards does not distinguish between the certainty of the mere _fact_ of existence, and the necessity by which anything comes to exist. foreknowledge, after-knowledge, and concomitant knowledge,--that is, the present knowledge of events, future, past, or present,--proves of course the reality of the events; that they will be, have been, or are: or, more strictly speaking, the knowledge of an event, in any relation of time, is the affirmation of its existence in that relation; but the knowledge of the event neither proves nor affirms the necessity of its existence. if the knowledge of the event were the _cause_ of the event, or if it _generically_ comprehended it in its own existence, then, upon strict logical principles, the necessity affirmed of the knowledge would be affirmed of the event likewise. that god foreknows all volitions is granted; that as he foreknows them, they will be, is also granted; his foreknowledge of them is the positive affirmation of their reality in time future; but by supposition, god's foreknowledge is not their cause, and does not generically comprehend them; they are caused by wills acting in the future. hence god's foreseeing how the wills acting in the time future, will put forth or determine their volitions, does not take away from these wills the contingency and freedom belonging to them, any more than our witnessing how wills act in the time present, takes away from them their contingency and freedom. god in his prescience, _is the spectator of the future, as really as we are the spectators of the present_. edwards's reasoning is a sort of puzzle, like that employed sometimes for exercising the student of logic in the detection of fallacies: for example, a man in a given place, must _necessarily_ either stay in that place, or go away from that place; therefore, whether he stays or goes away, he acts necessarily. now it is necessary, in the nature of things, that a man as well as any other body should be in some place, but then it does not follow from this, that his determination, whether to stay or go, is a necessary determination. his necessary condition as a body, is entirely distinct from the question respecting the necessity or contingency of his volitions. and so also in respect of the divine foreknowledge: all human volitions as events occurring in time, are subject to the necessary condition of being foreknown by that being, "who inhabiteth eternity:" but this necessary condition of their existence neither proves nor disproves the necessity or the contingency of their particular causation. ii. the second proposition in edwards's argument is, "no future event can be certainly foreknown, whose existence is contingent, and without all necessity." his reasoning in support of this is as follows: . "it is impossible for a thing to be certainly known to any intellect without _evidence_." . a contingent future event is without evidence. . therefore, a contingent future event is not a possible object of knowledge. i dispute both premises: that which is known by _evidence_ or _proof_ is _mediate_ knowledge,--that is, we know it through something which is immediate, standing between the faculty of knowledge and the object of knowledge in question. that which is known _intuitively_ is known without proof, and this is _immediate_ knowledge. in this way all axioms or first truths and all facts of the senses are known. indeed evidence itself implies immediate knowledge, for the evidence by which anything is known is itself immediate knowledge. to a being, therefore, whose knowledge fills duration, future and past events may be as immediately known as present events. indeed, can we conceive of god otherwise than immediately knowing all things? an infinite and eternal intelligence cannot be thought of under relations of time and space, or as arriving at knowledge through _media_ of proof or demonstration. so much for the first premise. the second is equally untenable: "_a contingent future event is without evidence_." we grant with edwards that it is not _self-evident_; implying by that the evidence arising from "the necessity of its nature," as for example, x = . what is self-evident, as we have already shown, does not require any evidence or proof, but is known immediately; and a future contingent event may be self-evident as a fact lying before the divine mind, reaching into futurity, although it cannot be self-evident from "the necessity of its nature." but edwards affirms, that "neither is there any _proof_ or evidence in _anything else_, or evidence of connexion with something else that is evident; for this is also contrary to the supposition. it is supposed that there is now nothing existent with which the future existence of the _contingent_ event is connected. for such a connexion destroys its contingency and supposes necessity." (p. .) he illustrates his meaning by the following example: "suppose that five thousand seven hundred and sixty years ago, there was no other being but the divine being,--and then this world, or some particular body or spirit, all at once starts out of nothing into being, and takes on itself a particular nature and form--all in _absolute contingence_,--without any concern of god, or any other cause in the matter,--without any manner of ground or reason of its existence, or any dependence upon, or connexion at all with anything foregoing;--i say that if this be supposed, there was no evidence of that event beforehand. there was no evidence of it to be seen in the thing itself; for the thing itself as yet was not; and there was no evidence of it to be seen in _any thing else;_ for _evidence_ in something else; is _connexion_ with something else; but such connexion is contrary to the supposition." (p. .) the amount of this reasoning is this: that inasmuch as a contingent event exists "_without any concern of god, or any other cause in the matter,--without any manner of ground or reason of its existence,--or any dependence upon or connexion with anything foregoing_,"--there is really nothing by which it can be proved beforehand. if edwards be right in this definition of a contingent event, viz.: that it is an event without any cause or ground of its existence, and "that there is nothing now existent with which the future existence of the contingent event is connected," then this reasoning must be allowed to be conclusive. but i do not accede to the definition: contingence i repeat again, is not opposed to cause but to necessity. the world may have sprung into being by _absolute contingence_ more than five thousand years ago, and yet have sprung into being at the command of god himself, and its existence have been foreseen by him from all eternity. the contingence expresses only the freedom of the divine will, creating the world by sovereign choice, and at the moment of creation, conscious of power to withhold the creative _nibus_,--creating in the light of his infinite wisdom, but from no compulsion or necessity of motive therein found. under this view to foresee creation was nothing different from foreseeing his own volitions. the ground on which human volitions can be foreseen, is no less plain and reasonable. in the first place, future contingent volitions are never without a cause and sufficient ground of their existence, the individual will being always taken as the cause and sufficient ground of the individual volitions. god has therefore provided for the possible existence of volitions other than his own, in the creation and constitution of finite free will. now, in relation to him, it is not required to conceive of _media_ by which all the particular volitions may be made known or proved to his mind, previous to their actual existence. whatever he knows, he knows by direct and infinite intuition; he cannot be dependent upon any media for his knowledge. it is enough, as i have already shown, to assign him prescience, in order to bring within his positive knowledge all future contingent volitions. he knows all the variety and the full extent of the possible, and amid the possible he foresees the actual; and he foresees not only that class of the actual which, as decreed and determined by himself, is relatively necessary, but also that class of the actual which is to spring up under the characteristic of contingency. and herein, i would remark, lies the superiority of the divine prescience over human forecast,--in that the former penetrates the contingent as accurately as the necessary. with the latter it is far otherwise. human forecast or calculation can foresee the motions of the planets, eclipses of the sun and moon, and even the flight of the comets, because they are governed by necessary laws; but the volitions of the human will form the subject of only _probable_ calculations. but if human volitions, as contingent, form the subject of probable calculations, there must be in opposition to edwards something "that is evident" and "now existent, with which the future existence of the _contingent_ event is connected." there are three kinds of certainty. _first_, absolute certainty. this is the certainty which lies in necessary and eternal principles e. g. x = ; the existence of space; every body must be in space; every phenomenon must have a cause; the being of god. logical certainty, that is, the connexion between premises and conclusion, is likewise absolute. _secondly_. physical certainty. this is the certainty which lies in the connexion between physical causes and their phenomena: e. g. gravitation, heat, chemical affinities in general, mechanical forces. the reason conceives of these causes as inherently active and uniform; and hence, wherever a physical cause exists, we expect its proper phenomena. now we do not call the operation of these causes _absolutely_ certain, because they depend ultimately upon will,--the will of god; and we can conceive that the same will which ordained them, can change, suspend, or even annihilate them: they have no intrinsic necessity, still, as causes given in time and space, we conceive of them generally as immutable. if in any case they be changed, or suspended, we are compelled to recognise the presence of that will which ordained them. such change or suspension we call a _miracle_; that is, a surprise,--a wonder, because it is unlooked for. when, therefore, we affirm any thing to be physically certain, we mean that it is certain in the immutability of a cause acting in time and space, and under a necessity relatively to the divine will; but still not _absolutely_ certain, because there is a possibility of a miracle. but when we affirm any thing to be absolutely certain, we mean that it is certain as comprehended in a principle which is unalterable in its very nature, and is therefore independent of will. _thirdly_. moral certainty, is the certainty which lies between the connexion of motive and will. by will we mean a self-conscious and intelligent cause, or a cause in unity with intelligence. it is also, in the fullest sense, a cause _per se_; that is, it contains within itself proper efficiency, and determines its own direction. by _motives_ we mean the reasons according to which the will acts. in general, all activity proceeds according to rules, or laws, or reasons; for they have the same meaning: but in mere material masses, the rule is not contemplated by the acting force,--it is contemplated only by the intelligence which ordained and conditioned the force. in spirit, on the contrary, the activity which we call will is self-conscious, and is connected with a perception of the reasons, or ends, or motives of action. these motives or ends of action are of two kinds. _first_, those found in the ideas of the practical reason, which decides what is fit and right. these are reasons of supreme authority. _secondly_, those found in the understanding and sensitivity: e. g. the immediately useful and expedient, and the gratification of passion. these are right only when subordinate to the first. now these reasons and motives are a light to the will, and serve to direct its activities; and the human conscience, which is but the reason, has drawn up for the will explicit rules, suited to all circumstances and relations, which are called _ethics_, or _the rules_. these rules the will is not compelled or necessitated to obey. in every volition it is conscious of a power to do or not to do; but yet, as the will forms a unity with the intelligence, we take for granted that it will obey them, unless grounds for an opposite conclusion are apparent. but the only probable ground for a disobedience of these rules lies in a state of sinfulness,--a corruption of the sensitivity, or a disposition to violate the harmony and fitness of the spiritual constitution. hence moral certainty can exist only where the harmony of the spiritual being is preserved. for example: god and good angels. in god moral certainty is infinite. his dispositions are infinitely pure, and his will freely determines to do right; it is not compelled or necessitated, for then his infinite meritoriousness would cease. moral certainty is _not absolute_, because will being a power to do or not to do, there is always a possibility, although there may be no probability, nay an infinite improbability, that the will may disobey the laws of the reason. in the case of angels and good men, the moral certainty is such as to be attended with no apprehension of a dereliction. with respect to such men as joseph, daniel, paul, howard, and washington, we can calculate with a very high and satisfactory moral certainty, of the manner in which they will act in any given circumstances involving the influence of motives. we know they will obey truth, justice, and mercy,--that is, the _first_ class of motives; and the _second_ only so far as they are authorized by the first. if the first class of motives are forsaken, then human conduct can be calculated only according to the influence of the second class. human character, however, is mixed and variously compounded. we might make a scale of an indefinite number of degrees, from the highest point of moral excellence to the lowest point of moral degradation, and then our predictions of human conduct would vary with every degree. in any particular case where we are called upon to reason from the connexion of motives with the will, it is evident we must determine the character of the individual as accurately as possible, in order to know the probable _resultant_ of the opposite moral forces which we are likely to find. we have remarked that moral certainty exists only where the harmony of the moral constitution is preserved. here we know the right will be obeyed. it may be remarked in addition to this, however, that moral certainty may almost be said to exist in the case of the lowest moral degradation, where the right is altogether forsaken. here the rule is, "whatever is most agreeable;" and the volition is indeed merged into the sense of the most agreeable. but in the intermediate state lies the wide field of probability. what is commonly called the knowledge of human nature, and esteemed of most importance in the affairs of life, is not the knowledge of human nature as it ought to be, but as it is in its vast variety of good and evil. we gain this knowledge from observation and history. what human nature ought to be, we learn from reason. on a subject of so much importance, and where it is so desirable to have clear and definite ideas, the rhetorical ungracefulness of repetition is of little moment, when this repetition serves our great end. i shall be pardoned, therefore, in calling the attention of the reader to a point above suggested, namely, that the will is in a triunity with reason and sensitivity, and, in the constitution of our being, is designed to derive its rules and inducements of action from these. acts which are in the direction of neither reason nor sensitivity, must be very trifling acts; and therefore acts of this description, although possible, we may conclude are very rare. in calculating, then, future acts of will, we may, like the mathematicians, drop infinitesimal differences, and assume that all acts of the will are in the direction of reason or sensitivity, or of both in their harmony. although the will is conscious of power to do, out of the direction of both reason and sensitivity, still, in the triunity in which it exists, it submits itself to the general interests of the being, and consults the authority of conscience, or the enjoyments of passion. now every individual has acquired for himself habits and a character more or less fixed. he is known to have submitted himself from day to day, and in a great variety of transactions, to the laws of the conscience; and hence we conclude that he has formed for himself a fixed purpose of doing right. he has exhibited, too, on many occasions, noble, generous, and pure feelings; and hence we conclude that his sensitivity harmonizes with conscience. or he is known to have violated the laws of the conscience from day to day, and in a great variety of transactions; and hence we conclude that he has formed for himself a fixed purpose of doing wrong. he has exhibited, too, on many occasions, low, selfish, and impure feelings; and hence we conclude that his sensitivity is in collision with conscience. in both cases supposed, and in like manner in all supposable cases, there is plainly a basis on which, in any given circumstances, we may foresee and predict volitions. there is something "that is evident and now existent with which the future existence of the contingent event is connected." on the one hand these predictions exert no necessitating influence over the events themselves, for they are entirely disconnected with the causation of the events: and, on the other hand, the events need not be assumed as necessary in order to become the objects of probable calculations. if they were necessary, the calculations would no longer be merely probable:--they would, on the contrary, take the precision and certainty of the calculation of eclipses and other phenomena based upon necessary laws. but these calculations can aim only at _moral_ certainty, because they are made according to the generally known and received determinations of will in a unity with reason and sensitivity; but still a will which is known also to have the power to depart at any moment from the line of determination which it has established for itself. thus the calculations which we make respecting the conduct of one man in given circumstances, based on his known integrity, and the calculations which we make respecting another, based on his known dishonesty, may alike disappoint us, through the unexpected, though possible dereliction of the first, and the unexpected, though possible reformation of the latter. when we reason from moral effects to moral causes, or from moral causes to moral effects, we cannot regard the operation of causes as positive and uniform under the same law of necessity which appertains to physical causes, because in moral causality the free will is the efficient and last determiner. it is indeed true that we reason here with a high degree of probability, with a probability sufficient to regulate wisely and harmoniously the affairs of society; but we cannot reason respecting human conduct, as we reason respecting the phenomena of the physical world, because it is possible for the human will to disappoint calculations based upon the ordinary influence of motives: e. g. the motive does not hold the same relation to will which fire holds to combustible substance; the fire must burn; the will may or may not determine in view of motive. hence the reason why, in common parlance, probable evidence has received the name of moral evidence: moral evidence being generally probable, all probable evidence is called moral. the will differs from physical causes in being a cause _per se_, but although a cause _per se_, it has laws to direct its volitions. it may indeed violate these laws and become a most arbitrary and inconstant law unto itself; but this violation of law and this arbitrary determination do not arise from it necessarily as a cause _per se_, but from an abuse of its liberty. as a cause in unity with the laws of the reason, we expect it to be uniform, and in its harmonious and perfect movements it is uniform. physical causes are uniform because god has determined and fixed them according to laws derived from infinite wisdom. the human will may likewise be uniform by obeying the laws of conscience, but the departures may also be indefinitely numerous and various. to sum up these observations in general statements, we remark;-- first: the connexion on which we base predictions of human volitions, is the connexion of will with reason and sensitivity in the unity of the mind or spirit. secondly: by this connexion, the will is seen to be designed to be regulated by truth and righteousness, and by feeling subordinated to these. thirdly: in the purity of the soul, the will is thus regulated. fourthly: this regulation, however, does not take place by the necessary governance which reason and sensitivity have over will, but by a self-subjection of will to their rules and inducements;--this constitutes meritoriousness,--the opposite conduct constitutes ill desert. fifthly: our calculations must proceed according to the degree and fixedness of this self-subjection to reason and right feeling; or where this does not exist, according to the degree and fixedness of the habits of wrong doing, in a self-subjection to certain passions in opposition to reason. sixthly: our calculations will be more or less certain according to the extent and accuracy of our observations upon human conduct. seventhly: our calculations can never be attended with _absolute_ certainty, because the will being contingent, has the power of disappointing calculations made upon the longest observed uniformity. eighthly: our expectations respecting the determinations of deity are attended with the highest moral certainty. we say _moral_ certainty, because it is certainty not arising from necessity, and in that sense absolute; but certainty arising from the free choice of an infinitely pure being. thus, when god is affirmed to be immutable, and when it is affirmed to be impossible for him to lie, it cannot be meant that he has not the power to change or to determine contrary to truth; but that there is an infinite moral certainty arising from the perfection of his nature, that he never will depart from infinite wisdom and rectitude. to assign god any other immutability would be to deprive him of freedom. ninthly: the divine foresight of human volitions need not be supposed to necessitate them, any more than human foresight, inasmuch as foreseeing them, has no necessary connexion in any case with their causation. again, if it does not appear essential to the divine foresight of volitions that they should be necessary. we have seen that future contingent volitions may be calculated with a high degree of certainty even by men; and now supposing that the divine being must proceed in the same way to calculate them through _media_,--the reach and accuracy of his calculations must be in the proportion of his intelligence, and how far short of a certain and perfect knowledge of all future contingent volitions can infinite intelligence be supposed to fall by such calculations? tenthly: but we may not suppose that the infinite mind is compelled to resort to deduction, or to employ _media_ for arriving at any particular knowledge. in the attribute of prescience, he is really present to all the possible and actual of the future. iii. the third and last point of edwards's argument is as follows: "to suppose the future volitions of moral agents, not to be necessary events; or which is the same thing, events which it is not impossible but that they may not come to pass; and yet to suppose that god certainly foreknows them, and knows all things, is to suppose god's knowledge to be inconsistent with itself. for to say that god certainly and without all conjecture, knows that a thing will infallibly be, which at the same time he knows to be so contingent, that it may possibly not be, is to suppose his knowledge inconsistent with itself; or that one thing he knows is utterly inconsistent with another thing he knows." (page .) the substance of this reasoning is this. that inasmuch as a contingent future event is _uncertain_ from its very nature and definition, it cannot be called an object of _certain_ knowledge, to any mind, not even to the divine mind, without a manifest contradiction. "it is the same as to say, he now knows a proposition to be of certain infallible truth, which he knows to be of contingent uncertain truth." we have here again an error arising from not making a proper distinction, which i have already pointed out,--the distinction between the certainty of a future volition as a mere fact existent, and the manner in which that fact came to exist. the fact of volition comes to exist contingently; that is, by a power which in giving it existence, is under no law of necessity, and at the moment of causation, is conscious of ability to withhold the causative _nibus_. now all volitions which have already come to exist in this way, have both a certain and contingent existence. it is certain that they have come to exist, for that is a matter of observation; but their existence is also contingent, because they came to exist, not by necessity as a mathematical conclusion, but by a cause contingent and free, and which, although actually giving existence to these volitions, had the power to withhold them. certainty and contingency are not opposed, and exclusive of each other in reference to what has already taken place. are they opposed and exclusive of each other in reference to the future? in the first place, we may reason on probable grounds. contingent causes have already produced volitions--hence they may produce volitions in the future. they have produced volitions in obedience to laws of reason and sensitivity--hence they may do so in the future. they have done this according to a uniformity self-imposed, and long and habitually observed--hence this uniformity may be continued in the future. a future contingent event may therefore have a high degree of probability, and even a moral certainty. but to a being endowed with prescience, what prevents a positive and infallible knowledge of a future contingent event? his mind extends to the actual in the future, as easily as to the actual in the past; but the actual of the future is not only that which comes to pass by his own determination and _nibus_, and therefore necessarily in its relation to himself as cause, but also that which comes to pass by the _nibus_ of constituted wills, contingent and free, as powers to do or not to do. there is no opposition, as edwards supposes, between the infallible divine foreknowledge, and the contingency of the event;--the divine foreknowledge is infallible from its own inherent perfection; and of course there can be no doubt but that the event foreseen will come to pass; but then it is foreseen as an event coming to pass contingently, and not necessarily. the error we have just noted, appears again in the corollary which edwards immediately deduces from his third position. "from what has been observed," he remarks, "it is evident, that the absolute _decrees_ of god are no more inconsistent with human liberty, on account of the necessity of the event which follows such decrees, than the absolute foreknowledge of god." (page .) the absolute decrees of god are the determinations of his will, and comprehend the events to which they relate, as the cause comprehends the effect. foreknowledge, on the contrary, has no causality in relation to events foreknown. it is not a determination of divine will, but a form of the divine intelligence. hence the decrees of god do actually and truly necessitate events; while the foreknowledge of god extends to events which are not necessary but contingent,--as well as to those which are pre-determined. edwards always confounds contingency with chance or no cause, and thus makes it absurd in its very definition. he also always confounds certainty with necessity, and thus compels us to take the latter universal and absolute, or to plunge into utter uncertainty, doubt, and disorder. prescience is an essential attribute of deity. prescience makes the events foreknown, certain; but if certain, they must be necessary. and on the other hand, if the events were not certain, they could not be foreknown,--for that which is uncertain cannot be the object of positive and infallible knowledge; but if they are certain in order to be foreknown, then they must be necessary. again: contingence, as implying no cause, puts all future events supposed to come under it, out of all possible connexion with anything preceding and now actually existent, and consequently allows of no basis upon which they can be calculated and foreseen. contingence, also, as opposed to necessity, destroys certainty, and excludes the possibility even of divine prescience. this is the course of edwards's reasoning. now if we have reconciled contingence with both cause and certainty, and have opposed it only to necessity, thus separating cause and certainty from the absolute and unvarying dominion of necessity, then this reasoning is truly and legitimately set aside. necessity lies only in the eternal reason, and the sensitivity connected with it:--contingency lies only in will. but the future acts of will can be calculated from its known union with, and self-subjection to the reason and sensitivity. these calculations are more or less probable, or are certain according to the known character of the person who is the subject of these calculations. of god we do not affirm merely the power of calculating future contingent events upon known data, but a positive prescience of all events. he sees from the beginning how contingent causes or wills, will act. he sees with absolute infallibility and certainty--and the events to him are infallible and certain. but still they are not necessary, because the causes which produce them are not determined and necessitated by anything preceding. they are causes contingent and free, and conscious of power not to do what they are actually engaged in doing. i am persuaded that inattention to the important distinction of the certainty implied in the divine foreknowledge, and the necessity implied in the divine predetermination or decree, is the great source of fallacious reasonings and conclusions respecting the divine prescience. when god pre-determines or decrees, he fixes the event by a necessity relative to himself as an infinite and irresistible cause. it cannot be otherwise than it is decreed, while his decree remains. but when he foreknows an event, he presents us merely a form of his infinite intelligence, exerting no causative, and consequently no necessitating influence whatever. the volitions which i am now conscious of exercising, are just what they are, whether they have been foreseen or not--and as they now do actually exist, they have certainty; and yet they are contingent, because i am conscious that i have power not to exercise them. they are, but they might not have been. now let the intelligence of god be so perfect, as five thousand years ago, to have foreseen the volitions which i am now exercising; it is plain that this foresight does not destroy the contingency of the volitions, nor does the contingency render the foresight absurd. the supposition is both rational and possible. it is not necessary for us to consider the remaining corollaries of edwards, as the application of the above reasoning to them will be obvious. before closing this part of the treatise in hand, i deem it expedient to lay down something like a scale of certainty. in doing this, i shall have to repeat some things. but it is by repetition, and by placing the same things in new positions, that we often best attain perspicuity, and succeed in rendering philosophical ideas familiar. first: let us consider minutely the distinction between certainty and necessity. necessity relates to truths and events considered in themselves. certainty relates to our apprehension or conviction of them. hence necessity is not certainty itself, but a ground of certainty. _absolute certainty_ relates only to truths or to being. first or intuitive truths, and logical conclusions drawn from them, are necessary with an absolute necessity. they do not admit of negative suppositions, and are irrespective of will. the being of god, and time, and space, are necessary with an absolute necessity. _relative necessity_ relates to logical conclusions and events or phenomena. logical conclusions are always necessary relatively to the premises, but cannot be absolutely necessary unless the premises from which they are derived, are absolutely necessary. all phenomena and events are necessary with only a relative necessity; for in depending upon causes, they all ultimately depend upon will. considered therefore in themselves, they are contingent; for the will which produced them, either immediately or by second or dependent causes, is not necessitated, but free and contingent--and therefore their non-existence is supposable. but they are necessary relatively to will. the divine will, which gave birth to creation, is infinite; when therefore the _nibus_ of this will was made, creation was the necessary result. the deity is under no necessity of willing; but when he does will, the effect is said necessarily to follow--meaning by this, that the _nibus_ of the divine will is essential power, and that there is no other power that can prevent its taking effect. created will is under no necessity of willing; but when it does will or make its _nibus_, effects necessarily follow, according to the connexion established by the will of deity, between the _nibus_ of created will and surrounding objects. where a _nibus_ of created will is made, and effects do not follow, it arises from the necessarily greater force of a resisting power, established by deity likewise; so that whatever follows the _nibus_ of created will, whether it be a phenomenon without, or the mere experience of a greater resisting force, it follows by a necessity relative to the divine will. when we come to consider will in relation to its own volitions, we have no more necessity, either absolute er relative; we have contingency and absolute freedom. now certainty we have affirmed to relate to our knowledge or conviction of truths and events. necessity is one ground of certainty, both absolute and relative. we have a certain knowledge or conviction of that which we perceive to be necessary in its own nature, or of which a negative is not supposable; and this, as based upon an _absolute necessity_, may be called an absolute certainty. the established connexion between causes and effects, is another ground of certainty. causes are of two kinds; first causes, or causes _per se_, or contingent and free causes, or will; and second or physical causes, which are necessary with a relative necessity. first causes are of two degrees, the infinite and the finite. now we are certain, that whatever god wills, will take place. this may likewise be called an absolute certainty, because the connexion between divine volitions and effects is absolutely necessary. it is not supposable that god should will in vain, for that would contradict his admitted infinity. the connexion between the volitions of created will and effects, and the connexion between physical causes and effects, supposing each of course to be in its proper relations and circumstances, is a connexion of relative necessity; that is, relative to the divine will. now the certainty of our knowledge or conviction that an event will take place, depending upon volition or upon a physical cause, is plainly different from the certain knowledge of a necessary truth, or the certain conviction that an event which infinite power wills, will take place. the will which established the connexion, may at any moment suspend or change the connexion. i believe that when i will to move my hand over this paper, it will move, supposing of course the continued healthiness of the limb; but it is possible for god so to alter the constitution of my being, that my will shall have no more connexion with my hands than it now has with the circulation of the blood. i believe also that if i throw this paper into the fire, it will burn; but it is possible for god so to alter the constitution of this paper or of fire, that the paper will not burn; and yet i have a certain belief that my hand will continue to obey volition, and that paper will burn in the fire. this certainly is not an _absolute certainty_, but a _conditional_ certainty: events will thus continue to take place on condition the divine will does not change the condition of things. this conditional certainty is likewise called a _physical_ certainty, because the events contemplated include besides the phenomena of consciousness, which are not so commonly noticed, the events or phenomena of the physical world, or nature. but we must next look at will itself in relation to its volitions: here all is contingency and freedom,--here is no necessity. is there any ground of certain knowledge respecting future volitions? if will as a cause _per se_, were isolated and in no relation whatever, there could not be any ground of any knowledge whatever, respecting future volitions. but will is not thus isolated. on the contrary, it forms a unity with the sensitivity and the reason. reason reveals _what ought to be done_, on the basis of necessary and unchangeable truth. the sensitivity reveals what is most desirable or pleasurable, on the ground of personal experience. now although it is granted that will can act without deriving a reason or inducement of action from the reason and the sensitivity, still the instances in which it does so act, are so rare and trifling, that they may be thrown out of the account. we may therefore safely assume as a general law, that the will determines according to reasons and inducements drawn from the reason and the sensitivity. this law is not by its very definition, and by the very nature of the subject to which it relates, a necessary law--but a law revealed in our consciousness as one to which the will, in the exercise of its freedom, does submit itself. in the harmony and perfection of our being, the reason and the sensitivity perfectly accord. in obeying the one or the other, the will obeys both. with regard to perfect beings, therefore, we can calculate with certainty as to their volitions under any given circumstances. whatever is commanded by reason, whatever appears attractive to the pure sensitivity, will be obeyed and followed. but what kind of certainty is this? it is not absolute certainty, because it is supposable that the will which obeys may not obey, for it has power not to obey. nor is it _physical_ certainty, for it does not relate to a physical cause, nor to the connexion between volition and its effects, but to the connexion between will and its volitions. nor again can we, strictly speaking, call it a _conditional_ certainty; because the will, as a power _per se_, is under no conditions as to the production of its volitions. to say that the volitions will be in accordance with the reason and pure sensitivity, if the will continue to obey the reason and pure sensitivity, is merely saying that the volitions will be right if the willing power put forth right volitions. what kind of certainty is it, then? i reply, it is a certainty altogether peculiar,--a certainty based upon the relative state of the reason and the sensitivity, and their unity with the will; and as the commands of reason in relation to conduct have received the name of _moral_[ ] laws, simply because they have this relation,--and as the sensitivity, when harmonizing with the reason, is thence called morally pure, because attracting to the same conduct which the reason commands,--this certainty may fitly be called _moral certainty_. the name, however, does not mark _degree_. does this certainty possess degrees? it does. with respect to the volitions of god, we have the highest degree of moral certainty,--an infinite moral certainty. he, indeed, in his infinite will, has the power of producing any volitions whatever; but from his infinite excellency, consisting in the harmony of infinite reason with the divine affections of infinite benevolence, truth, and justice, we are certain that his volitions will always be right, good, and wise. besides, he has assured us of his fixed determination to maintain justice, truth, and love; and he has given us this assurance as perfectly knowing himself in the whole eternity of his being. let no one attempt to confound this perfect moral certainty with necessity, for the distinction is plain. if god's will were affirmed to be necessarily determined in the direction of truth, righteousness, and love, it would be an affirmation respecting the manner of the determination of the divine will: viz.--that the divine determination takes place, not in contingency and freedom, not with the power of making an opposite determination, but in absolute necessity. but if it be affirmed that god's will, will _certainly_ go in the direction of truth, righteousness, and love, the affirmation respects our _knowledge_ and _conviction_ of the character of the divine volitions in the whole eternity of his being. we may indeed proceed to inquire after the grounds of this knowledge and conviction; and if the necessity of the divine determinations be the ground of this knowledge and conviction, it must be allowed that it is a sufficient ground. but will any man assume that necessity is the _only_ ground of certain knowledge and conviction? if necessity be universal, embracing all beings and events, then of course there is no place for this question, inasmuch as any other ground of knowledge than necessity is not supposable. but if, at least for the sake of the argument, it be granted that there may be other grounds of knowledge than necessity, then i would ask whether the infinite excellence of the divine reason and sensitivity, in their perfect harmony, does afford to us a ground for the most certain and satisfactory belief that the divine will will create and mould all being and order all events according to infinite wisdom and rectitude. in order to have full confidence that god will forever do right, must we know that his will is absolutely necessitated by his reason and his affections? can we not enjoy this confidence, while we allow him absolute freedom of choice? can we not believe that the judge of all the earth will do right, although in his free and omnipotent will he have the power to do wrong? and especially may we not believe this, when, in his omniscience and his truth, he has declared that his purposes will forever be righteous, benevolent, and wise? does not the glory and excellency of god appear in this,--that while he hath unlimited power, he employs that power by his free choice, only to dispense justice, mercy, and grace? and does not the excellency and meritoriousness of a creature's faith appear in this,--that while god is known to be so mighty and so absolute, he is confided in as a being who will never violate any moral principle or affection? suppose god's will to be necessitated in its wise and good volitions,--the sun dispensing heat and light, and by their agency unfolding and revealing the beauty of creation, seems as truly excellent and worthy of gratitude,--and the creature, exercising gratitude towards god and confiding in him, holds no other relation to him than the sunflower to the sun--by a necessity of its nature, ever turning its face upwards to receive the influences which minister to its life and properties. the moral certainty attending the volitions of created perfect beings is the same in kind with that attending the volitions of the deity. it is a certainty based upon the relative state of the reason and the sensitivity, and their unity with the will. wherever the reason and the sensitivity are in harmony, there is moral certainty. i mean by this, that in calculating the character of future volitions in this case, we have not to calculate the relative energy of opposing principles:--all which is now existent is, in the constituted unity of the soul, naturally connected only with good volitions. but the _degree_ of the moral certainty in created beings, when compared with that attending the volitions of deity, is only in the proportion of the finite to the infinite. the confidence which we repose in the integrity of a good being, does not arise from the conviction that his volitions are necessitated, but from his known habit of obeying truth and justice; and our sense of his meritoriousness does not arise from the impossibility of his doing wrong, but from his known determination and habit of doing right while having the power of doing wrong, and while even under temptations of doing wrong. a certainty respecting volitions, if based upon the necessity of the volitions, would not differ from a physical certainty. but a moral certainty has this plain distinction,--that it is based upon the evidently pure dispositions and habits of the individual, without implying, however, any necessity of volitions. moral certainty, then, is predicable only of moral perfection, and predicable in degrees according to the dignity and excellency of the being. but now let us suppose any disorder to take place in the sensitivity; that is, let us suppose the sensitivity, to any degree, to grow into opposition to the reason, so that while the reason commands in one direction, the sensitivity gives the sense of the most agreeable in the opposite direction,--and then our calculations respecting future volitions must vary accordingly. here moral certainty exists no longer, because volitions are now to be calculated in connexion with opposing principles: calculations now attain only to the probable, and in different degrees. by _the probable_, we mean that which has not attained to certainty, but which nevertheless has grounds on which it claims to be believed. we call it _probable_ or _proveable_, because it both has proof and is still under conditions of proof, that is, admits of still farther proof. that which is certain, has all the proof of which the case admits. a mathematical proposition is certain on the ground of necessity, and admits of no higher proof than that which really demonstrates its truth. the divine volitions are certain on the ground of the divine perfections, and admit of no higher proof than what is found in the divine perfections. the volitions of a good created being are certain on the ground of the purity of such a being, and admit of no higher proof than what is found in this purity. but when we come to a mixed being, that is, a being of reason, and of a sensitivity corrupted totally or in different degrees, then we have place not for certainty, but for probability. as our knowledge of the future volitions of such a being can only be gathered from something now existent, this knowledge will depend upon our knowledge of the present relative state of his reason and sensitivity; but a perfect knowledge of this is in no case supposable,--so that, although our actual knowledge of this being may be such as to afford us proof of what his volitions may be, yet, inasmuch as our knowledge of him may be increased indefinitely by close observation and study, so likewise will the proof be increased. according to the definition of probability above given, therefore, our knowledge of the future volitions of an imperfect being can only amount to probable knowledge. the direction of the probabilities will be determined by the preponderance of the good or the bad in the mixed being supposed. if the sensitivity be totally corrupted, the probabilities will generally go in the direction of the corrupted sensitivity, because it is one observed general fact in relation to a state of corruption, that the enjoyments of passion are preferred to the duties enjoined by the conscience. but the state of the reason itself must be considered. if the reason be in a highly developed state, and the convictions of the right consequently clear and strong, there may be probabilities of volitions in opposition to passion which cannot exist where the reason is undeveloped and subject to the errors and prejudices of custom and superstition. the difference is that which is commonly known under the terms "enlightened and unenlightened conscience." where the sensitivity is not totally corrupted, the direction of the probabilities must depend upon the degree of corruption and the degree to which the reason is developed or undeveloped. with a given state of the sensitivity and the reason, the direction of the probabilities will depend also very much upon the correlated, or upon the opposing objects and circumstances:--where the objects and circumstances agree with the state of the sensitivity and the reason, or to speak generally and collectively, with "the state of the mind," the probabilities will clearly be more easily determined than where they are opposed to "the state of the mind." the law which edwards lays down as the law of volition universally, viz: that "the volition is as the greatest apparent good:" understanding by the term "good," as he does, simply, that which strikes us "agreeably," is indeed a general rule, according to which the volitions of characters deeply depraved may be calculated. this law represents the individual as governed wholly by his passions, and this marks the worst form of character. it is a law which cannot extend to him who is struggling under the light of his reason against passion, and consequently the probabilities in this last case must be calculated in a different way. but in relation to the former it is a sufficient rule. probability, as well as certainty, respects only the kind and degree of our knowledge of any events, and not the causes by which those events are produced: whether these causes be necessary or contingent is another question. one great error in reasoning respecting the character of causes, in connexion with the calculation of probabilities, is the assumption that uniformity is the characteristic of necessary causes only. the reasoning may be stated in the following syllogism: in order to calculate either with certainty or probability any events we must suppose a uniform law of causation; but uniformity can exist only where there is a necessity of causation; hence, our calculations suppose a necessity of causation. this is another instance of applying to the will principles which were first obtained from the observation of physical causes, and which really belong to physical causes only. with respect to physical causes, _it is true_ that uniformity appears to be a characteristic of necessary causes, simply because physical causes are relatively necessary causes:--but with respect to the will, _it is not true_ that uniformity appears to be a characteristic of necessary cause, because the will is not a necessary cause. that uniformity therefore, as in the case of physical causes, seems to become a characteristic of necessary cause, does not arise from the nature of the idea of cause, but from the nature of the particular subject, viz., _physical_ cause. uniformity in logical strictness, does not belong to cause at all, but to law or rule. cause is simply efficiency or power: law or rule defines the direction, aims, and modes of power: cause explains the mere existence of phenomena: law explains their relations and characteristics: law is the thought and design of the reason. now a cause may be so conditioned as to be incapable of acting except in obedience to law, and this is the case of all physical causes which act according to the law or design of infinite wisdom, and thus the uniformity which we are accustomed to attribute to these causes is not their own, but belongs to the law under which they necessarily act. but will is a cause which is not so conditioned as to be incapable of acting except in obedience to law; it can oppose itself to, and violate law, but still it is a cause in connexion with law, the law found in the reason and sensitivity, which law of course has the characteristic of uniformity. the law of the reason and pure sensitivity is uniform--it is the law of right. the law of a totally corrupted sensitivity is likewise a uniform law; it is the law of passion; a law to do whatever is most pleasing to the sensitivity; and every individual, whatever may be the degree of his corruption, forms for himself certain rules of conduct, and as the very idea of rule embraces uniformity, we expect in every individual more or less uniformity of conduct. uniformity of physical causation, is nothing but the design of the supreme reason developed in phenomena of nature. uniformity of volitions is nothing but the design of reason and pure sensitivity, or of corrupted passion developed in human conduct. the uniformity thus not being the characteristic of cause as such, cannot be the characteristic of necessary cause. the uniformity of causation, therefore, argues nothing respecting the nature of the cause; it may be a necessary cause or it may not. there is no difficulty at all in conceiving of uniformity in a free contingent will, because this will is related to uniform rules, which in the unity of the being we expect to be obeyed but which we also know do not necessitate obedience. in physical causes we have the uniformity of necessitated causes. in will we have the uniformity of a free intelligent cause. we can conceive of perfect freedom and yet of perfect order, because the free will can submit itself to the light of the reason. indeed, all the order and harmony of creation, although springing from the _idea_ of the reason, has been constituted by the power of the infinite free will. it is an order and harmony not necessitated but chosen by a power determining itself. it is altogether an assumption incapable of being supported that freedom is identified with disorder. _of the words, foreknowledge and prescience._ these words are metaphorical: _fore_ and _pre_ do not qualify _knowledge_ and _science_ in relation to the mind which has the knowledge or science; but the time in which the knowledge takes place in relation to the time in which the object of knowledge is found. the metaphor consists in giving the attribute of the time of knowledge, considered relatively to the time of the object of knowledge, to the act of knowledge itself. banishing metaphor for the sake of attaining greater perspicuity, let us say, first: all acts of knowing are present acts of knowing,--there is no _fore_ knowledge and no _after_ knowledge. secondly: the objects of knowledge may be in no relation to time and space whatever, e. g. pure abstract and necessary truth, as x = ; and the being of god. or the objects of knowledge may be in relations of time and space, e. g. all physical phenomena. now these relations of time and space are various;--the object of knowledge may be in time past, or time present, or time future; and it may be in a place near, or in a place distant. and the faculty of knowledge may be of a capacity to know the object in all these relations under certain limitations, or under no limitations. the faculty of knowledge as knowing objects in all relations of time and space, under certain limitations, is the faculty as given in man. we know objects in time present, and past, and future; and we know objects both near and distant; but then our knowledge does not extend to all events in any of these relations, or in any of these relations to their utmost limit. the faculty of knowledge as knowing objects in all relations of time and space, under no limitations, is the faculty under its divine and infinite form. under this form it comprehends the present perfectly, and the past and the future no less than the present--and it reaches through all space. god's knowledge is an eternal now--an omnipresent here; that is, all that is possible and actual in eternity and space, is now perfectly known to him. indeed god's knowledge ought not to be spoken of in relation to time and space; it is infinite and absolute knowledge, from eternity to eternity the same; it is unchangeable, because it is perfect; it can neither be increased nor diminished. we have shown before that the perfection of the knowledge does not settle the mode of causation; that which comes to pass by necessity, and that which comes to pass contingently, are alike known to god. conclusion. i here finish my review of edwards's system, and his arguments against the opposite system. i hope i have not thought or written in vain. the review i have aimed to conduct fairly and honourably, and in supreme reverence of truth. as to style, i have laboured only for perspicuity, and where a homely expression has best answered this end, i have not hesitated to adopt it. the nice graces of rhetoric, as popularly understood, cannot be attended to in severe reasoning. to amble on a flowery surface with fancy, when we are mining in the depths of reason, is manifestly impossible. the great man with whose work i have been engaged, i honour and admire for his intellectual might, and love and venerate for a purity and elevation of spirit, which places him among the most sainted names of the christian church. but have i done wrong not to be seduced by his genius, nor won and commanded by his piety to the belief of his philosophy? i have not done wrong if that be a false philosophy. when he leads me to the cross, and speaks to me of salvation, i hear in mute attention--and one of the old preachers of the martyr age seems to have re-appeared. but when we take a walk in the academian grove, i view him in a different character, and here his voice does not sound to me so sweet as plato's. the first part of my undertaking is accomplished. when i again trouble the public with my lucubrations, i shall appear not as a reviewer, but in an original work, which in its turn must become the subject of philosophical criticism. the end. footnotes [ ] "it is remarkable that the advocates for necessity have adopted a distinction made use of for other purposes, and forced it into their service; i mean moral and natural necessity. they say natural or physical necessity takes away liberty, but moral necessity does not: at the same time they explain moral necessity so as to make it truly physical or natural. that is physical necessity which is the _invincible_ effect of the law of nature, and it is neither less natural, nor less insurmountable, if it is from the laws of spirit than it would be if it were from the laws of matter."--(witherspoon's lectures on divinity, lect. xiii.) [ ] natural inability, and a want of liberty, are identified in this usage; for the want of a natural faculty essential to the performance of an action, and the existence of an impediment or antagonistic force, which takes from a faculty supposed to exist, the _liberty_ of action, have the same bearing upon responsibility. [ ] it is but justice to remark here, that the distinction of moral and natural inability is made by many eminent divines, without intending anything so futile as that we have above exposed. by moral inability they do not appear to mean anything which really render the actions required, impossible; but such an impediment as lies in corrupt affections, an impediment which may be removed by a self-determination to the use of means and appliances graciously provided or promised. by natural ability they mean the possession of all the natural faculties necessary to the performance of the actions required. in their representations of this natural ability, they proceed according to a popular method, rather than a philosophical. they affirm this natural ability as a fact, the denial of which involves monstrous absurdities, but they give no psychological view of it. this task i shall impose upon myself in the subsequent volume. i shall there endeavour to point out the connexion between the sensitivity and the will, both in a pure and a corrupt state,--and explain what these natural faculties are, which, according to the just meaning of these divines, form the ground of rebuke and persuasion, and constitute responsibility. [ ] "the great argument that men are determined by the strongest motives, is a mere equivocation, and what logicians call _petitio principii_. it is impossible even to produce any medium of proof that it is the strongest motive, except that it has prevailed. it is not the greatest in itself; nor does it seem to be in all respects the strongest to the agent; but you say it appears strongest in the meantime. why? because you are determined by it. alas! you promised to prove that i was determined by the _strongest motive_, and you have only shown that i had a _motive_ when i acted. but what has determined you then? can any effect be without a cause? i answer--supposing my self-determining power to exist, it is as real a cause of its proper and distinguishing effect, as your moral necessity: so that the matter just comes to a stand, and is but one and the same thing on one side and on the other." --(witherspoon's lectures, lect. xiii.) [ ] cousin. [ ] dr. reid. [ ] lat. _moralis_, from _mos_,--i. e. custom or ordinary conduct. examination of edwards on the will. an examination of president edwards' inquiry into the freedom of the will. by albert taylor bledsoe. "man, as the minister and interpreter of nature, does and understands as much as his observations on the order of nature, either with regard to things or the mind, permit him, and neither knows more, nor is capable of more."--_novum organum_. philadelphia: h. hooker, south seventh street. . entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by h. hooker, in the clerk's office of the district court for the eastern district of pennsylvania. king & baird, printers, george st. to the rev. william sparrow, d. d. as a token of admiration for his genius, and affectionate regard for his virtues, this little volume is respectfully inscribed, by the author. contents. introductory remarks section i. of the point in controversy section ii. of edwards' use of the term cause section iii. the inquiry involved in a vicious circle section iv. volition not an effect section v. of the consequences of regarding volition as an effect section vi. of the maxim that every effect must have a cause section vii. of the application of the maxim that every effect must have a cause section viii. of the relation between the feelings and the will section ix. of the liberty of indifference section x. of action and passion section xi. of the argument from the foreknowledge of god section xii. of edwards' use of the term necessity section xiii. of natural and moral necessity section xiv. of edwards' idea of liberty section xv. of edwards' idea of virtue section xvi. of the self-determining power section xvii. of the definition of a free-agent section xviii. of the testimony of consciousness introductory remarks. i entered upon an examination of the "inquiry" of president edwards, not with a view to find any fallacy therein, but simply with a desire to ascertain the truth for myself. if i have come to the conclusion, that the whole scheme of moral necessity which edwards has laboured to establish, is founded in error and delusion; this has not been because i came to the examination of his work with any preconceived opinion. in coming to this conclusion i have disputed every inch of the ground with myself, as firmly and as resolutely as i could have done with an adversary. the result has been, that the views which i now entertain, in regard to the philosophy of the will, are widely different from those usually held by the opponents of moral necessity, as well as from those which are maintained by its advocates. the formation of these views, whether they be correct or not, has been no light task. long have i struggled under the stupendous difficulties of the subject. long has darkness, a deep and perplexing darkness, seemed to rest upon it. faint glimmerings of light have alternately appeared and disappeared. some of these have returned at intervals, while others have vanished for ever. some have returned, and become less wavering, and led on the mind to other regions of mingled obscurity and light. gladly and joyfully have i followed. by patient thought, and sustained attention, these faint glimmerings have, in more instances than one, been made to open out into what has appeared to be the clear and steady light of truth. if these are not mere fond illusions, the true intellectual system of the world is far different from that which has been constructed by the logic of president edwards. if his system be false, why, it may be asked, has the inquiry so often appeared to be unanswerable? why has it been supposed, even by some of the advocates of free agency, that logic is in favour of his system, while consciousness only is in favour of ours? one reason of this opinion is, that it has been taken for granted, that either the scheme of president edwards or that of his opponents must be true; and hence, his system has appeared to stand upon immoveable ground, in so far logic is concerned, only because he has, with such irresistible power and skill, demolished and trampled into ruins that of his adversaries. reason has been supposed to be on his side, because he has so clearly shown that it is not on the side of his opponents. but the scheme of the motive-determining power, does not necessarily arise out of the ruins of the self-determining power; it is only to the imagination that it appears to do so. because the one system is false, it does not follow that the other is true. there is another and still more powerful reason for the idea in question. the advocates of free agency have granted too much. the great foundation principles of the scheme of moral necessity have been incautiously admitted by its adversaries. these principles have appeared so obvious at first view, that their correctness has not been doubted; and hence they have been assumed by the one side and conceded by the other. yet, if i am not greatly mistaken, they have been derived, not from the true oracles of nature, but from what bacon quaintly calls the "idols of the tribe." if this be the case, as i think it will hereafter appear to be; then in order to secure a complete triumph over the scheme of moral necessity, even on the arena of logic, we must not only know _how to reason_, but also _how to doubt_. i fully concur with the younger edwards, that "clarke, johnson, price, and reid have granted too much;" and while i try to show this, i shall also endeavour to show that president edwards has assumed too much, not for the good of the cause in which he is engaged, but for the attainment of truth. if his system had not been founded upon certain natural illusions, by which the true secrets of nature are concealed from our view, it could never have been the boast of its admirers, "that a reluctant world has been constrained to bow in homage to its truth." if we would try the strength of this system then, we must bend a searching and scrutinizing eye upon the premises and assumptions upon which it is based; we must put aside every preconceived notion, even the most plausible and commonly received opinions, and lay our minds open to the steady and unbiased contemplation of nature, just as it has been created by the almighty architect; we must view the intellectual system of the world, not as it is seen through our hasty and careless conceptions, but as it is revealed to us in the light of consciousness and severe meditation. this will be no light task, i am aware; but whosoever would seek the truth on such a subject, must not expect to find it by light and trifling efforts; he must go after it in all the loving energy of his soul. let this course be pursued, honestly and perseveringly pursued, and i am persuaded, that a system of truth will be revealed to the mind, to which it will not be constrained to render "a reluctant homage," but which, by harmonizing the deductions of logic with the dictates of nature, will secure to itself the most pleasing and delightful homage of which the human mind is susceptible. those false conceptions which are common to the human mind, those "idols of the tribe," of which bacon speaks, have been, as it is well known, the sources of some of the most obstinate errors, both in science and in religion, that have ever infested the world. and it is evident, that while the assumptions from which any system, however false, legitimately results, are conceded, it will stand, like a wall of adamant, against the most powerful artillery of logic. it will remain triumphant in spite of all opposition. it may be contrary to our natural convictions, and consequently liable to our suspicions; but it cannot be refuted by argument. its advocates may reason correctly, and its adversaries may appeal to opposite truths; but neither can ever arrive at the truth, and the whole truth. this has appeared to me to be the case, with respect to the long controverted question of liberty and necessity. the above causes, conspiring with some instances of false logic, which have been overlooked amid so much that is really conclusive, and also with a number of unsound, yet plausible, devices to reconcile the scheme of moral necessity with the reality of virtue and free-agency, have, in the minds of many, rendered the work of president edwards both an acceptable and an unanswerable production. such, at least, is the conclusion to which i have been constrained to come; but whether this conclusion be correct or not, it is not for me to determine. time alone can show, whether the foundation of his system, like that of truth, is immutable, or whether, like many which have been laid by the master spirits of other ages, it is destined to pass away, though not to be forgotten. in the above enumeration of causes i have not alluded to those of a theological nature; because they have been but partial in their operation. and besides, i have not wished to refer to this subject at all, except in so far as, is necessary to indicate wherein i conceive the errors of the inquiry to consist, and thereby to point out the course which i intend to pursue in the following discussion. section i. of the point in controversy. it is worse than a waste of time, it is a grievous offence against the cause of truth, to undertake to refute an author without having taken pains to understand exactly what he teaches. in every discussion, the first thing to be settled is the point in dispute; and if this be omitted, the controversy must needs degenerate into a mere idle logomachy. it seldom happens that any thing affords so much satisfaction, or throws so much light on a controversy, as to have the point at issue clearly made up, and _constantly borne in mind_. what then, is the precise doctrine of the inquiry which i intend to oppose? the great question is, says edwards, what determines the will. it is taken for granted, on all sides, that the will is determined; and the only point is, or rather has been, as to what determines it. it is determined by the strongest motive, says one; it is not determined by the strongest motive, says another. but although the issue is thus made up in general terms, it is very far from being settled with any tolerable degree of clearness and precision; ample room is still left for all that loose and declamatory kind of warfare in which so many controversialists delight to indulge. the question still remains to be settled, what is meant by determining the will? in regard to this point, the necessitarian does not seem to have a very clear and definite idea. "the object of our inquiry," says president day, "is not to learn whether the mind acts at all. this no one can doubt. nor is it to determine _why we will at all_. the very nature of the faculty of the will implies that we put forth volitions. but the real point of inquiry is, _why we will one way rather than another; why we choose one thing rather than its opposite_," p. . one would suppose from this statement, that we have nothing to do with the question, _why we put forth volitions_, but exclusively with the question, why we will _one way rather than another_. here the author's meaning seems to be plain, and we may imagine that we know exactly where to find him; but, in the very next sentence, he declares that the object of our inquiry is, "what is it that determines _not only that there shall be volitions_, but what they shall be?" p. . in one breath we are told, that we have nothing to do with the question, why our volitions are put forth or come into existence; these are admitted to be implied in the "very nature of the faculty of the will;" but, in the very next, we are informed that we have to inquire into this point also. one moment, only one of these points is in dispute, and the next, both are put in controversy. surely, this does not indicate any very clear and definite idea, on the part of president day, as to the point at issue. the notion of president edwards, on this subject, appears to be equally unsteady and vacillating. "thus," says he, "by determining the will, if the phrase be used with any meaning, _must be intended_, causing that the act of the _will should be thus, and not otherwise:_ and the will is said to be determined, when, in consequence of some action, or influence, its choice is directed to, and fixed upon a particular object. as when we speak of the determination of motion, we mean causing the motion of the body to be in such a direction, rather than another," p. . now, are we to understand from this, that the determination of the will can only refer to the question, why it is directed to and fixed upon a particular object, and not to the question, how it comes to put forth a volition at all? one would certainly suppose so; and that, according to edwards, we have nothing to do with the question, "how a spirit comes to act," but with the question, "why its action has such and such a particular direction and determination." but this supposition would be very far from the truth. for he informs us, that "the question is not so much, how a spirit endowed with activity comes to act, as why it exerts such an act, and not another; or why it acts with such a particular determination?" this clearly implies, that although the question, "how a spirit comes to act," is not chiefly concerned in the present controversy; yet _it is partly_ concerned in it. this question is concerned in it, though not _so much_ as the other question, why the act of the mind is as it is, rather than otherwise. this is not all. when edwards attacks the doctrine of his adversaries, in regard to the determining of the will, he never seems to dream of the idea, which, according to himself, if the phrase mean any thing, _must_ be attached to it. he treats it as a settled point, that by determining the will must be intended, not causing volition to be one way rather than another, but causing it to come into existence. he could take this expression to mean the one thing or the other, just as it suited his purpose. are these two questions really distinct? can there be one cause of volition, and another cause of its particular direction? i answer, there cannot. no such distinction can be shown to exist by a reference to the cause of motion. force is the cause of motion. one force may put a body in motion; and, afterwards, another force may change the direction of its motion. upon a superficial observation, this may seem to illustrate the distinction in question; but, upon more mature reflection, it will not appear to do so. for the force which sets a body in motion necessarily causes it to move in one particular direction, and not another; because it is impossible for a body to move without moving in a particular direction. after one force has put a body in motion, another force, it is true, may change its direction; but in such a case, it is not correct to say, that one force caused its motion and another the direction of that motion. for, in reality, both the motion of the body and its direction, result from the joint action of the two forces; or, in other words, each force contributes to the motion, and each to its direction. both the motion and its direction are caused by what is technically called, in mechanical philosophy, the "resultant" of the two forces; and the case is really not different, so far as the distinction in question is concerned, from the case of motion produced by the action of a single force. the absurdity of this distinction consists, in supposing that a body may be put in motion without moving in a particular direction; and that something else beside the cause of its motion, is necessary to account for the direction of that motion. the illustration, therefore, drawn from the phenomena of motion, fails to answer the purpose for which president edwards has produced it. the same absurdity is involved in the supposition, that one thing may cause volition to exist, and another may cause it to be directed to and fixed upon a particular object. no man can conceive of a choice as existing, which has not some particular object. it is of the very nature and essence of a choice to have some particular direction and determination. if a choice exists at all, it must be a choice of some particular thing. hence, whatever causes a volition to exist, must cause it to have a particular direction and determination. let any one show a choice, which is not the preference of one thing rather than another, and then we may admit that there is some reason for the distinction in question; but until then, we must be permitted to regard it as having no foundation in the nature of things. if it were necessary, this matter might be fully and unanswerably illustrated; but a bare statement of it is sufficient to render it perfectly clear. we shall hereafter see, that the reason why president edwards supposed that there is some foundation for such a distinction is, that he did not sufficiently distinguish between the cause of a thing and its condition. although we may suppose that the "activity of the soul" is the cause of its acting; yet motive may be the indispensable condition of its acting; and, in this sense, may be the reason why a volition is one way rather than another. but it is denied that there can be two _causes_ in the case; one to produce volition, and another to determine its object. we have seen that such a supposition is absurd; and we shall hereafter see, that edwards was led to make it, by confounding the condition with the cause of volition. after all, it may be said, that edwards himself did not really consider these two things as distinct, but only as different aspects of the same thing. if so, it will follow, that when he undertook to establish his own scheme, he represented motive as the cause of volition; and yet when he was reminded, that the activity of the nature of the soul is the cause of its actions, he replied, that although this may be very true, yet this activity of nature is not the "cause why its acts are thus and thus limited, directed and determined." he replied that the question is not _so much_, "how a spirit comes to act," as why it acts thus, and not otherwise. that is to say, it will follow, that he chose to build up his scheme under one aspect of it, and to defend it under another aspect thereof; that as the architect of his system, he chose to assume and occupy the position, that motive is the cause of volition itself; yet as the defender of it, he sometimes preferred to present this same position under the far milder aspect, that although "the activity of spirit, may be the cause why it acts," yet motive is the cause why its acts are thus and thus limited, &c. in other words, it will follow, that his doctrine possesses two faces; and that with the one it looks sternly on the scheme of necessity, whilst, with the other, it seems to smile on its adversaries. the truth is, the great question which president edwards discusses throughout the inquiry, as we shall see, is "how a spirit comes to act;" and the other question, "why its action is thus and thus limited," &c., which, on occasion, swells out into such immense importance, as to seem to cover the whole field of vision, generally shrinks down into comparative insignificance. as a general thing, he goes along in the even tenor of his way, to prove that no event can begin to be without a cause of its existence; and, in particular, that no volition can come into existence without being caused to do so by motive; and it is only when it is urged upon him, that "a spirit endowed with activity" may give rise to its own acts, that he takes a sudden turn and reminds us, that the question is not so much "how a spirit comes to act?" as "why its acts are thus and thus limited?" from the supposition made by edwards, that "if activity of nature be the cause why a spirit acts," it has been concluded that he regarded the soul of man as the efficient cause of its volitions, and motive as merely the occasion on which they are put forth or exerted. but surely, those who have so understood the inquiry, have done so very unadvisedly, and have but little reason to complain, as they are prone to do, that his opponents do not understand him. if edwards makes mind the efficient cause of volition, what becomes of his famous argument against the self-determining power, by which he reduces it to the absurdity of an infinite series of volitions? "if the mind causes its volition," says he, "it can do so only by a preceding volition; and so on _ad infinitum_." is not all this true, on the supposition that the mind is the efficient cause of volition? and if so, how can any reader of edwards, who does not wish to make either his author or himself appear ridiculous, seriously contend that he holds mind to be the efficient, or producing cause of volition? there be pretended followers and blind admirers of president edwards, who, knowing but little of his work themselves, are ever ready to defend him, whensoever attacked, even by those who have devoted years to the study of the inquiry, by most ignorantly and flippantly declaring that they do not understand him. these pseudo-disciples will not listen to the charge, that edwards makes the strongest motive the producing cause of volition; but whether this charge be true or not, we shall see in the following section. section ii. of edwards' use of the term cause. we have already seen that edwards must be understood as holding motive to be the cause of volition; but still we cannot make up the issue with him, until we have ascertained in what sense he employs the term _cause_. it has been contended, by high authority, that he did not regard motive as the efficient, or producing cause of volition, but only as the occasion or condition on which volition is produced. hence, it becomes necessary to examine this point, and to settle the meaning of the author, in order that i may not be supposed to misrepresent him, and to dispute with him only about words. the above notion is based on the following passage: "i would explain," says president edwards, "how i would be understood when i use the word _cause_ in this discourse; since, for want of a better word, i shall have occasion to use it in a sense which is more extensive, than that in which it is sometimes used. the word is often used in so restrained a sense as to signify only that which has a positive efficiency or influence to produce a thing, or bring it to pass. but there are many things which have no such positive productive influence; which yet are causes in this respect, that they have truly the nature of a reason why some things are, rather than others; or why they are thus rather than otherwise.". . . . "i sometimes use the word _cause_, in this inquiry, to signify any antecedent, either natural or moral, . . . upon which an event so depends, that it is the ground or reason, either in whole or in part, why it is, rather than not; or why it is as it is, rather than otherwise; or, in other words, any antecedent with which a consequent event is so connected, that it truly belongs to the reason why the proposition which affirms that event, is true; whether _it has any positive influence, or not_. and, agreeably to this, i sometimes use the term _effect_ for the consequence of another thing, which is perhaps rather an occasion than cause, most properly speaking." and he tells us, that "i am the more careful thus to explain my meaning, that i may cut off occasion, from any that might seek occasion to cavil and object against some things which i may say concerning the dependence of all things which come to pass, on some cause, and their connection with their cause," p. - . this is the portion of the inquiry on which the younger edwards founds his conclusion, that his father did not regard motive as the _efficient_ cause of volition, but only as the occasion, or condition, or antecedent of volition. he finds this language in the essays of dr. west; "we cannot agree with mr. edwards in his assertion, that motive is the cause of volition;" and he replies, "mr. edwards has very particularly informed us in what sense he uses the term _cause_;" and, in proof of this, he proceeds to quote a portion of the above extracts from the inquiry. having done this, he triumphantly demands, "now, does dr. west deny, that motive is an antecedent, on which volition, either in whole or in part depends? or that it is a ground or reason, either in whole or in part, either by positive influence or not, why it is rather than not? surely, he cannot with consistency deny this, since he says, 'by motive we understand the _occasion_, end or design, which an agent has in view when he acts.' so that, however desirous dr. west may be to be thought to differ, in this point, from president edwards, it appears that he most exactly agrees with him," p. . now, if edwards really believed that motive is merely the occasion on which the mind acts, agreeing herein most perfectly with dr. west, why did he not say so? why adhere to the term cause, which can only obscure such an idea, instead of adopting the word occasion, or condition, or antecedent, which would have clearly expressed it? surely, if edwards maintained the doctrine ascribed to him, he has been most unfortunate in his manner of setting it forth; it is a great pity he did not give it a more conspicuous place in his system. it is to be regretted, that he has not once told us that such was his doctrine, in order that we might see for ourselves his agreement with dr. west in this respect, instead of leaving it to the initiated few to enlighten us on this subject. he has, we are told, "very particularly informed us in what sense he uses the word cause," p. . now is this so? has he informed us that by _cause_ he means _occasion?_ he has done no such thing, and his language admits of no such construction. he merely tells us, that he _sometimes_ uses the term cause to signify an occasion only; but when and where he so employs it, he has not explained at all. he has not once said, that when he applies it to motive he uses it in the sense of an occasion, or antecedent; and, if he had said so, it would not have been true. the truth is, that he has used the word in question with no little vagueness and indistinctness of meaning; for he sometimes employs it to signify merely an occasion, which exerts no positive influence, and sometimes to signify a producing cause. this is the manner in which he uses it, when he applies it to motive. in his definition of motive, as the younger edwards truly says, he includes "_every cause_ or occasion of volition;" every thing which has a "tendency to volition;" &c., p. . thus, according to the younger edwards himself, the elder edwards has, in his definition of motive, included every conceivable cause of volition; and yet, when dr. west objects that he makes motive the producing cause of volition, the very same writer replies that he has done no such thing: that he has "very particularly explained in what sense he uses the word cause" when applied to motive, and that he means "by _cause_, no other than _occasion, reason, or previous circumstance necessary for volition_; and that in this dr. west entirely agrees with him," p. . if we may believe the younger edwards, then, when the author of the inquiry says, that motive is the cause of volition, he means that it is no other than the occasion or previous circumstance necessary to volition, and not that it is the cause thereof in the proper sense of the word; and yet that it is the cause thereof in every conceivable sense of the word! now, he agrees with dr. west himself; and again, he teaches precisely the opposite doctrine! let those who so fondly imagine that they are the only men who understand the inquiry, and that the most elaborate replies to it may be sufficiently refuted by raising the cry of "misconstruction;" let them, i say, take some little pains to understand the work for themselves, instead of merely giving echo to the blunders of the younger edwards. president edwards says, that the term cause is often used in so restrained a sense as to signify that which has "a _positive efficiency_ or _influence_ to _produce_ a thing, or bring it to pass." it is in this restrained sense that i use the word, when i say that president edwards regarded motive as the cause of volition; and it is in this sense that i intend to make the charge good. i intend to show that he regarded motive, not merely as the occasion or condition of volition, but as that which _produces_ it. this position, as we have seen, has been denied by high authority; and therefore it becomes necessary to establish it, in order that i may not be charged with disputing only about words; and that although i may be exceedingly "desirous of being thought to differ with president edwards" on this subject, yet i do "most exactly agree with him." to begin then;--if motive is merely the condition on which the mind acts, and exerts no influence in the production of volition, it is certainly improper to say, that it _gives rise to volition_. this clearly implies that it is the efficient, or producing cause of volition. on this point, let the younger edwards himself be the judge. "that self-determination _gives rise_ to volition," is an expression which he quotes from dr. chauncey, and italicizes the words "gives rise to," as showing that the author of them regarded the mind as the efficient cause of volition. now, president edwards says, that the "strongest motive excites the mind to volition;" and he adds, that "the notion of exciting, is _exerting influence to cause the effect to arise and come forth into existence_," p. . surely, if to give rise to a thing, is efficiently to cause it, no less can be said of exerting influence "to _cause it to arise and come forth into existence_." and if so, then, according to the younger edwards himself, the author of the inquiry regarded motive as the efficient cause of volition; and yet, on p. he declares, that president edwards did not hold "motive to be the efficient cause of volition;" and that if he has dropped any expression which implies such a doctrine, it must have been an inadvertency. i intend to show, before i have done, that there are many such inadvertencies in his work; the younger edwards himself being the judge. now, it will not be denied, that that which produces a thing, is its efficient cause. the younger edwards himself has spoken of an "_efficient, producing_ cause," in such a manner as to show that he regarded them as convertible terms, p. . he being judge, then, that which produces a thing, is its efficient cause. i might easily show, if it were necessary, that he himself frequently speaks of motive as the efficient, or producing cause of volition; but, at present, i am only concerned with the doctrine of president edwards. "it is true," says president edwards, "i find myself possessed of my volitions before i can see the effectual power of any cause to _produce_ them, for the power and _efficacy_ of the cause is not seen but by the effect," p. . here, from the volition, from the effect, he infers the operation of the cause or power which _produces_ it. now this cause is motive, the strongest motive; for this is that which operates to induce a choice. motive, then, _produces_ volition, according to the inquiry; it is not merely the condition on which it is produced. the younger edwards declares, that president edwards did not regard "motive as the efficient cause of volition," p. , but only as the "occasion or previous circumstances necessary to volition;" in this respect "most exactly agreeing with dr. west" himself; and yet he tells us, in another place, that "every cause of volition is included in president edwards' definition of motive," p. . now, does not every cause of volition include the efficient cause thereof? does not this expression include that which is the cause of volition in the real, in the only proper, sense of the word? to save the consistency of the author, will it be said, that "every cause" does not include the efficient cause in his estimation, since in his opinion there is no such cause? if this should be said, it would not be true; for the younger edwards did, as it is well known, regard the influence of the divine being as the efficient cause of volition. he regarded the deity as the sole fountain of all efficiency in heaven and in earth. hence, if the definition of president edwards included "every cause" of volition; it must have included this divine influence, this efficient cause. indeed, the younger edwards expressly asserts, that this "divine influence" is included in president edwards' "explanation of his idea of motive," p. . he tells us, then, that president edwards regards motive as merely the _occasion_ of volition; and yet that he considered motive as including the efficient cause of volition! at one time, motive is merely the antecedent, which exerts no influence; at another, it embraces the efficient cause! at one time, the author of the inquiry "most exactly agrees" with the libertarian in regard to this all-important point; and, at another, he most perfectly disagrees with him! it is to be hoped, that president edwards is not quite so glaringly inconsistent with himself, on this subject, as he is represented to be by his distinguished son. again. president edwards has written a section to prove, that "volitions are necessarily connected with the influence of motives;" which clearly implies that they are brought to pass by the influence of motives. in this section, he says, "motives do nothing, as motives or inducements, but by their influence. and so much as is _done by their influence_ is the effect of them. for that is the notion of an effect, something that _is brought to pass_ by the influence of something else." here motives are said to be the causes of volitions, and to _bring them to pass by their influence_. is this to make motive merely the condition on which the mind acts? is this to consider it as merely an antecedent to volition, which exerts no influence? on the contrary, does it not strongly remind one of that "restrained sense of the word cause," in which it signifies, that which "has an influence to produce a thing, _or bring it to pass?_" once more. in relation to the acts of the will, he adopts the following language to show that they are necessarily dependent on the influence of motives: "for an event to have a cause and ground of its existence, and yet not be connected with its cause, is an inconsistency. for if the event be not connected with the cause, it is not dependent on its cause; its _existence_ is as it were _loose from its influence_; and it may attend it, or it may not; its being a mere contingency, whether it follows or attends the influence of the cause, or not; and that is the same thing as not to be dependent on it. and to say the event is not dependent on its cause, _is absurd_; it is the same thing as to say, it is not its cause, nor the event the effect of it; for dependence on _the influence of a cause is the very notion of an effect_. if there be no such relation between one thing and another, consisting in the connexion and dependence of one thing on the influence of another, then it is certain there is no such relation between them as is signified by the relation of cause and effect," p. - . now, here we are told, that it is the very notion of an effect, that it owes its existence to the influence of its cause; and that _it is absurd_ to speak of an effect which is loose from the influence of its cause. it is this influence, "which causes volition to arise and come forth into existence." any other notion of cause and effect is absurd and unmeaning. and yet, president edwards informs us, that he sometimes uses the term cause to signify any antecedent, though it may exert no influence; and that he so employs it, in order to prevent cavilling and objecting. now, what is all this taken together, but to inform us, that he sometimes uses the word in question _very absurdly_, in order to keep us from finding fault with him? the truth is, that whatever apparent concession president edwards may have made, he does habitually bring down the term _cause_ to its narrow and restrained sense, to its strict and proper meaning, when he says, that motive is the cause of volition. he loses sight entirely of the idea, that it is only the _occasion_ on which the mind acts. i might multiply extracts to the same effect almost without end; but it is not necessary. it must be evident to every impartial reader of the inquiry, that even if the author really meant by the above extracts, that motive is merely the antecedent to volition; this was only a momentary concession made to his opponents, with the vague and ill-defined hope, perhaps, that it would render his system less obnoxious to them. it had no abiding place in his mind. it was no sooner uttered than it was repelled and driven away by the whole tenor of his system. we soon hear him, as if no such thing had ever been dreamed of in his philosophy, asking the question, and that too, in relation to motives, "what _can be meant by a cause_, but something that is the ground and reason of a thing _by its influence_, an influence that is prevalent and effectual," p. . will it be pretended, that this does not come up to his definition of an efficient cause, as that which brings something to pass by "a _positive_ influence?" such a pretext would amount to nothing; for edwards has said, that "motives excite volition;" and "to excite, _is to be a cause in the most proper sense, not merely a negative occasion, but a ground of existence by positive influence,_" p. . an efficient cause is properly defined by the edwardses themselves. "does not the man talk absurdly and inconsistently," says the younger edwards, "who asserts, that a man is the efficient cause of his own volitions, yet puts forth no exertion in order to cause it? if any other way of _efficiently_ causing an effect, be possible or conceivable, let it be pointed out," p. . president edwards evidently entertained the same idea; for he repeatedly says, that if the mind be the cause of its own volitions, it must cause them by a preceding act of the mind. the objection which he urges against the self-determining power, is founded on this idea of a cause. it is what he means, when he says, that the term _cause_ is "often used in so restrained a sense as to signify only that which has a _positive efficiency_ or _influence_ to _produce_ a thing, or _bring it to pass_." that president edwards regarded motive as the efficient or producing cause of volition, according to his own notion of it, is clear not only from numerous passages of the inquiry; it is also wrought into the very substance and structure of his whole argument. it is involved in his very definition of the strongest motive. the strongest motive, says he, is the whole of that which "_operates_ to induce a particular choice." now, to say that one thing _operates_ to induce another, or bring it into existence, is, according to the definition of the younger edwards himself, to say that it is the efficient cause of the thing so produced. if there be any meaning in words, or any truth in the definition of the edwardses, then to say that one thing operates to produce another, is to say that it is its efficient cause. president edwards, as we have seen, holds that motive is "the effectual power and efficacy" which produces volition. again. edwards frequently says, that "if this great principle of common sense, that every effect must have a cause, be given up, then there will be no such thing as reasoning from effect to cause. we cannot even prove the existence of deity. if any thing can begin to be without a cause of its existence, then we cannot know that there is a god." now, the sense in which this maxim is here used is perfectly obvious; for nothing can begin to be without an efficient cause, by which it is brought into existence. when we reason from those things which begin to be up to god, we clearly reason from effects to their efficient causes. hence, when this maxim is applied by edwards to volitions, he evidently refers to the efficient causes of them. if he does not, his maxim is misapplied; for it is established in one sense, and applied in another. if it proves any thing, it proves that volition must have an efficient cause; and when motive is taken to be that cause, it is taken to be the efficient cause of volition. this is not all. edwards undertakes to point out the difference between natural and moral necessity. in the case of moral necessity, says he, "the cause with which the effect is connected is of a particular kind: viz., that which is of a moral nature; either some previous habitual disposition, or some motive presented to the understanding. and the effect is also of a particular kind, being likewise of a moral nature; consisting in some inclination or volition of the soul, or voluntary action." but the difference, says he, "does not lie so much _in the nature of the connection_, as in the two terms connected." now, let us suppose that any effect, the creation of the world, for example, is produced by the power of god. in this case, the connection between the effect produced, the creation of the world, and the act of the divine omnipotence by which it is created, is certainly the connection between an effect and its efficient cause. the two terms are here connected by a natural necessity. but we are most explicitly informed, that the connection between motives and volitions, differs from this in the nature of the two terms connected, rather than in the nature of the connection. how could language more clearly or precisely convey the meaning of an author? to say that president edwards does not make motive the efficient cause of volition, is, indeed, not so much to interpret, as it is to new model, his philosophy of the will. the connection between the strongest motive, he declares, and the corresponding volition, is "absolute," just as absolute as any connection in the world. if the strongest motive exists, the volition is sure to follow; it necessarily follows; it is _absurd_ to suppose, that it may attend its cause or not. to say that it may follow the influence of its cause, or may not, is to say that it is not dependent on that influence, that it is not the effect of it. in other words, it is to say that a volition is the effect of the strongest motive, and yet that it is not the effect of it; which is a plain contradiction. such, as we have seen, is the clear and unequivocal teaching of the inquiry. in conclusion, if edwards really held, that motive does not produce volition, but is merely the occasion on which it is put forth, where shall we find his doctrine? where shall we look for it? we hear him charged with destroying man's free-agency, by making motive the producing cause of volition; and we see him labouring to repel this charge. truly, if he held the doctrine ascribed to him, we might have expected to find some allusion to it in his attempts to refute such a charge. if such had been his doctrine, with what ease might he have repelled the charge in question, and shown its utter futility, by simply alleging that, according to his system, motive is the occasion, and not the producing cause, of volition? instead of the many pages through which he has so laboriously struggled, in order to bring our ideas of free-agency and virtue into harmony with his scheme; with what infinite ease might a single word have brought his scheme into harmony with the common sentiments of mankind in regard to free-agency and virtue! indeed, if edwards really believed that motive is merely the condition on which the mind acts, nothing can be more wonderful than his profound silence in regard to it on such an occasion; except the great pains which, on all occasions, he has taken to keep it entirely in the background. if the younger edwards is not mistaken as to the true import of his father's doctrine, then, instead of setting it forth in a clear light, so that it may be read of all men, the author of the inquiry has, indeed, enveloped it in such a flood of darkness, that it is no wonder those who have been so fortunate as to find it out, should be so frequently called upon to complain that his opponents do not understand him. indeed, if such be the doctrine of the inquiry, i do not see how any man can possibly understand it, unless he has inherited some peculiar power, unknown to the rest of mankind, by which its occult meaning may be discerned, notwithstanding all the outward appearances by which it is contradicted and obscured. the plain truth is, as we have seen, that president edwards holds motive to be the producing cause of volition. according to his scheme, "volitions are necessarily connected with the influence of motives;" they "are brought to pass by the prevailing and effectual influence" of motives. motive is "the effectual power and efficacy" by which they are "produced." they are not merely caused to be thus, and not otherwise, by motive; they are "caused to arise and come forth into existence." this is the great doctrine for which edwards contends; and this is precisely the doctrine which i deny. _i contend against no other kind of necessity but this moral necessity, just as it is explained by edwards himself_. here the issue with president edwards is joined; and i intend to hold him steadily to it. no ambiguity of words shall, for a moment, divert my mind from it. if his arguments, when thoroughly sifted and scrutinized, establish this doctrine; then shall i lay down my arms and surrender at discretion. but if his assumptions are unsound, or his deductions false, i shall hold them for naught. if he reconciles his scheme of moral necessity with the reality of virtue, with the moral agency and accountability of man, and with the purity of god; then i shall lay aside my objections; but if, in reality, he only reconciles it with the semblance of these things, whilst he denies their substance, i shall not be diverted from an opposition to so monstrous a system, by the fair appearances it may be made to wear to the outward eye. section iii. the inquiry involved in a vicious circle. the great doctrine of the inquiry seems to go round in a vicious circle, to run into an insignificant truism. this is a grave charge, i am aware, and i have ventured to make it only after the most mature reflection: and the justness of it, may be shown by a variety of considerations. in the first place, when we ask, "what determines the will?" the author replies, "it is the strongest motive;" and yet, according to his definition, the strongest motive is that which determines the will. thus, says edwards, "when i speak of the strongest motive, i have respect to the whole that operates to induce a particular act of volition, whether that be the strength of one thing alone, or of many together." if we ask, then, what produces any particular act of volition, we are told, it is the strongest motive; and if we inquire what is the strongest motive, we are informed, it is the whole of that which operated to produce that particular act of volition. what is this but to inform us, that an act of volition is produced by that which produces it? it is taken for granted by president edwards, that volition is an effect, and consequently has a cause. the great question, according to his work, is, what is this cause? he says it is the strongest motive; in the definition of which he includes every thing that in any way contributes to the production of volition; in other words, the strongest motive is made to embrace every thing that acts as a cause of volition. this is the way in which he explains himself, as well as the manner in which he is understood by others. thus, says the younger edwards, "in his explanation of his idea of motive, he mentions all agreeable objects and views, all reasons and arguments, and all internal biases and tempers, which have a tendency to volition; i. e. every _cause_ or _occasion_ of volition," p. . every reader of president edwards must be satisfied that this is a correct account of his definition of motive; and this being the case, the whole amounts to just this proposition, that volition is caused by that which causes it! he admits that it would be hard, if not impossible, to enumerate all those things and circumstances which aid in the production of volition; but still he is quite sure, that the whole of that which operates to produce a volition does actually produce it! though he may have failed to show wherein consists the strength of motives; yet he contends that the strongest motive, or the cause of volition, is really and unquestionably the cause of volition! such is the great doctrine of the inquiry. if this is what the inquiry means to establish, surely it rests upon unassailable ground. well may president day assert, that "to say a weaker motive prevails against a stronger one is to say, that that which has the least influence has the greatest influence," p. . now who would deny this position of the learned president? who would say, that that which has the greatest influence has not the greatest influence? surely, this great doctrine is to the full as certain as the newly discovered axiom of professor villant, that "a thing is equal to itself!" president day, following in the footsteps of edwards, informs us that the will is determined by the strongest motive; but how shall we know what is the strongest motive? "the strength of a motive," says he, "is not its prevailing, but the power by which it prevails. yet we may very properly measure _this power by the actual result!_" thus are we gravely informed that the will is determined by that which determines it. again. if we suppose there is a real strength in motives, that they exert a positive influence in the production of volitions, then we concede every thing to president edwards. for, if motives are so many forces acting upon the will, to say that the strongest will prevail, is simply to say that it is the strongest. but if motives exert no positive influence, then when we say that one is stronger than another, we must be understood to use this expression in a metaphorical sense; we must refer to some property of motives which we figuratively call their strength, and of which we suppose one motive to possess a greater degree than another. if this be so, what is this common property of motives, which we call their strength? if they do not possess a real strength, if they do not exert an efficient influence; but are merely said, metaphorically speaking, to possess such power and to exert such influence; then what becomes of the self-evidence which president edwards claims for his fundamental proposition motives exert a real force, of course the strongest must prevail; but if they only have something else about them, which we call their strength, it is not self-evident that the motive which possesses this something else in the highest degree must necessarily prevail. hence, the great doctrine of president edwards is either a proposition whose truth arises out of the very definition of the terms in which it is expressed, or it is utterly destitute of that axiomatical certainty which he claims for it. in other words, he has settled his great doctrine of the will by the mere force of a definition; or he has left its foundations quite unsettled. motives, as they are called, are different from each other in nature and in kind; and hence, it were absurd to compare them in degree. "the strongest motive," therefore, is a mode of expression which can have no intelligible meaning, unless it be used with reference to the influence which motives are supposed to exert over the mind. this is the sense in which it clearly seems to be used by edwards. the distinguishing property of a motive, according to his definition, is nothing in the nature of the motive itself; it consists in its adaptedness "to move or excite the mind to volition;" nor indeed could he find any other way of measuring or determining what he calls the strength of motives, since they are so diverse in their own nature from each other. he could not have given any plausible definition of the strength of motives, if he had looked at them as they are in themselves; and hence, he was under the necessity of defining it, by a reference to the "degree of tendency or _advantage_ they have to move or excite the will." thus, according to the inquiry, the will is determined by the strongest motive; and yet we can form no intelligible idea of what is meant by the strongest motive, unless we conceive it to be that which determines the will. the matter will not be mended, by alleging that the strongest motive is not defined to be that which actually determines the will, but that which has the greatest degree of previous tendency or advantage, to excite or move it; for we cannot know what motive has this greatest degree of previous tendency or advantage, except by observing what motive actually does determine the will. this leads us to another view of the same subject. the strength of a motive, as president edwards properly remarks, depends upon the state of the mind to which it is addressed. hence, in a great majority of cases, we can know nothing about the relative strength of motives, except from the actual influence which they exert over the mind of the individual upon whom they are brought to bear. this shows that the universal proposition, that the will is _always_ determined by the strongest motive, can be known to be true, only by assuming that the strongest motive is that by which the will is determined. the same thing may be made to appear from another point of view. it has been well said by the philosopher of malmsbury, "that experience concludeth nothing universally." from experience we can pronounce, only in so far as we have observed, and no farther. but the proposition, that the will is always determined by the strongest motive, is a universal proposition; and hence, if true at all, its truth could not have been learnt from observation and experience. it must depend upon the very definition of the terms in which it is expressed. we cannot say that the will is in all cases determined by the strongest motive, unless we include in the very idea and definition of the strongest motive, that it is such that it determines the will. president edwards not only does, but he must necessarily, go around in this circle, in order to give any degree of clearness and certainty to his doctrine. that president edwards goes around in this vicious circle, may be shown in another way. "it appears from these things," says he, "that in some sense, _the will always follows the last dictate of the understanding_. but then the _understanding_ must be taken in a large sense, as including the whole faculty of perception or apprehension, and not merely what is called reason or judgment. if by the last dictate of the understanding is meant what reason declares to be best, or most for the person's happiness, taking in the whole of its duration, it is not true, that the will always follows the last dictate of the understanding," p. . in this place, president edwards gives no distinct idea of what he means by the last dictate of the understanding, which the will is said to follow in all cases. but in the eighth volume of his works, that dictate of the understanding which the will is said to follow, is called the "practical judgment;" and this is defined to be, "that judgment which men make of things that prevail, so as to determine their actions and govern their practice." here again are we informed, that the will always follows the practical judgment, and that the practical judgment is that which men make of things that prevail, so as to determine the will. the inquiry itself furnishes abundant evidence, that i have done its author no injustice. "i have chosen," says he, "rather to express myself thus, _that the will always is as the greatest apparent good, or as what appears most agreeable_, than to say the will is determined by the greatest apparent good, or by what seems most agreeable; because an appearing most agreeable to the mind, and the mind's preferring, seem scarcely distinct. if strict propriety of speech be insisted on, it may more properly be said, that the _voluntary action_, which is the immediate consequence of the mind's choice, is determined by that which appears most agreeable, than the choice itself." after all, then, it seems that choice itself, or volition, is not determined by that which appears the most agreeable; because, in reality, the sense of the most agreeable and volition are one and the same thing. but surely, if we cannot distinguish between choice and the sense of the most agreeable, then to say that the one always is as the other, is only to say that a thing is always as it is. edwards saw the absurdity of saying that a thing is determined by itself; but he does not seem to have seen how insignificant is the proposition, that a thing is always as it is, and not otherwise; and hence this is the form in which he has chosen to present the great leading idea of his work on the will. and henceforth we are to understand, that the preference of the mind is always as that which appears most agreeable to the mind; or, in other words, that the preference or choice of the mind is always as the choice of the mind. this is not all. president edwards himself has frequently reduced the fundamental doctrine of the inquiry to an identical proposition. it is well known, that "to be determined by the strongest motive," "to follow the greatest apparent good," "to do what is most agreeable," or "what pleases most," are all different modes of expression employed by him to set forth the same fundamental doctrine. in speaking of this doctrine, he says: "there is scarcely a plainer and more _universal_ dictate of the sense and experience of mankind, than that, when men act voluntarily, and do what they please, then they do what suits them best, or what is most _agreeable to them_. to say, that they do what _pleases_ them, but yet not what is agreeable to them, is the same thing as to say, they do what they please, but do not act their pleasure; and that is to say, that they do what they please, and yet do not what they please." most assuredly, if to deny the leading proposition of the inquiry, is to deny that men do what they please when they do what they please; then to affirm it, is only to advance the insignificant truism, that men do what they please when they do what they please. it seems to me, that after president edwards had reduced his fundamental proposition to such a truism, he might very well have spared himself the three hundred pages that follow. again, he says: "it is manifest that no acts of the will are contingent, in such sense as to be without all necessity, or so as not to be necessary with a necessity of consequence and connection; because every act of the will is some way connected with the understanding, and is as the greatest apparent good is, in the manner which has already been explained; namely, that the soul always wills or chooses that, which in the present view of the mind, considered in the whole of that view, and all that belongs to it, appears most agreeable. because, as we observed before, nothing is more evident than that, when men act voluntarily, and do what they please, then they do what appears most agreeable to them; and to say otherwise would be as much as to affirm, that men do not choose what appears to suit them best, or what seems most pleasing to them; or that they do not choose what they prefer, _which brings the matter to a contradiction_." thus, the great fundamental doctrine of the inquiry is reduced by edwards himself to the barren truism, that men do actually choose what they choose; a proposition which the boldest advocate of free-agency would hardly dare to call in question. after labouring through a whole section to establish this position, the author concludes by saying, "these things may serve, i hope, in some measure to illustrate and confirm the position laid down in the beginning of this section: viz. that the will is always determined by the strongest motive, or by the view of the mind which has the greatest previous tendency to excite volition. but whether i have been so happy as rightly to explain the thing wherein consists the strength of motives, or not, _yet my failing in this will not overthrow the position itself; which carries much of its own evidence along with it, and is a point of chief importance to the purpose of the ensuing discourse:_ and the truth of it i hope will appear _with great clearness_, before i have finished what i have to say on the subject of human liberty." truly the position in question, as it is explained by the author himself, carries not only much, but all, of its own evidence along with it. who can deny that a man always does what he pleases, when he does what he pleases? this truth appears with just as great clearness at the beginning, as it does at the conclusion, of the celebrated inquiry of the author. it is invested in a flood of light, which can neither be increased by argument, nor obscured by sophistry. from the foregoing remarks, it appears, i think, that the fundamental doctrine of the inquiry is a barren truism, or a vicious circle. if edwards understood the import of his own doctrine, when he reduced it to the form that a man does what he pleases when he does what he pleases, it is certainly a truism; and if this is all his famous doctrine amounts to, it can have no bearing whatever upon the question as to the cause of volition; for whether the mind be the cause of its own volitions, or whether the strongest motive always causes them, or whether they have no causes at all, it is equally and unalterably true, that every man does what he pleases when he does what he pleases. there is no possible form of the doctrine of free-agency or contingency, however wild, which is at all inconsistent with such a truism. edwards is not always consistent with himself. he sometimes represents the greatest apparent good, or sense of the most agreeable, as the cause of volition; and then his doctrine assumes the form, that the will is determined by the strongest motive, or the greatest apparent good. and yet he sometimes identifies a sense of the most agreeable with the choice itself; and then his doctrine assumes the form that the choice of the mind is always as the choice of the mind; and to deny it is a plain contradiction in terms. from the fact that edwards has gone round in a circle, it has been concluded that he has begged the question; but how, or wherein he has begged it, is a point which has not been sufficiently noticed. the very authors who have uttered this complaint, have granted him the very thing for which he has begged. if volition is an _effect_, if it has a _cause_, then most unquestionably the cause of volition is the cause of volition. admit that volition is an effect, as so many libertarians have done, and then his definition of motive, which includes every cause of volition, places his doctrine upon an immutable foundation. we might as well heave at the everlasting mountains as to try to shake it. admit that volition is an effect, and what can we say? can we say, that the strongest motive may exist, and yet no volition may follow from it? to this the necessitarian would instantly reply, that it any thing exists, and no volition follows thereupon, it is evidently not the cause of volition, and consequently is not the strongest motive; for this, according to the definition, includes every cause of volition: it is indeed absurd, to suppose that an effect should not proceed from its cause: this is the ground taken both by president edwards and president day. it is absurd, says the latter, to suppose that a weaker motive, or any thing else, can prevail over the stronger--and why? because the strongest motive is that which prevails. "if it be said," he continues, "that _something else_ gives the weaker motive a superiority over the stronger; _then this something else is itself a motive_, and the united influence of the two is greater than that of the third," p. . thus, say what we will, we can never escape this admirable net of words, that the will is determined by that which determines it. i do not intend, then, to engage in the hopeless task, of admitting volition to be an effect, and yet striving to extricate it from "the mechanism of cause and effect." this ground has long since been occupied by much abler persons than myself; and if they have failed of success, falling into innumerable inconsistencies, it is because, on such ground, success is impossible; and that notwithstanding their transcendant abilities, they have been fated to contradict themselves. section iv. volition not an effect. the argument of the inquiry, as i have shown, assumes that a volition is an effect in the proper sense of the word; that it is the correlative of an efficient cause. if it were necessary, this point might be established by a great variety of additional considerations; but, i presume that every candid reader of the inquiry is fully satisfied in relation to it. if we mean by an effect, every thing that comes to pass, of course a volition is an effect; for no one can deny that it comes to pass. or, if we include in the definition of the term, every thing which has a sufficient reason and ground of its existence, we cannot deny that it embraces the idea of a volition. for, under certain circumstances, the free mind will furnish a sufficient reason and ground of the existence of a volition. all that i deny is, that a volition does proceed from the mind, or from motive, or from anything else, in the same manner that an effect, properly so called, proceeds from its efficient cause. this is a point on which i desire to be distinctly understood. i put forth a volition to move my hand. the motion of the hand follows. now, here i observe the action of the mind, and also the motion of the hand. the effect exists in the body, in that which is by nature passive; the cause in that which is active, in the mind. the effect produced in the body, in the hand, is the passive result of the prior direct action of the mind. it is in this restricted sense, that i use the term in question, when i deny that a volition is an effect. i do not deny that it depends for its production upon certain circumstances, as the conditions of action, and upon the powers of the mind, by which it is capable of acting in view of such circumstances. all that i deny is, that volition results from the prior action of mind, or of circumstances, or of any thing else, in the same manner that the motion of body results from the prior action of mind. or, in other words, i contend that action is the invariable antecedent of bodily motion, but not of volition; that whatever may be its relations to other things, a volition does not sustain the same relation to any thing in the universe, that an effect sustains to its efficient cause, that a passive result sustains to the direct prior action by which it is produced. i hope i may be _always_ so understood, when i affirm that a volition is not an effect. it is in this narrow and restricted sense that edwards assumes a volition to be an effect. he does not say, in so many words, that the mind cannot put forth a volition, except in the way of producing it by a preceding volition or act of the will; but he first assumes a volition to be an effect; and then he asserts, that the mind can be the cause of no _effect_, (italicising the term effect,) except by the prior action of the mind. thus, having assumed a volition to be an effect, he takes it for granted that it cannot proceed from the mind in any way, except that in which any effect in the outer world proceeds from the mind; that is to say, except it be produced by the direct prior action of the mind, by a preceding volition. thus he brings the idea of a volition under the above narrow and restricted notion of an effect; and thereby confounds the relation which subsists between mind and its volitions, with the relation which subsists between mind and its external effects in body. in other words, on the supposition that our volitions proceed from the mind, he takes it for granted that they must be produced by the preceding action of the mind; just as an effect, in the limited sense of the term, is produced by the prior action of its cause. it is in this assumption, that edwards lays the foundation of the logic, by which he reduces the self-determining power of the mind to the absurdity of an infinite series of volitions. it is evident that such is the course pursued by edwards; for he not only calls a volition, an effect, but he also says, that the mind can "bring no _effects_ to pass, but what are consequent upon its acting," p. . and again he says, "the will determines which way the hands and feet shall move, by an act of choice; and _there is no other way_ of the will's determining, directing, or commanding any thing at all." this is very true, if a volition is such an effect as requires the prior action of something else to account for its production, just as the motion of the "hands and feet" requires the action of the mind to account for its production; but it is not true, if a volition is such an effect, that its existence may be accounted for by the presence of certain circumstances or motives, as the conditions of action, in conjunction with a mind capable of acting in view of such motives. in other words, his assertion is true, if we allow him to assume, as he does, that a volition is an effect, in the above restricted meaning of the term; but it is not true, if we consider a volition as an effect in a larger sense of the word. hence, the whole strength of edwards' position lies in the sense which he arbitrarily attaches to the term _effect_, when he says that a volition is an effect. now, is a volition an effect in such a sense of the word? is it brought into existence, like the motion of body, by the prior action of any thing else? we answer, no. but how shall this point be decided? the necessitarian says, a moment before the volition did not exist, now it does exist; and hence, it necessarily follows, that there must have been a cause by which it was brought into existence. that is to say, it _must_ be an effect. true, it must be an effect, if you please; but in what sense of the word? is volition an effect, in the same sense that the motion of the body is an effect? this is the question. and this question, i contend, is not to be decided by abstract considerations, nor yet by the laying of words together, and drawing conclusions from them. it is a question, not of logic, but of psychology. by whatever name you may please to call it, the true nature of a volition is not to be determined by reference to abstractions, nor by the power of words; but _by simply looking at it and seeing what it is_. if we would really understand its nature, we must not undertake to _reason it out;_ we must _open our eyes_, and _look_, and _see_. the former course would do very well, no doubt, if the object were to construct a world for ourselves; but if we would behold the glory of that which god has constructed for us, and in us, we must lay aside the proud syllogistic method of the schools, and betake ourselves to the humble task of observation--of patient, severe, and scrutinizing observation. there is no other condition on which we can "enter into the kingdom of man, which is founded in the sciences." there is no other course marked out for us by the immortal bacon: and if we pursue any other we may wander in the dazzling light of a thousand abstractions, and behold whatever fleeting images of grandeur and of beauty we may be pleased to conjure up for ourselves; but the pure light of nature and of truth will be hid from us. what then is a volition just as it is revealed to us in the light of consciousness? does it result from the prior action of mind, or of motive, or of any thing else? in other words, is it an _effect_, as the motion of body is an effect! we always conceive of the subject in which such an effect resides, as being wholly passive. president edwards himself has repeatedly said, that it is the very notion of an effect, that it results from the action or influence of its cause; and that nothing is any further an effect, than as it proceeds from that action or influence. the subject in which it is produced, is always passive as to its production; and just in so far as it is itself active, it is not the subject of an effect, but the author of an action. such is the idea of an effect in the true and proper sense of the word. now does our idea of a volition correspond with this idea of an effect? is it produced in the mind, and is the mind passive as to its production? is it, like the motion of a body, the passive result of the action of something else? no. it is not the result of action; it is action itself. the mind is not passive as to its production; it is in and of itself an action of the mind. it is not _determined_; it is a _determination_. it is not a produced effect, like the motion of body; it is itself an original producing cause. it does seem to me, that if any man will only reflect on this subject, he must see that there is a clear and manifest difference between an act and an effect. although the scheme of edwards identifies these two things, and his argument assumes them to be one and the same; yet his language, it appears to me, frequently betrays the fact, that his consciousness did not work in harmony with his theory. while speaking of the acts of the will as effects, he frequently says, that it is the very idea of an effect that it results from, and is necessarily connected with, the action of its cause, and that it is absurd to suppose that it is free or loose from the influence of its cause. and yet, in reference to volitions, he often uses the expression, "_this sort_ of effects," as if it did not exactly correspond with the "very idea of an effect," from which it is absurd to depart in our conceptions. when he gives fair play to consciousness, he speaks of different kinds of effects; and yet, when he returns to his theory and his reasoning, all this seems to vanish; and there remains but one clear, fixed, and definite idea of an effect, and to speak of any thing else as such is absurd. he now and then pays a passing tribute to the power of consciousness, by admitting that the soul exerts its own volitions, that the soul itself acts; but he no sooner comes to the work of argument and refutation, than it is motive that "causes them to be put forth or exerted," p. . ever and anon, he seems to catch a whisper from the voice of consciousness; and he concedes that he sometimes uses the term cause to designate that which has not a _positive_ or _productive_ influence, p. - . but this is not when he is engaged in the energy of debate. let mr. chubb cross his path; let him hear the voice of opposition giving utterance to the sentiment, that "in motive there is no causality in the production of action;" and that moment the voice of consciousness is hushed in the most profound silence. he rises, like a giant, in the defence of his system, and he declares, that "to excite," as motives do, "is positively to do something," and "certainly that which does something, is the cause of the thing done by it." yea, "to excite, _is to cause in the most proper sense, not merely a negative occasion_, but a ground of existence by _positive influence_," p. . these passages, which are scattered up and down through the inquiry, in which the doctrine of liberty seems to be conceded, i cannot but regard as highly important concessions. they have been used to show that we misconceive the scheme of edwards, when we ascribe to him the doctrine of fate. but when they are thus adduced, to show that we misrepresent his doctrine, i beg it may be remembered that such evidence can prove only one of two things; either that we do not understand what he teaches, or that he is not always consistent with himself. if he really held the doctrine of fatalism, we ought not to be surprised that he has furnished such evidence against himself. it is not in the nature of the human mind to keep itself always deaf to the voice of consciousness. it is not in the power of any system always to counteract the spontaneous workings of nature. though the mind should be surrounded by those deep-seated, all-pervading, and obstinate illusions, by which the scheme of fatalism is made to wear the appearance of self-evident truth; yet when it loses sight of that system, it will, at times, speak out in accordance with the dictates of nature. the stern and unrelenting features of fatalism cannot always be so intimately present to the mind, as entirely to exclude it from the contemplation of a milder and more captivating system of philosophy. notwithstanding the influence of system, how rigid soever may be its demands, the human mind will, in its moments of relaxation, recognize _in its feelings_ and _in its utterance_, those great truths which are inseparable from its very nature. let it be borne in mind, then, that there is more than one process in the universe. some things are produced, it is most true, by the prior action of other things; and herein we behold the relation of cause and effect, properly so called; but it does not follow, that all things are embraced by this _one_ relation. this appears to be so only to the mind of the necessitarian; from which one fixed idea has shut out the light of observation. he no longer sees the rich variety, the boundless diversity, there is in the works of god: all things and all modes and all processes of the awe-inspiring universe, are made to conform to the narrow and contracted methods of his own mind. look where he will, he sees not the "free and flowing outline" of nature's true lineaments; he every where beholds the image of the one fixed idea in his mind, projected outwardly upon the universe of god; behind which the true secrets and operations of nature are concealed from his vision. even when he contemplates that living source of action, that bubbling fountain of volitions, the immortal mind of man itself, he only beholds a _thing_, which is made to act by the action of something else upon it; just as a body is made to move by the action of force upon it. his philosophy is, therefore, an essentially shallow and superficial philosophy. the great name of edwards cannot shield it from such condemnation. section v. of the consequences of regarding volition as an effect. it has been frequently conceded that a volition is an effect; but to make this concession, without explanation or qualification, is to surrender the whole cause of free agency into the hand of the enemy. for if a volition is an effect, properly speaking, the only question is as to its efficient cause: it is necessarily produced by its cause. to make this matter clear, let us consider what is precisely meant by the term cause when it is thus used? an effect is necessarily connected, not with the _thing_ which is sometimes called its cause, but with the _action_ or _positive influence_ of that thing. thus, the mind, or the power of the mind, is sometimes said to be the cause of motion in the body; but this is not to speak with philosophical precision. no motion of the body is necessarily connected, either with the mind itself, or with the power of the mind. in other words, if these should lie dormant, or fail to act, they would produce no bodily motion. but let the mind act, or will a particular motion, and the body will necessarily move in consequence of that action. hence, it is neither with the mind, nor with the power of the mind, that bodily motion, as an effect, is necessarily connected; it is with an act of the mind or volition that this necessary connection subsists. a cause is said to imply its effect: it is not the mind, but an act of the mind, that implies motion in the body. this is evidently the idea of edwards, when he says, as he frequently does, that an effect is necessarily connected with the _influence_ or _action_ of its cause. the term _cause_ is ambiguous; and when he says, that an effect is necessarily connected with its cause, he should be understood to mean, in accordance with his own doctrine, that the cause referred to _is the influence_ or _action_ by which it is produced, and not the thing which exerts that _influence_ or _action_. thus, although motives are said to be causes of action, he contends, they can do nothing except by their influence; and so much as results from their influence is the effect of that influence, and is necessarily connected with it. now, if a volition is an effect, if it has an efficient cause, what is that cause? by the _action_ of what is it produced? it cannot be by the act of the mind, says edwards, because the mind can produce an _effect_ only by another act. thus, on the supposition in question, we cannot ascribe a volition to the mind as its cause, without being compelled to admit that it results from a preceding act of the mind. but that preceding act, on the same supposition, will require still another preceding act to account for its production; and so on _ad infinitum_. such is the absurdity which edwards delighted to urge against the self-determining power of the mind. it is triumphantly based on the concession that a volition is an effect; that as such the prior _action_ of something else is necessary to account for its existence. and if we suppose, in accordance with the truth, that a volition is merely a state of the mind, which does not sustain the same relation to the mind that an effect does to its efficient cause, this absurdity will vanish. the doctrine of liberty will no longer be encumbered with it. now, proceeding on the same supposition, let us conceive of a volition as resulting from the influence exerted by motive. if an _act_ of the mind is an effect, surely we may say, that the act or productive influence of motive, or of any thing else, is likewise an effect; and consequently must have a cause to account for its existence; and so on _ad infinitum_. hence, the very absurdity which edwards charges upon our system, really attaches to his own. will it be said that this _ad infinitum_ absurdity does not result from the supposition in question, but from the fact that the mind can do nothing except by its action or influence? it is very true, as edwards repeatedly declares, that the mind can be the cause of no _effect_, except by a preceding act of the mind. the truth of this proposition is involved in the very idea which he attaches to the term _effect_, and it is based upon this idea alone. and we may say, with equal propriety, that motive can be the cause of no _effect_, except by its action or productive influence. indeed, edwards himself expressly says, that motives can do nothing, except by an exertion of their influence, or by operating to produce effects. thus, the two cases are rendered perfectly parallel; and afford the same foundation on which to erect an infinite series of causes. to evade this, can it be pretended, that motive just exerts this influence of itself? may we not with equal, nay, with infinitely greater propriety, contend that mind just exerts its own positive influence of itself? or, will it be said, that it is a mistake, to suppose that edwards ascribed any real, productive, or causal influence to motives; that he regarded them as the _occasions_ on which the mind acts, and not properly as the _causes_ of its action? if so, then the whole scheme of moral necessity is abandoned, and the doctrine of liberty is left to stand upon its own foundation, in the undisputed evidence of consciousness. the truth is, if we take it for granted, that a volition is an effect, properly so called, and as such must proceed from the prior action of something else, we cannot escape the _ad infinitum_, absurdity of the inquiry. if we rise from this platform, we cannot possibly ascend in any direction, without entering upon an infinite series of causes. whether we ascend through the self-determining power of the mind, or through the determining power of motives, or through the joint action of both, we can save ourselves from such an absurd consequence only by a glaring act of inconsistency. hence, we are forced back upon the conclusion that action may, and _actually does_ arise in the world of mind, without any efficient or producing cause of its existence, without resulting from the prior action of any thing whatever. any other hypothesis is involved in absurdity. let it be assumed, that a volition is, properly speaking, an effect, and every thing is conceded. on this vantage ground, the scheme of necessity may be erected beyond the possibility of an overthrow. for, even if we "suppose that action is determined by the will and free choice," this "is as much as to say, that it must be necessary, being dependent upon, and determined by something foregoing; namely, a foregoing act of choice," p. . let the above position be conceded, and there is no escape from this conclusion. nay, the conclusion itself is but another mode of stating the position assumed. it is evident, then, that action must take its rise somewhere in the world, without being caused by prior action; or else there must be an infinite series of acts. i say it takes its rise in the mind, in that which is essentially active, and not in matter. edwards does not say, that it takes its rise in matter; and hence, there is no dispute on this point. it is very remarkable, that this objection to his scheme, that it runs into an infinite series, seems never to have occurred to president edwards. he seems to have endeavoured to anticipate and reply to all possible objections to his system; and yet this, which has occurred to so many others, appears not to have occurred to himself, for he has not noticed it. the younger edwards has attempted to reply to it. let us see his reply. "we maintain," says he, "that action may be the effect of a divine influence; or that it may be the effect of one or more second causes, the first of which is immediately produced by the deity. here then is not an infinite series of causes, but a very short series, which terminates in the deity or first cause," p. . thus, according to the younger edwards, the infinite series of causes is cut short, terminating in the volition of deity. what! does the volition of god come into existence without a cause of its existence? what then becomes of "that great principle of common sense," so often applied to volition, that no event can begin to be without a cause of its existence? is this great principle given up? has it become obsolete? it may be contended, that although human volition is an effect, and so must have a cause; yet the divine volition is not an effect. the elder edwards could not have taken this ground; for he contends, that the volition of deity is just as necessarily connected with the strongest motive, or the greatest apparent good, as is the volition of man. according to the inquiry, all volitions, both human and divine, are necessarily connected with the greatest apparent good, and in precisely the same manner. the above pretext, therefore, could not have been set up by him. this ground, however, is taken by the younger edwards. "it is granted," says he, "that volition in the deity is not an effect," p. ; it has no cause, and here terminates the series. but how is this? can some event, after all, begin to be without having a cause of its existence? without being an effect? by no means. how is it then? why, says the learned author, the volitions of the deity have existed from all eternity! they have no causes; because they have never begun to be! "i deny," says he, "that the operations and energies of the deity _begin in time_, though the effects of those operations do. they no more begin in time than the divine existence does; but human volitions all begin in time," p. . this makes all the difference imaginable; for as the divine acts have existed from all eternity, so they cannot be caused. but there is an objection to this view. "if it should be said," he continues, "that on this supposition the effects take place not till long after the acts, by which they are produced, i answer, they do so in our view, but not in the view of god. with him there is no time, no before nor after with respect to time," p. . now, it will not be denied, that things appear to god just as they are in themselves; and hence, if his volitions, which are said to exist long before their effects, even from all eternity, appear to him not to exist long before them; then they do not in reality exist long before them. but if the divine volitions do not really exist long before their effects, but just before them, as other causes do before their effects, why should they not have causes as well as any other volitions? if they really exist just before their effects in time, and not long before them, why do they not exist in time just as much as any other volitions? and why do they not as much require causes to account for their existence? if they only seem to us to exist long before their effects, even from all eternity, how can this mere seeming make any real difference in the case? there is a very short series, we are told, the volition of deity constituting the first link. has not this first link, this volition of the deity, a cause? no. and why? because it has existed from all eternity; and so nothing could go before it to produce it. did it not exist long before the effect then, which it produces in time? no. and why? because in the view of god and in reality, it existed just before its effect, as all causes do, and therefore there is no real severance of cause and effect in the case! it really comes just before its effect in time, and therefore there is no severance of cause and effect; and yet it really existed before all time, even from all eternity, and therefore it cannot have a cause! now is this logic, or is it legerdemain? there is no time with god, says the author; then there is no time in reality; it is all an illusion arising from the succession of our own thoughts. if this be so, then all things do really come to pass simultaneously; and if there were a very long series, even an infinite series of causes and effects, yet would they all come to pass in the same instant. indeed, there is very great uncertainty about the speculations of philosophers in regard to time and space; and we hardly know what to make of them, except we cannot very well understand them; but one thing is abundantly certain; and that is, that it is not good logic, to assert that a particular cause cannot be produced, because it has existed long before its effect, even from all eternity; and yet repel objections to this assertion, by alleging that they only seem to do so, while in reality there is no such tiling. this is to turn from the illusion to the reality, and from the reality to the illusion, just as it suits the exigency of the moment. such are the poor shifts and shallow devices, to which even gifted minds are reduced, when they refuse to admit that action, that volition, may take its rise in the world, spontaneously proceeding from mind itself, without being made to do so by the action of any thing upon it. let us suppose, that a man should tell us, that a producing cause existed long before its effect; that there was nothing to prevent it from bringing its effect to pass; and yet, long after it had existed, its effect sprang up and came into existence; what should we think? should we not see that it is absurd, in the highest degree, to say that an unimpeded causative act existed yesterday, and even from all eternity, unchanged and unchangeable; and yet its effect did not come to pass until to-day? surely, no man in his right mind can be made to believe this, unless it be forced upon him by the desperate necessities of a false system; and if any person were told, that although such a thing may seem absurd to us, inasmuch as the cause seems to exist in full operation long before its effect, yet it is not so in the view of god, with whom there is no time, should he not be pardoned if he doubted the infallibility of his informant? the truth is, we must reason about cause and effect as they appear to us; and whether time be an illusion or not, we must, in all our reasonings, conceive of cause and effect as conjoined in what we call time, or we cannot reason at all. according to the younger edwards, the act of creation, not the mere purpose to create, but the real causative act of creation, existed in the divine mind from all eternity. why then did the world spring up and come into existence at one point of time rather than another? how happened it, that so many ages rolled away, and this mighty causative act produced no effect? in view of such a case, how could the author have said, as he frequently does, that a cause necessarily implies its effect? how can this be, if a causative act of the almighty may exist, and yet, for millions of ages, its omnipotent energy produce no effect? indeed, such a doctrine destroys all our notions of cause and effect; it overthrows "the great principle of common sense" that cause and effect necessarily imply each other; and involves all our reasoning from cause to effect, and _vice versa_, in the utmost perplexity and confusion. it throws clouds and darkness over the whole field of inquiry. since the time of dr. samuel clarke, it has been frequently objected to the scheme of moral necessity, that it is involved in the great absurdity of an infinite series of causes. president edwards urged this objection against the doctrine of the self-determining power; he did not perceive that it lay against his own scheme of the motive-determining power; and hence, he has not even attempted to answer it. this was reserved for the younger edwards; and although he has deservedly ranked high as a logician, i cannot but regard his attempt to answer the objection in question, as one of the most remarkable abortions in the history of philosophy. section vi. of the maxim that every effect must have a cause. in a former section, i referred to some of the false assumptions which have been incautiously conceded to the necessitarian, and in which he has laid the foundations of his system; but i have not, as yet, alluded to the argument or deduction in which he is accustomed to triumph. this argument, strange as it may seem, is a deduction, not from any principle or general fact which has been ascertained by observation or experience, but from a self-evident and universal truth. that every effect must have a cause, is the maxim upon which the necessitarian takes his stand, and from which he delights to draw his favourite conclusion. it may be well, therefore, to examine the argument which has been so frequently erected upon the maxim in question. although from various considerations, it has been very justly concluded, that there is somewhere a lurking fallacy in the argument, yet it has not been precisely shown where the fallacy lies. suspicion has been thrown over it: nay, abundant reason has been shown why it should be rejected; but yet the fallacy of it should be dragged from the place of its concealment, and laid open in a clear light, so as to render it apparent to every eye. if it is a sophism, it certainly can be exposed, and it should be done. in order to do this, it will be necessary to consider the nature and use of the maxim, that every effect must have a cause. i am aware, that no necessitarian of the present day, would choose to express this maxim as i have expressed it; for in such a form mr. hume has shown that it contains no information, and is indeed a most insignificant proposition. and, in truth, what does it amount to? cause and effect are correlative terms; and when we speak of an effect, we mean something that is produced by a cause; and hence, the famous proposition, that every effect has a cause, amounts only to this, that every effect is an effect! after mr. hume had caused the subject to be viewed in this light, the usual mode of expression was dropped; and it has now become the common practice to say, that there is no change in nature without a cause. but i do not see how this mends the matter _in the least:_ it may disguise, but it does not alter the nature or real import of the maxim in question. for when it is said that every change has a cause, it is evident that a change is conceived of under the idea of an effect. it is supposed to be produced by a cause, and therefore it must be considered as an effect; and if the idea remains precisely the same, i do not see that giving it a new name, can possibly make any difference in the meaning of the proposition. the maxim, that every effect must have a cause, is a self-evident and universal proposition. its truth is involved in the very definition of the terms of which it is composed. in this respect it is like the axioms of geometry. when it is said, for example, that "the whole is equal to the sum of the parts," we at once perceive the truth of the axiom; because the "whole" is merely another name for "the sum of the parts." it is intuitively certain that they are equal, because they are but different expressions of the same thing. so, likewise, when it is affirmed, that every effect or every change in nature has a cause, we instantly perceive the truth of the proposition; inasmuch as an effect is that which is produced by a cause. the very idea of an effect implies its relation to a cause; and to say, that it has one, is only to say, that an effect is an effect. for if it were not produced by a cause, it would not be an effect. the maxim under consideration is as unquestionably true as any axiom in euclid. it does not depend for the evidence of its truth upon observation, or experience, or reasoning; it carries its own evidence along with it. no sooner are the terms in which it is expressed understood, than it rivets irresistible conviction on the mind. it is a fundamental law of belief; and it is impossible for the imagination of man to conceive, that an effect, or that which is produced by a cause, should be without a cause. and it were just as idle an employment of one's time, to undertake to prove such a proposition, as it would be to attempt to refute it. now, one of the fallacies of the argument of the necessitarian is, that it is an attempt to draw a conclusion from the axiomatical truth above referred to, as from the major of a syllogism. every such attempt must necessarily be vain and fruitless. "axioms," justly remarks mr. locke, "are not the foundations on which any of the sciences are built." and again, "it was not the influence of those maxims which are taken for principles in mathematics, that hath led the masters of that science into the wonderful discoveries they have made. let a man of good parts know all the maxims generally made use of in mathematics never so perfectly, and contemplate their extent and consequences as much as he pleases, he will, by their assistance, i suppose, scarce ever come to know, that the square of the hypothenuse in a right-angled triangle, is equal to the squares of the two other sides. the knowledge, that the whole is equal to the parts, and, if you take equals from equals, the remainder will be equal, helped him not, i presume, to this demonstration. and a man may, i think, pore long enough on those axioms, without ever seeing one jot the more of mathematical truths." the same doctrine is still more distinctly stated by dugald stewart. "if by the first principles of a science," says he, "be meant those fundamental propositions from which its remoter truths are derived, the axioms cannot, with any consistency, be called the first principles of mathematics. they have not, (it will be admitted,) the most distant analogy to what are called the first principles of natural philosophy:--to those general facts, for example, of the gravity and elasticity of the air, from which may be deduced, as consequences, the suspension of the mercury in the torricellian tube, and its fall when carried up to an eminence. according to this meaning of the word, the first principles of mathematical science are, not the _axioms_ but the _definitions_; which definitions hold, in mathematics, precisely the same place that is held in natural philosophy by such general facts as have now been referred to." but the doctrine in question rests upon a firmer basis than that of human authority. let any man examine the demonstrations in geometry, and attentively consider the principles from which the conclusions of that science are deduced, and he will find that they are _definitions_, and not _axioms_. he will find; that the properties of the triangle are derived from the definition of a triangle, and those of a circle from the definition of a circle. and then let him try his own skill upon the axioms of that science; let him arrange them and combine them in all possible ways; let him compare them together as long as he pleases, and determine for himself, whether they can be made to yield a single logical inference. if the question is thus brought to the test of an actual experience, i think it is not difficult to foresee, that the decision must be in favour of the doctrine of stewart, and that it will be seen, that no such proposition as that whatever _is, is,_ can even constitute the postulate, or first principle, in any sound argument; and that it is only from general facts, such as are ascertained by observation and experience, that we can derive logical consequences of any kind whatever, either in relation to matter or to mind. if there is any truth in the foregoing remarks, or correctness in the position of locke and stewart, it is certainly one of the capital errors of edwards, as well as of other necessitarians, that he has undertaken to deduce his doctrine from a metaphysical axiom, or identical proposition. supposing this to be the case, how has it happened, it may be asked, that the argument of the necessitarian has appeared so conclusive to himself, as well as unanswerable to others? the reason is plain. having set out with a proposition, which is barren of all consequences, as the basis of his argument, it became necessary, in order to arrive at the destined conclusion, to assume, somewhere and somehow, in the course of his reasoning, the very point which he had undertaken to prove. accordingly, this has been done; and the tacit assumption of the point in dispute seems not to have been suspected by him. the justice of this remark may be shown, by a reference to the argument of the necessitarian. when this is reduced to the form of a syllogism, it stands thus: every effect has a cause; a volition is an effect; and, therefore, a volition has a cause. in the middle term, which assumes that a volition is an effect, the point in dispute is taken for granted, the whole question is completely begged. if we take the words in any sense, yet as they are correlative terms, the maxim that every effect must have a cause is self-evident; and hence, no conclusion can be drawn from it, unless the conclusion intended to be drawn is assumed in the middle term of the syllogism. it either begs the question, or it decides nothing to the purpose. it is true, that every change in nature must have a cause; that is to say, it is in some sense of the word an effect, and consequently must have a corresponding cause; but in what sense does every act of the mind come under the idea and definition of an effect? this is the question. is it brought to pass by the prior action of motive? is it necessitated? upon this precise question, the maxim that every change must have a cause can throw no light; it only seems to refer to this point, by means of the very convenient ambiguity of the terms in which it is expressed. the necessitarian never fails to avail himself of this ambiguity. he seems both to himself and to the spectator to be carrying on a "great demonstration;" and this is one reason, perhaps, why the mind is diverted from the sophistical tricks, the metaphysical jugglery, by which both are deceived. let us look a little more narrowly at this pretended demonstration. the maxim in question is applied to volition; every change in nature, even the voluntary acts of the mind, must have a cause. now according to edwards' explanation of the term, this is a proposition which, i will venture to say, no man in his right mind ever ventured to deny. it is true, that president edwards tells us of those, who "imagine that a volition has no cause, or _that it produces itself_;" and he has very well compared this to the absurdity of supposing, "that i gave myself my own being, or that i came into being without a cause," p. . but who ever held such a doctrine? did any man, in his right mind, ever contend that "a volition could produce itself," can arise out of nothing, and bring itself into existence? if so, they were certainly beyond the reach of logic; they stood in need of the physician. i have never been so unfortunate as to meet with any advocate of free-agency, either in actual life or in history, who supposed that a volition arose out of nothing, without _any cause_ of its existence, or that it produced itself. they have all maintained, with one consent, that the mind is the cause of volition. is the mind nothing? if a man should say, as so many have said, that the mind produces its own volitions, is that equivalent to saying, that nothing produces it; that it comes "into being accidentally, without any cause of its being?" such is the broad caricature of their doctrine, which is repeatedly given by president edwards. it is freely admitted, and the advocates of free-agency have always admitted, that volition has a cause, as that word is frequently used by edwards. he tells us, that by cause he sometimes means any antecedent, whether it exerts any positive influence or no. now, in this sense, it is conceded by the advocates of free-agency, that motive itself is the cause of volition. this is the question: is motive the efficient, or producing cause of volition? this is the question, i say; but edwards frequently loses sight of it in a mist of ambiguities; and he lays around him in the dark, with such prodigious strength, that if his adversaries were not altogether imaginary beings, and therefore impassible to his ponderous blows, i have no doubt he would have slain more of them than ever samson did of the philistines. the manner in which the necessitarian speaks of cause in his maxims, and reasonings, and pretended demonstrations, is of very great service to him. it includes, as we are told, every condition or cause of volition; (what a heterogeneous mass!) every thing without which volition could not come to pass. yea, it is used in this sense, when it is said that motive is the cause of volition. what shall we do, then, with this broad, this most ambiguous proposition? shall we deny it? if so, then we deny that volition has any cause of its existence, and fall into the great absurdity of supposing "volition to produce itself." shall we assent to it, then? if so, we really admit that motive is the efficient cause of volition; and thus, by denying, we are made to reject our own doctrine, while, by affirming, we are made to receive that of our opponents. this way of proposing the doctrine of necessity very strongly reminds one of a certain trick in legislation, by which such things are forced into a bill, that in voting upon it, you must either reject what you most earnestly desire, or else sanction and support what you most earnestly detest. we should, therefore, neither affirm nor deny the whole proposition as it is set forth by the necessitarian; we should touch it with the dissecting knife, and cure it of its manifold infirmities. the ambiguity of the term cause is, indeed, one of the most powerful weapons, both of attack and defence, in the whole armory of the necessitarian. do you affirm the mind to be the cause of volition? then, forthwith, as if the word could have only one meaning, it is alleged, that if the mind is the cause of volition, it can cause it only by a preceding volition; and so on _ad infinitum_. hence, your doctrine must needs be absurd; because the word is understood, yea, and will be understood, in its most restrained and narrow sense. but do you deny motive to be the cause of volition? then, how absurd are you again; you are no longer understood to use the word in the same sense; you now mean, not only that motive is not the producing cause of volition, but that there is absolutely nothing upon which it depends for its existence, and that "it produces itself." does edwards affirm that motive is the cause of volition; that motive causes volition to arise and come forth into existence; that it is not merely "the negative occasion" thereof, but the cause in the most proper sense of the word; that it is "the effectual power which produces volition?" what then? dare you assert, in the face of such teaching, that motive is not the cause of volition? if so, then you are a most obstinate and perverse caviller; and you are silenced by the information that he _sometimes_ uses the word cause to signify any antecedent, whether it has any positive influence or no. yea, he gives this information, he declares, to "cut off occasion from any that might seek occasion to cavil and object against his doctrine," p. . these, and many other things of the same kind, are to be found in the writings of day, and edwards, and collins, and hobbes; and whosoever may be pleased to follow them, through all the doublings and windings of their logic, may do so at his leisure. it is sufficient for my present purpose to remark, that edwards has included a number of different ideas in his definition of cause; and that he turns from the one to the other of these ideas, just as it suits the exigencies of his argument. it is in this way, as we have seen, that the famous maxim, that every change in nature must have a cause, has been made to serve his purpose. he did not look at a volition and an effect, so as to mark their differences narrowly, and to proceed in his reasonings according to them; he set out with the great and universal truth, that every change in the universe must have a cause; from which lofty position the differences of things in this nether world were invisible. having secured this position to his entire satisfaction, being firmly persuaded in his own mind, that "nonentity could not bring forth," he supposed he had gained a strong foothold; and from thence he proceeded to reason downward to what actually takes place in this lower world! we are but "the humble servants and interpreters of nature," and we "can understand her operations only in so far as we have observed them." the necessitarian takes higher ground than this. he disdains the humble and patient task of observation. he plants his foot upon an eternal and immutable axiom; and, turning away from the study of what is, he magisterially pronounces what _must be_. it is easy to see how he constructs his system. every change in nature must have a cause, says he; this is very true; there is no truth in the world more certain, according to the sense in which he frequently understands it. if he means to assert, that nothing, whether it be an entity, or an attribute, or a mode, can bring itself into existence, no one disputes his doctrine. it is most true, that there can be no choice without a mind that chooses, or an object in view of which it chooses; a mind, an object, and a desire, (if you please,) are the indispensable prerequisites, the invariable antecedents, to volition; but there is an immense chasm between this position and the doctrine, that the mind cannot put forth a volition, unless it is made to do so by the action of something else upon it. this immense chasm, the necessitarian can cross only by stepping over from one branch of his ambiguous proposition to another; he either does this, or he does not reach the point in controversy at all. section vii. of the application of the maxim that every effect must have a cause. in the last section i considered the application of the maxim, "that every effect must have a cause," to the question of necessity. this maxim figures so largely in every scheme of necessity, and it is relied upon with so much confidence, that i shall present some further views respecting its true nature and application. the necessitarian may see the truth of this maxim clearly, but he applies it vaguely. he is always saying, "that if we give up this great principle of common sense, then there is no reasoning from effect to cause; and we cannot prove the existence of a god." now i propose to show that we need not give up "this great principle of common sense;" that we may continue to reason from effect to cause, and so reach the conclusion that there is a god, by one of the most incontrovertible of all our mental processes; and yet we may, with perfect consistency, refuse to apply the maxim in question to human actions or volitions. in other words, that we may freely admit the principle in question, and yet reject the application which the necessitarian is accustomed to make of it. in order to do this in a perspicuous and satisfactory manner, let us consider the occasion on which we first became acquainted with the truth of the principle, that every effect must have a cause. let us consider the circumstances under which it is first suggested to the mind. whence, then, do we derive the ideas of cause and effect, and of the necessary connection between them? locke, it is well known, supposed that we might derive the idea of causation by reflecting on the changes which take place in the external world. the fallacy of this supposition has been fully shown by hume, and brown, and consin. in the refutation of locke's notion, these celebrated philosophers were undoubtedly right; but the two first were wrong in the conclusion that we have no idea of power at all. because the ideas of power and causation are not suggested by the changes of the material world, it does not follow that we have no such ideas in reality; that the only notion we have of causation is that of an invariable antecedence. the only way in which the mind ever comes to be furnished with the ideas of cause and effect at all is this: we are conscious that we will a certain motion in the body, and we discover that the motion follows the volition. it is this act of the mind, this exertion of the will, that gives us the idea of a cause; and the change which it produces in the body, is that from which we derive the idea of an effect. if we had never experienced a volition, we should never have formed the idea of causation. the idea of positive efficiency, or active power, would never have entered into our minds. the two terms of the sequence, with which we are thus furnished by an actual experience, is an act of the mind, or a volition, on the one hand, which we call an efficient cause; and a modification or change in inert, passive matter, on the other, which we call an effect. it is easy to see how we rise from this single experience to the universal maxim in question. we are so made and constituted, by the author of our nature, that we cannot help believing in the uniformity of nature's laws, or sequences. hence, whenever we see either term of the above sequence, we are necessarily compelled, by a fundamental law of belief, to infer the existence of the other. this fundamental law of belief, by which we repose the most implicit confidence in the uniformity of nature's sequences, has been recognized by many distinguished writers in modern times. it is well stated and illustrated by dr. chalmers. "the doctrine of innate ideas in the mind," says he, "is wholly different from the doctrine of innate tendencies in the mind--which tendencies may lie undeveloped till the excitement of some occasion have manifested or brought them forth. in a newly-formed mind, there is no idea of nature, or of a single object in nature; yet, no sooner is an object presented, or is an event observed to happen, than there is elicited the tendency of the mind to presume on the constancy of nature. at least as far back as our observation extends, the law of the mind is in full operation. let an infant, for the first time in his life, strike on the table with a spoon; and, pleased with the noise, it will repeat that stroke with every appearance of a confident expectation that the noise will be repeated also. it counts on the invariableness wherewith the same consequent will follow the same antecedent. in the language of dr. thomas brown, these two terms make up a sequence, and there seems to exist in the spirit of man not an underived, but an aboriginal faith in the uniformity of nature's sequences."--nat. theo. p. . now, the two terms which we find connected in the case before us, is an act of the mind, and a change or modification of the body. the volition is the antecedent, and the motion of body is the consequent. and these two, by virtue of the law of belief above stated, we shall always expect to find conjoined. wherever we discover a change or modification, for example, in the corporeal system of any other person, similar to that which results from our own volitions, we shall necessarily infer the existence of a prior act by which it was produced. hence, when we witness a change _in the world of matter_, we are authorized to apply the maxim we have derived in the manner above explained. we have really no idea of an efficient cause, except that which we have derived from the phenomena of action. hence, if we would not suffer ourselves to be imposed upon by words without meaning, when we see any change or effect in the material world, we should conclude that it proceeds from an action of spirit. when we see the same consequent, we should infer the existence of the same antecedent; and not suffer our minds to be confused and misled by the manifold ambiguities of language, as well as by the innumerable illusions of the fancy. wherever we see a change in matter, we should infer an act by which it is produced; and thus, through all the changes and modifications of the material universe, we shall behold the sublime manifestations of an ever-present and all-pervading agency of spirit. by a similar process, we are made acquainted with the existence of an intelligent and designing first cause. we learn the connection between the adaptation of means to an end, and the operations of a designing mind, by reflecting on what passes within ourselves when we plan and execute a work of skill and contrivance. and, as we are so made as to rely with implicit confidence on the uniformity of nature's sequences; so, without further experience or induction, it is impossible for us to conceive of any contrivance whatever, without conceiving of it as proceeding from the hand of a contriver. thus, we necessarily rise from the innumerable and wonderful contrivances in nature, to a belief in the existence of an intelligent and designing mind. in like manner may we establish the other attributes of god. but to return to our maxim. we can only infer, from a change or modification in matter, the existence of an act by which it is produced. the former is the only idea we have of an effect; the latter is the only idea we have of an efficient cause. hence, in reasoning from effect to cause, we can only reason from a change or modification in matter, or in that what is passive, to the act of some active power. this lays a sufficient foundation on which to rest the proof of the existence of god, as well as the existence of other minds. but the case is very different when we turn from the contemplation of a _passive result_ to consider an _efficient cause_--when we turn from the _motion of body_ to consider the _activity of mind_. in such a case, the consequent ceases to be the same; and hence we have no right to infer that the antecedent is the same. we are conscious of an act; we perceive that it is followed by a change in the outward world; and henceforth, whenever we observe another change in the outward world, we are compelled to ascribe it, also, to a similar cause. this conviction results from the constitution of our minds--from a fundamental law of belief. but when we contemplate, not a change in the outward world, in that which is passive, but an act of the mind itself, the case is entirely different. we have some experience that certain changes in matter are the results of certain acts; and hence, whenever we observe similar phenomena, we are under a necessity of our nature to refer them to similar causes. we merely rely upon our veritable belief in the uniformity of nature's sequences, without a reliance upon which there can be no such thing as reasoning, when we ascend from the changes in the outward world to a belief in the agency of an efficient cause. but we have no experience that an act of the mind is produced by a preceding act of the mind, or by the prior action of any thing else. president edwards himself admits that our experience is silent on this subject. and hence, when we witness an act of the mind, or when we are conscious of a volition, our instinctive belief in the uniformity of nature's sequences does not require us to believe that it has an efficient cause; or, in other words, that it is produced by the prior action of something else, as the motion of body is produced by a prior act of mind. _a change in body_ necessarily implies the prior action of something else by which it is produced; _an act of mind_ only implies the existence of an agent that is capable of acting. wherever an act exists, we must believe that there is a soul, or mind, or agent, that is capable of acting. we need not suppose that, like a change in body, it is brought to pass by a prior act. in other words, a change in that which is by nature passive, necessarily implies an act by which it is produced. but an act of the mind itself, which is not passive, does not likewise imply a preceding act by which it is produced. _it only implies the existence of an agent that is capable of acting, and the circumstances necessary to action as conditions, not as causes._ herein, then, lies the error of the necessitarian. he discovers from experience the connection between an act and a corresponding motion; and his instinctive belief in the uniformity of nature's sequences authorizes him to extend this connection to all sequences where the two terms are the same. that is to say, wherever he discovers a change in body, he is authorized to infer the existence of a prior act by which it was produced. but he does not confine himself to this sequence alone. he does not rest satisfied with the universal principle, that every change in body, or in that which is passive, must proceed from the prior action of something else. he makes a most unwarrantable extension of this principle. he supposes not only that every change in body, but also that every act of mind, must proceed from the prior action of something else. thus he confounds passion and action. he takes it for granted that a volition is an _effect_--an effect in such a sense that it cannot proceed from the mind, unless it be produced by the prior act thereof. he asserts that "the mind cannot be the cause of such an effect," of a volition, "except by the preceding action of the mind." thus, in rising from a single experience to a universal maxim, by virtue of our belief in the uniformity of nature's laws, he does not confine himself to the observed sequences; he does not keep his attention steadily fixed on a change in body as the consequent, and on an act as the invariable antecedent. on the contrary, from the exceedingly abstruse and subtle nature of the subject, as well as from the ambiguity of language, he treats a volition as a consequent, which implies the same kind of antecedent as does a change in body. thus, by this unwarrantable extension or application of his principle, he confounds the _motion of body_ with the _action of spirit_; than which there could hardly be a more unphilosophical confusion of ideas. from the foregoing remarks, it will be perceived, as i have already said, that the question is not, _whether every effect must have a cause_. this is conceded. we do not give up "this great principle of common sense." we insist upon it as firmly as do our adversaries; and hence, we have as strong a foundation whereon to rest our belief in the being of a god. but the question is, _whether every cause is an effect?_ or, in other words, whether an act of mind can exist without being produced by the prior action of something else; just as the motion of body is produced by the prior action of mind? we say that it can exist without any such producing cause. if it were otherwise, if every cause were an effect in the sense in which a volition is assumed to be an effect by the necessitarian, what would be the consequence? it is evident, that each and every cause in the universe must itself have a cause--must itself result from the preceding action of something else; and thus we should be involved in the great absurdity of an infinite series of causes, as well as in the iron scheme of an all-pervading necessity. but, happily, there is nothing in our experience, nor in any law of our nature, nor in both together, which requires us to believe that a volition is an effect in any such sense of the word. call it an effect, if you please; but then it must be conceded that it is not, like the motion of body, such a consequent as necessarily requires the prior action of something else for its production. every _effect_ must have a cause, it is true; but it is purely a gratuitous assumption--a mere _petitio principii_, to take it for granted that a volition is an effect in the sense in which the word should always be understood in this celebrated maxim. this maxim is undoubtedly true, as we have seen, when applied to the changes of that which cannot act: it is in reference to such effects, or consequents, that the conviction of its truth is first suggested; and we cannot doubt of the propriety of its application to all such effects, unless we can doubt of the uniformity of nature's sequences. but when we go over from the region of inert, passive matter, into that which is full of spiritual vigour and unceasing activity, and apply this maxim here in all its rigour, we do make a most unwarrantable extension of it. we pervert it from its true meaning and import; we identify volition with local motion; we involve ourselves in the greatest of all absurdities, as well as in the most ruinous of all doctrines. as we have already said, then, we do not give up the great principle of common sense, that every effect must have a cause. we recognize this principle when we reason from effect to cause--when we ascend from the creation up to the creator. we deny that volition is an effect; and what then? if volition be not an effect, are there no effects in the universe? are we sunk in utter darkness? have we no platform left whereon to stand, and to behold the glory of god, our creator and preserver? surely we have. every change throughout inanimate nature bespeaks the agency of him, who "sits concealed behind his own creation," but is everywhere manifested by his omnipresent energy. the human body is an effect, teeming with evidences of the most wonderful skill of its great cause and contriver. the soul itself is an effect,--the soul, with all its complicated and wonder-working powers, is an effect; and clearly proclaims the wisdom, and the goodness, and the holiness of its maker. the heavens above us, with all its shining hosts and admirable mechanism, proclaims the glory of god; and the whole universe of created intelligences shout for joy, as they respond in their eternal anthems to the "music of the spheres." and is not this enough? is the whole psaltery of heaven and earth marred, and all its sweet harmony turned into harsh discord, if we only dare to assert that an act is not an effect? no, no: this too proclaims the glory of god; for, however great may be the mystery, it only shows that the almighty has called into existence innumerable creatures, bearing the impress of his own glorious image, and that, in consequence thereof, they are capable of acting without being compelled to act. it is the position of edwards, and not ours, that would disprove the existence of a god. we believe in action which is uncaused by any prior action; and hence, we can reason from effects up to cause, and there find a resting-place. we do not look beyond that which is uncaused. we believe there is action somewhere, uncaused by preceding action; and if we did not believe this, we should be constrained to adopt the doctrine of edwards, that action itself must be caused "by the action of something else," p. ; which necessarily lands us in an infinite series of causes; the very ground occupied by atheists in all ages of the world. it is well, therefore, to hold on to "this great principle of common sense, that every effect must have a cause," in order that we may rise from the world and its innumerable wonders to the contemplation of the infinite wisdom and goodness of god: it is also well that we should hold it with a distinction, and not apply it to action, in order that we may not be forced beyond the great first cause--the central light of the universe, into the "outer darkness" of the old atheistic scheme of an infinite series of causes. if we give up this principle, we cannot prove the existence of a god, it is most true; but yet, if we apply this principle as edwards applies it, we are irresistibly launched upon an infinite series of causes, and compelled to shoot entirely beyond the belief of a god. we quarrel not, therefore, with his great principle; but we utterly reject his application of it, as leading directly to atheism. section viii. of the relation between the feelings and the will. it is well known that edwards confounds the sensitive part of our nature with the will, the susceptibility by which the mind feels with the power by which it acts. he expressly declares, that "the affections and the will are not two faculties of the soul;" and it is upon this confusion of things that much of his argument depends for its coherency. but although he thus expressly confounds them; yet he frequently speaks of them, in the course of his argument, as if they were two different faculties of the soul. thus, he frequently asserts that the will is determined by "the strongest appetite," by "the strongest disposition," by "the strongest inclination." now, in these expressions, he evidently means to distinguish appetite, inclination, and disposition, from the will; and if he does not, then he asserts, that the will is determined by itself, a doctrine which he utterly repudiates. the soundness of much of his argument depends, as i have said, upon the confusion or the identification of these two properties of the mind; the soundness of much of it also depends upon the fact that they are not identical, but distinct. from a great number of similar passages, we may select the following, as an illustration of the justness of this remark: "moral necessity," says he, "may be as _absolute_, as natural necessity. that is, the effect may be as powerfully connected with its moral cause, as a natural necessary effect is with its natural cause. whether the will in every case is necessarily determined by the strongest motive, or whether the will ever makes any resistance to such a motive, or can ever oppose the strongest present inclination, or not; if that matter should be controverted, yet i suppose none will deny, but that, in some cases, a previous bias, or inclination, or the motive presented, may be so powerful, that the act of the will may be certainly and indissolubly connected therewith. when motives or previous bias are very strong, all will allow that there is some _difficulty_ in going against them. and if they were yet stronger, the difficulty would be still greater. and, therefore, if more be still added to their strength, to a certain degree, it would make the difficulty so great, that it would be wholly _impossible_ to surmount it; for, this plain reason, because whatever power men may be supposed to have to surmount difficulties, yet that power is not infinite; and so goes not beyond certain limits. if a man can surmount ten degrees of difficulty of this kind with twenty degrees of strength, because the degrees of strength are beyond the degrees of difficulty; yet if the difficulty be increased to thirty, or an hundred, or a thousand degrees, and his strength not also increased, his strength will be wholly insufficient to surmount the difficulty. as, therefore, it must be allowed, that there may be such a thing as a _sure_ and _perfect_ connexion between moral causes and effects; so this only is what i call by the name of _moral necessity_." now he here speaks of inclination and previous bias, as elsewhere of appetite and disposition, as distinct from volition. in this he is right; even the necessitarian will not, at the present day, deny that our desires, affections, &c., are different from volition. "between motive and volition," says president day, "there must intervene an apprehension of the object, and _consequent feeling excited in the mind_." thus, according to president day, feeling is not volition; it intervenes between the external object and volition. but although edwards is right in this; there is one thing in which he is wrong. he is wrong in supposing that our feelings possess a real strength, by which they act upon and control the will. it is obvious that the coherency and force of the above passage depends on the idea, that there is a real power in the strongest inclination or desire of the mind, which renders it difficult to be surmounted or overcome. for if we suppose, that our inclinations or desires are merely the occasions on which we act, and that they themselves exert no influence or efficiency in the production of our volitions, it would be absurd to speak of the difficulty of overcoming them, as well as to speak of this difficulty as increasing with the increasing strength of the inclination, or desire. take away this idea, show that there is no real strength in motives, or desires and inclinations, and the above extract will lose all its force; it will fall to pieces of itself. indeed, the idea or supposition in question, is one of the strongholds of the necessitarian. external objects are regarded as the efficient causes of desire; desire as the efficient cause of volition; and in this way, the whole question seems to be settled. the same result would follow, if we should suppose that desire is awakened not exclusively by external objects, but partly by that which is external, and partly by that which is internal. on this supposition, as well as on the former, the will would seem to be under the dominion of the strongest desire or inclination of the soul. the assumption, that there is a real efficiency exerted by the desires and inclinations of the soul, has been, so far as i know, universally conceded to the necessitarian. he seems to have been left in the undisputed possession of this stronghold; and yet, upon mature reflection, i think we may find some reason to call it in question. if i am not greatly mistaken, we may see that the necessitarian has some reason to abate the loftiness of his tone, when he asserts, that "we _know_ that the feelings do exert an influence in the production of volition." this may appear very evident to his mind; nay, at first view, it may appear very evident to all minds; and yet, after all, it may be only an "idol of the tribe." it is a commonly received opinion, among philosophers, that the passions, desires, &c., do really exert an influence to produce volition. this was evidently the idea of burlamaqui. he draws a distinction between voluntary actions and free actions; and as an instance of a voluntary action which is not free, he cites the case of a man who, as he supposes, is constrained to act from fear. he supposes that such an action, though voluntary, is not free, because it is brought about by the irresistible influence of the passion of fear. it is believed, also, by the disciples of butler, that there is a real strength possessed by what are called the "active powers" of the mind. "this distinction," says dr. chalmers, "made by the sagacious butler between the power of a principle and its authority, enables us in the midst of all the actual anomalies and disorders of our state, to form a precise estimate of the place which conscience naturally and rightly holds in man's constitution. the desire of acting virtuously, which is a desire consequent on our sense of right and wrong, may not be of _equal strength_ with the desire of some criminal indulgence, and so, practically, the evil may predominate over the good. and thus it is that the system of the inner man, from _the weakness_ of that which claims to be the ascendant principle of our nature, may be thrown into a state of turbulence and disorder."--nat. the. p. . such was the idea of butler himself. he frequently speaks of the supremacy of conscience, in terms such as the following: "that principle by which we survey, and either approve or disapprove, our heart, temper, and actions, is not only to be considered as what in its turn is to have some influence, which may be said of every passion, of the basest appetite; but likewise as being superior; as from its very nature manifestly claiming superiority over all others; insomuch that you cannot form a notion of this faculty conscience, without taking in judgement, direction, and superintendency. this is a constituent part of the idea, that is of the faculty itself; and to preside and govern, from the very economy and constitution of man, belongs to it. had it _might_, as it has right; had it _power_, as it has manifest authority; it would absolutely govern the world." this language, it should be observed, is not used in a metaphorical sense; it occurs in the statement of a philosophical theory of human nature. similar language is frequently to be found in the writings of the most enlightened advocates of free-agency. thus, says jouffroy, even while he is contending against the doctrine of necessity: "there are two kinds of _moving powers_ acting upon us; first, the impulses of instinct, or passion; and, secondly, the conceptions of reason. . . . . that these two kinds of moving powers can and do, act efficiently upon our volitions, there can be no doubt," p. . if it were necessary, it might be shown, by hundreds of extracts from their writings, that the great advocates of free-agency have held, that the emotions, desires, and passions, do really act on the will, and tend to produce volitions. but why dwell upon particular instances? if any advocate of free-agency had really believed, that the passions, desires, affections, &c., exert no influence over the will, is it not certain that he would have availed himself of this principle? if the principle that no desire, or affection, or passion, is possessed of any power or causal influence, had been adopted by the advocates of free-agency, its bearing in favour of their cause would have been too obvious and too important to have been overlooked. the necessitarian might have supposed, if he had pleased, that our desires and affections are produced by the action of external objects; and yet, on the supposition that these exerted no positive or causal influence, the doctrine of liberty might have been most successfully maintained. for, after all, the desires and affections thus produced in the mind, would not, on the supposition in question, be the causes of our volitions. they would merely be the occasions on which we act. there would be no necessary connexion between what are called motives and their corresponding actions. our desires or emotions might be under the influence and dominion of external causes, or of causes that are partly external and partly internal; but yet our volitions would be perfectly free from all preceding influences whatever. our volitions might depend on certain conditions, it is true, such as the possession of certain desires or affections; but they would not result from the influence or action of them. they would be absolutely free and uncontrolled. the reason why this principle has not been employed by the advocates of free-agency is, i humbly conceive, because it has not been entertained by them. in short, if the advocates of free-agency had shaken off the common illusion that there is a real efficiency, or causal influence, exerted by the desires of the soul, they would have made it known in the most explicit and unequivocal terms. instead of resorting to the expedients they have adopted, in order to surmount the difficulties by which they have been surrounded, they would, every where and on all occasions, have reminded their adversaries that those difficulties arise merely from ascribing a literal signification to language, which is only true in a metaphorical sense; and we should have had pages, not to say volumes, concerning this use of language, where we have not had a syllable. if the illusion in question has been as general as i have supposed, it is not difficult to account for its prevalence. the fact that a desire, or affection is the indispensable condition, the invariable antecedent, of an act of the will, is of itself sufficient to account for the prevalence of such a notion. nothing is more common than for men to mistake an invariable antecedent for an efficient cause. this source of error, it is well known, has given rise to some of the most obstinate delusions that have ever infested and enslaved the human mind. and besides, when such an error or illusion prevails, its hold upon the mind is confirmed and rendered almost invincible by the circumstance, that it is interwoven into the structure of all our language. in this case in particular, we never cease to speak of "the active principles," of "the ruling passion," of "ungovernable desire," of "the dominion of lust," of being "enslaved to a vicious propensity;"--in a thousand ways, the idea that there is a real efficiency in the desires and affections of the soul, is wrought into the structure of our language; and hence, there is no wonder that it has gained such an ascendency over our thoughts. it has met us at every turn; it has presented itself to us in a thousand shapes; it has become so familiar, that we have not even stopped to inquire into its true nature. its dominion has become complete and secure, just because its truth has never been doubted. the illusion in question, if it be one, has derived an accession of strength from another source. it is a fact, that whenever we feel intensely, we do, as a general thing, act with a proportioned degree of energy; and _vice versa_. hence, we naturally derive the impression, that the determinations of the will are produced by the strength of our feelings. if the passion or desire is languid, (since we must use a metaphor,) the action is in general feeble; and if it is intense, the act is _usually_ powerful and energetic. hence, we are prone to conclude, that the mind is moved to act by the influence of passion or desire; and that the energy of the action corresponds with the strength of the motive, or moving principle. though the principle in question has been so commonly received, i think we should be led to question it in consequence of the conclusions which have been deduced from it. if our desires, affections, &c., operate to influence the will, how can it be free in putting forth volitions? how does mr. locke meet this difficulty? does he tell us, that it arises solely from our mistaking a metaphorical for a literal mode of expression? far from it. he does not place liberty on the broad ground, that the desires by which volitions are supposed to be determined, are in reality nothing more than the conditions or occasions on which the mind acts; and that they themselves can exert no positive influence or efficiency. the liberty of the soul consists, according to him, not in the circumstance that its desires do not _operate_, but in its power to arrest the operation of its desires. he admits that they operate, that they tend to produce volition; but the mind is nevertheless free, because it can suspend the operation of desire, and prevent the tendency thereof from passing into effect. "there being," says he, "in us a great many uneasinesses always soliciting and ready to determine the will, it is natural, as i have said, that the greatest or most pressing should determine the will to the next action; and so it does for the most part, but not always. for the mind having in most cases, as is evident in experience, a power to suspend the execution and satisfaction of its desires, and so all, one after another, examine them on all sides, and weigh them with others. in this lies the liberty man has." thus we are supposed to be free, because we have a power to resist, in some cases at least, the influence of desire. but this is not always the case. our desires may be so strong as entirely to overcome us--and what then? why we cease to be free agents; and it is only when the storm of passion subsides, that we are restored to the rank of accountable beings. "sometimes a boisterous passion hurries away our thoughts," says locke, "as a hurricane does our bodies, without leaving us the liberty of thinking on other things, which we would rather choose. but as soon as the mind regains the power to stop or continue, begin or forbear, any of these motives of the body without, or thoughts within, according as it thinks fit to prefer either to the other, we then consider the man as a free-agent again." this language is employed by mr. locke, while attempting to define the idea of liberty or free-agency; and he evidently supposed, as appears from the above passage, as well as from some others, that we frequently cease to be free-agents, in consequence of the irresistible power of our desires or passions. dr. reid set out from the same position, and he arrived at the same conclusion. he frequently speaks of the appetites and passions as so many forces, whose action is "directly upon the will." "they draw a man towards a certain object, without any further view, by a sort of violence."--essays, p. . "when a man is acted upon by motives of this kind, he finds it easy to yield to the strongest. they are like two forces pushing him in contrary directions. to yield to the strongest, he need only be passive," p. . "in actions that proceed from appetite and passion, we are passive in part and only in part active. they are therefore in part imputed to the passion; and if it is supposed to be irresistible, we do not impute them to the man at all. even an american savage judges in this way; when in a fit of drunkenness he kills his friend; as soon as he comes to himself, he is very sorry for what he has done, but pleads that drink, and not he, was the cause," p. , . such is the dreadful consequence, which dr. reid boldly deduces from the principle, that the appetites and passions do really act upon the will. though he was an advocate of free-agency; yet, holding this principle, he could speak of _actions that are partly passive;_ and that in so far as they are passive, he maintained they should not be imputed to the man whose actions they are, but to the passions by which they are produced, this may appear to be strange doctrine for an advocate of free-agency and accountability; but it seems to be the natural and inevitable consequence of the commonly received notion with respect to the relation which subsists between the passions and the will. the principle that our appetites, desires, &c., do exert a real influence in the production of volition, was common to edwards, locke, and reid: indeed, so far as i know, it has been universally received. in the opinion of edwards, this influence becomes "so powerful" at times as to establish a moral necessity beyond all question; and in that of locke and reid, it is sometimes so great as to destroy free-agency and accountability. is not this inference well drawn? it seems to me that it is; and this constitutes one reason, why i deny the principle from which it is deduced. is it true, then, that any power or efficacy belongs to the sensitive or emotive part of our nature? reflection must show us, i think, that it is absurd to suppose that any desire, affection, or disposition of the mind, can really and truly exert any positive or productive influence. when we speak of the appetites, desires, affections, &c., as the "active principles" of our nature, we must needs understand this as a purely metaphorical mode of expression. edwards himself has shown the impropriety of regarding similar modes of speech as a literal expression of the truth. "to talk of liberty," says he, "or the contrary, as belonging to the _very will itself_, is not to speak good sense; if we judge of sense, and nonsense, by the original and proper signification of words. for the will _itself_ is not an agent that _has a will:_ the power of choosing, itself, has not a power of choosing. that which has the power of volition is the man, or the soul, and not the power of volition itself. to be free is the property of an agent, who is possessed of powers and faculties, as much as to be cunning, valiant, bountiful, or zealous. but _these qualities are the properties of persons_, and not the _properties of properties_." this remark, no doubt, is perfectly just, as well as highly important. and it may be applied with equal force and propriety, to the practice of speaking of the strength of motives, or inclinations, or desires; for power is a "property of the person, or the soul; and not the property of a property." it appeared exceedingly absurd to the author of the "inquiry," to speak of "the free acts of the will," as being _determined by the will itself;_ because the _will_ is not an agent, and "actions are to be ascribed to agents, and not properly to the powers and properties of agents." but he seemed to perceive no absurdity, in speaking of "the free acts of the will," as being caused by the strongest motives, by the dispositions and appetites of the soul. now, are the strongest motives, as they are called, are the strongest dispositions and desires of the soul, agents, or are they merely the properties of agents? let the necessitarian answer this question, and then determine whether his logic is consistent with itself. mr. locke, also, has well said, that it is absurd to inquire whether "the will be free or no; inasmuch as _liberty_, which is but a _power_, belongs only to agents, and cannot be an attribute or modification of will, which is also but a power." though mr. locke applied this remark to the usual form of speech, by which freedom is ascribed to the will, he failed to do so in regard to the language by which power, which is a property of the mind itself, is ascribed to our desires, or passions, or affections, which are likewise properties of the mind. and hence have arisen many of his difficulties in regard to the freedom of human actions. supposing that our desires exerted some positive influence or efficiency in the production of volitions, his views on the subject of free-agency become vague, inconsistent, fluctuating and unsatisfactory. the hypothesis that the desires impel the will to act, is inconsistent with observed facts. if this hypothesis were true, the phenomena of volition would be very different from what they are. a man may desire that it should rain, for example; he may have the most intense feeling on this subject imaginable, and there may be no counteracting desire or feeling whatever; now if desire ever impelled a man to volition, it would induce him, in such a case, to will that it should rain. but no man, in his senses, ever puts forth a volition to make it rain--and why? just because he is a rational creature, and knows that his volition cannot produce any such effect. in the same manner, a man might wish to fly, or to do a thousand other things which are beyond his power; and yet not make the least effort to do so, not because he has no power to put forth such efforts, but because he does not choose to make a fool of himself: this shows that desire, feeling, &c., is merely one of the conditions necessary to volition, and not its producing cause. again. it has been frequently observed, since the time of butler, that our passive impressions often become weaker and weaker, while our active habits become stronger and stronger. thus, the feeling of pity, by being frequently excited, may become less and less vivid, while the active habit of benevolence, by which it is supposed to be induced, becomes more and more energetic. that is to say, while the power, as it is called, or the causal influence, is gradually diminishing, the effect, which is supposed to flow from it, is becoming more and more conspicuous. and again, the feeling of pity is sometimes exceedingly strong; that is to say, exceedingly vivid and painful, while there is no act attending it. the passive impression or susceptibility is entirely dissociated, in many cases, from the acts of the will. the feeling often exists in all its _power_, and yet there is no act, and no disposition to act, on the part of the individual who is the subject of it. the cause operates, and yet the effect does not follow! all that we can say is, that when we see the mind deeply agitated, and, as it were, carried away by a storm of passion, we also observe that it frequently acts with great vehemency. but we do not observe, and we do not know, that this increased _power of action_, is the result of an increased _power of feeling_. all that we know is, that as a matter of fact, when our feelings are languid, we are apt to act but feebly; and that when they are intense, we are accustomed to act with energy. or, in other words, that we do not _ordinarily_ act with so much energy in order to gratify a slight feeling or emotion, as we do to gratify one of greater intensity and painfulness. but it is wrong to conclude from hence, that it is the increased intensity of feeling, which produces the increased energy of the action. no matter how intense the feeling, it is wrong to conclude, that it literally causes us to act, that it ever lays the will under constraint, and thereby destroys, even for a moment, our free-agency. such an assumption is a mere hypothesis, unsupported by observation, inconsistent with the dictates of reason, and irreconcilable with observed facts. i repeat it, such an assumption is inconsistent with observed facts; for who that has any energy of will, has not, on many a trying occasion, stood firm amid the fiercest storm of passion; and, though the elements of discord raged within, remained _himself_ unmoved; giving not the least sign or manifestation of what was passing in his bosom? who has not felt, on such an occasion, that although the passions may storm, yet the will alone is power? it is not uncommon to see this truth indirectly recognized by those who _absolutely know_ that some power is exerted by our passions and desires, and that the will is always determined by the strongest. thus, says president day, "our acts of choice, are _not_ always controlled by those emotions which _appear to be most vivid_. we often find a determined and settled purpose, apparently calm, but unyielding, which carries a man steadily forward, amid all the solicitations of appetite and passion the inflexible determination of howard, _gave law to his emotions_, and guided his benevolent movements," p. . here, although president day holds that the will is determined by the strongest desire, passion, or emotion, he unconsciously admits that the will, "the inflexible determination," is independent of them all. let it be supposed, that no one means so absurd a thing as to say, that the affections themselves act upon the will, but that the mind in the exercise of its affections acts upon it, and thereby exerts a power over its determinations; let us suppose, that this is the manner in which a real force is supposed to bear upon the will; and what will be the consequence? why, if the will is not distinguished from the affections, we shall have the will acting upon itself; a doctrine to which the necessitarian will not listen for a moment. and if they are distinguished from the will, we shall have two powers of action, two forces in the mind, each contending for the mastery. but what do we mean by a will, if it is not the faculty by which the mind acts, by which it exerts a _real force?_ and if this be the idea and definition of a will, we cannot distinguish the will from the affections, and say that the latter exerts a real force, without making two wills. this seems to be the inevitable consequence of the commonly received notion, that the mind, in the exercise of its affections, does really act upon the will with an impelling force. indeed, there seems to have been no little perplexity and confusion of conception on this subject, arising from the extreme subtlety of our mental processes, as well as from the ambiguities of language. the truth is, that in feeling the mind is passive; and it is absurd to make a passive impression, the active cause of any thing. the sensibility does not _act_, it merely _suffers_. the appetites and passions, which have always been called the "active powers," the "moving principles," and so forth, should be called the passive susceptibilities. unless this truth be clearly and fully recognized, and the commonly received notion respecting the relation which the appetites and passions sustain to the will, to the _active power_, be discarded, it seems to me, that the great doctrine of the liberty of the will, must continue to be involved in the sadest perplexity, the most distressing darkness. section ix. of the liberty of indifference. if, as i have endeavoured to show, the appetites and passions exert no positive influence in the production of volition, if they do not sustain the relation of cause to the acts of the will; then is the doctrine of the liberty of indifference placed in a clear and strong light having admitted that the sensitive part of our nature always tends to produce volition, and in some cases irresistibly produces it, the advocates of free agency have not been able to maintain the doctrine of a perfect liberty in regard to all human actions. they have been compelled to retire from the broad and open field of the controverted territory, and to take their stand in a dark corner, in order to contend for that perfect liberty, without which there cannot be a perfect and unclouded accountability. hence, it has been no uncommon thing, even for those who have been the most disposed to sympathize with them, to feel a dissatisfaction in reading what they have written on the subject of a liberty of indifference. this they have placed in a perfect freedom to choose between a few insignificant things, in regard to which we have no feeling; while, in regard to the great objects which relate to our eternal destiny, we have been supposed to enjoy no such freedom. the true liberty of indifference does not consist, as i have endeavoured to show, in a power to resist the influence of the appetites and passions struggling to produce volition; because there is no such influence in existence. this notion is encumbered with insuperable difficulties; it supposes two powers struggling for the mastery--the desires on the one hand, and the will on the other; and that when the desires are so strong as to prevail, and bear us away in spite of ourselves, we cease to be free agents. it supposes that at no time we have a perfect liberty, unless we are perfectly destitute of feeling; and that at some of the most trying, and critical, and awful moments of our existence, we have no liberty at all; the whole man being passive to the power and dominion of the passions. what a wound is thus given to the cause of free-agency and accountability! what scope is thus allowed for the sophistry of the passions! every man who can persuade himself that his appetites, his desires, or his passions, have been too strong for him, may blind his mind to a sense of his guilt, and lull his conscience into a fatal repose. the necessitarian, like a skilful general, is not slow to attack this weak point in the philosophy of free-agency. if our emotions operate to produce volition, says he, then the strongest must prevail; to say otherwise, is to say that it is not the strongest. this is the ground uniformly occupied by president day. and it is urged by president edwards, that if a great degree of such influence destroys free agency, as it is supposed to do, then every smaller degree of it must impair free agency; and hence, according to the principles and scheme of its advocates, it cannot be perfect. is not this inference well drawn? indeed, it seems to me, that while the notion that our desires possess a real power and efficacy, which are exerted over the will, maintains its hold upon the mind, the great doctrine of liberty can never be seen in the brightness of its full-orbed glory; and that it must, at times, suffer a total eclipse. the liberty which we really possess, then, does not consist in an indifference of the desires and affections, but in that of the will itself. we are perfectly free, says the libertarian, in regard to all those things about which our feelings are in a state of indifference; such as touching one of two spots, or choosing one of two objects that are perfectly alike. to this the necessitarian replies, what does it signify that a man has a perfect liberty in regard to the choice of "one of two peppercorns?" are not such things perfectly insignificant, and unworthy "the grave attention of the philosopher," while treating of the great questions of moral good and evil? there is some truth in this reply, and some injustice. it truly signifies nothing, that we are at perfect liberty to choose between two pepper-corns, if we are not so to choose between good and evil, life and death. but in making this attack upon the position of his opponent, when viewed as designed to serve the cause of free-agency, the necessitarian overlooks its bearing upon his own scheme. he contends, that the mind cannot act unless it is made to act by some extraneous influence: this is a universal proposition, extending to all our mental acts; and hence, if it can be shown that, in a single instance, the mind can and does put forth a volition, without being made to do so, his doctrine is subverted from its foundations. if this can be shown, by a reference to the case of "two pepper-corns," it may be made to serve an important purpose in philosophy, how much soever it may be despised by the philosopher. if we keep the distinction between the will and the sensibility in mind, it will throw much light on what has been written in regard to the subject of indifference. if you offer a guinea and a penny to a man's choice, asks president day, which will he choose? will the one exert as great an influence over him as the other? president day may assert, if he pleases, that the guinea will exert the greater influence over his feelings; but this does not destroy the equilibrium of the will. the feelings and the will are different. by the one we feel, by the other we act; by the one we _suffer_, by the other we _do_. why, then, will the man be certain to choose the guinea, all other things being equal? not because its influence acts upon the will, either directly or indirectly through the passions, and compels him to choose it, but because he has a purpose to accomplish; and, as a rational being, he sees that the guinea will answer his purpose better than the penny. he is not made to act, therefore, by a blind impulse; he acts freely in the light of reason. the philosophy of the necessitarian overlooks the slight circumstance, that the will of man is not a ball to be set a-going by external impulse; but that man is a rational being, made in the image of his maker, and can act as a designing cause. hence, when we affirm that the will of man acts without being made to do so by the action of any thing upon _the will itself_, he imagines that we dethrone the almighty, and "place chance upon the throne of the moral universe." day on the will, p. . but i would remind him, once for all, that the act of a free designing cause, no less than that of a necessitated act, proceeding from an efficient cause, (if such a thing can be conceived,) is utterly inconsistent with the idea of accident. choice in its very nature is opposed to chance. the doctrine of the indifference of the will has been subjected to another mode of attack. this doctrine implies that we have a power to choose one thing or another; or, as it is sometimes called, a power of choice to the contrary. for, if the will is not controlled by any extraneous influence, it is evident that we may choose a thing, or let it alone--that we may put forth a volition, or refuse to put it forth. this power, which results from the idea of indifference as just explained, is regarded as in the highest degree absurd; and a torrent of impetuous questions is poured forth to sweep it away. "when satan, as a roaring lion," asks president day, "goeth about, seeking whom he may devour, is he equally inclined to promote the salvation of mankind?" &c. &c. &c. now, i freely admit, that when satan is inclined to do evil, and is actually doing it, he is not inclined to the contrary. i freely admit that a thing is not different from itself; and the learned author is welcome to all such triumphant positions. in the same easy way, president edwards, as he imagines, demolishes the doctrine of indifference. he supposes that, according to this doctrine, the will does not choose when it does choose; and, having supposed this, he proceeds to demolish it, as if he were contending with a thousand adversaries; and yet, i will venture to affirm, that no man in his senses ever maintained such a position. the most contemptible advocate of free-agency that ever lived, has maintained nothing so absurd as that the mind ever chooses without choosing. this is the light in which the doctrine of indifference is frequently represented by edwards, but it is a gross misrepresentation. "the question is," says edwards, "whether ever the soul of man puts forth an act of will, while it yet remains in a state of liberty, viz: as implying a state of indifference; or whether the soul ever exerts an act of preference, while at the very time _the will_ is in a perfect equilibrium, not inclining one way more than another," p. . if this be the point in dispute, he may well add, that "the very putting of the question is sufficient to show the absurdity of the affirmative answer;" and he might have added, the utter futility of the negative reply. "how ridiculous," he continues, "for any body to insist that the soul chooses one thing before another, when, at the very same instant, it is perfectly indifferent with respect to each! this is the same thing as to say, we shall prefer one thing to another, at the very same time that it has no preference. choice and preference can no more be in a state of indifference than motion can be in a state of rest," &c. p. . and he repeats it over and over again, that this is to put "the soul in a state of choice, and in a state of equilibrium at the same time;" "choosing one way, while it remains in a state of perfect indifference, and has no choice of one way more than the other;" p. . "to suppose the will to act at all in a state of indifference, is to assert that the mind chooses without choosing," p. ; and so in various other places. now, if the doctrine of the indifference of the will, as commonly understood, amounts to this, that the will does not choose when it chooses, then edwards was certainly right in opposing it; but how could he have expected to correct such incorrigible blockheads as the authors of such a doctrine must have been, by the force of logic? edwards has not always, though frequently, mis-stated the doctrine of his adversaries. the liberty of indifference, says he, in one place, consists in this, "that the will, in choosing, is subject to _no prevailing_ influence," p. . now this is a fair statement of the doctrine in question. why did not edwards, then, combat this idea? why transform it into the monstrous absurdity, that "the will chooses without choosing," or exerts an act of choice at the same time that it exerts no act of choice; and then proceed to demolish it? was it because he did not wish to march up, fairly and squarely, in the face of the enemy, and contend with them in their strongholds and fastnesses? by no means. there never was a more honest reasoner than edwards. but his psychology is false; and hence, he has not only misrepresented the doctrine of his opponents, but also his own. he confounds the sensitive part of our nature with the will, expressly in his definitions, though he frequently distinguishes them in his arguments. this is the reason why he sometimes asserts, that the choice of the mind is always as the sense of the most agreeable; and, at others, throws this fundamental doctrine into the form, as we have seen in our third section, that the choice of the mind is always as the choice of the mind; and holds that to deny it is a plain contradiction. by reason of the same confusion of things, the doctrine of his opponents, that "the will, in choosing, is subject to no prevailing influence," seemed to him to mean that the will, in choosing, does not choose. in both cases, he confounds the most agreeable impression upon the sensibility with the choice of the mind; and thus misrepresents both his own doctrine, and that of his opponents, by reducing the one to an insignificant truism, and the other to a glaring absurdity. president day should have avoided the error of edwards, in thus misconceiving the doctrine of his opponents; for he expressly distinguishes the sensibility from the will. but there is this difference between edwards and day; the first expressly confounds these two parts of our nature, and then proceeds to reason, in many cases, as if they were distinct; while the last most explicitly distinguishes them, and then frequently proceeds to reason as if they were one and the same. it is in this way that he also gravely teaches that the mind chooses when it chooses; and makes his adversaries assert that the mind chooses without choosing, or that the will is inclined without being inclined. start from whatever point he will, the necessitarian never feels so strong, as when he finds himself securely intrenched in the truism, that a thing is always as itself; there manfully contending against those who assert that a thing is different from itself. the doctrine of the liberty of indifference, as usually held, is this--that the will is not determined by any prevailing influence. this is not a perfect liberty, it is true, wherever the will is partially influenced by an extraneous cause; but it is not equivalent to the gross absurdity of the position, that the will chooses without choosing. nor can we possibly reduce it to this form, unless we forget that the authors of it did not confound that which is supposed to exert the influence over the will, with the act of the will itself. they contended for a partial indifference of the will only; and, consequently, they could only contend for a partial, and not a perfect liberty. on the contrary, i think we should contend for a perfect indifference, not in regard to feeling, but in regard to the will. standing on this high ground, we need not retire from the broad and open field, in order to set up the empire of a perfect liberty in a dark corner, extending to a few insignificant things only: we may establish it over the whole range of human activity, bringing out into a clear and full light, the great fact of man's perfect accountability, for all his _actions_, under all the circumstances of his life. section x. of action and passion. there are no two things in nature which are more perfectly distinct than action and passion; the one necessarily excludes the other. thus, if an effect is produced in any thing, by the action or influence of something else, then is the thing in which the effect is produced wholly passive in regard to it. the effect itself is called passion or passiveness. it is not an act of that in which it is produced; it is an effect resulting wholly from that which produces it. to say that a thing acts then, is to say that it is not passive; or, in other words, that its act is not produced by the action or influence of any thing else. to suppose that an act is so produced, is to suppose that it is not an act; the object in which it is said to be caused being wholly passive in regard to it. if this statement be correct, it follows that an act of the mind cannot be a produced effect; that the ideas of action and passion, of cause and effect, are opposite and contrary the one to the other; and hence, it is absurd to assert that the mind may be caused to act, or that a volition can be produced by any thing acting upon the mind. this is a self-evident truth. the younger edwards calls for proof of it; but the only evidence there is in the case, is that which arises from the nature of the things themselves, as they must appear to every mind which will bestow suitable reflection on the subject. but as he held the affirmative, maintaining that the mind is caused to act, it would have been well for him to have furnished proof himself, before he called for it from the opposite party. it may be said, that if it were self-evident that the mind cannot be caused to act, it would appear so to all men, and there could be no doubt on the subject; that a truth or proposition cannot be said to be self-evident, unless it carries irresistible conviction to every mind to which it is proposed. but this does not follow. previous to the time of galileo, it was universally believed by mankind, that if a body were set in motion, it would run down of itself; though it should meet with no resistance whatever in its progress. but that great philosopher, by reflecting on the nature of matter, very clearly saw, that if a body were put in motion, and met with no resistance, it would continue to move on in a right line forever. as matter is inert, so he saw that it could not put itself in motion; and if put in motion by the action of any thing upon it, he perceived with equal clearness that it could not check itself in its career. he perceived that it is just as impossible for passive, inert matter, to change its state from motion to rest, as it is for it to change its state from rest to motion. thus, by simply reflecting upon the nature of matter, as that which cannot act, the mind of galileo recognized it as a self-evident and unquestionable truth, that if a body be put in motion, and there is nothing to impede its career, it will move on in a right line forever. this great law of motion, first recognized by galileo, and afterwards adopted by all other philosophers, is called the law of inertia; because its truth necessarily results from the fact, that matter is essentially inert, or cannot act. i am aware it has been contended by mr. whewell, in his bridgewater treatise, that the law of motion in question is not a necessary or self-evident truth; and the reason he assigns is, that if it were a truth of this nature, it would have been recognized and believed by all men before the time of galileo. but this reason is not good. for if it did not appear self-evident to those philosophers who lived before galileo, it was because they did not bestow sufficient reflection upon the subject, and not because it was not a self-evident truth. all men had seen bodies moving only in a resisting medium, amid counteracting influences; and having always seen them run down in such a medium, they very naturally concluded that a body put in motion would run down of itself. yielding to an illusion of the senses, instead of rising above it by a sustained effort of reason and meditation, they supposed that the motion of a body would spend itself in the course of time, and so come to an end without any cause of its extinction. this is the reason why they did not see, what must have appeared to be a self-evident truth, if they had bestowed sufficient reflection upon the subject, instead of being swayed by an illusion of the senses. mr. whewell admits the law in question to be a truth; he only denies that it is a necessary or self-evident truth. now, if it be not a necessary truth, i should like to know how he has ascertained it to be a truth at all. has any man ever seen a body put in motion, and continue to move on in a right line forever? has any man ever ascertained the truth of this law by observation and experiment? it is evident, that if it be true at all, it must be a necessary truth. who that is capable of rising above the associations of sense, so as to view things as they are in themselves, can meditate upon this subject, without perceiving that the law of _inertia_ is a self-evident truth, necessarily arising out of the very nature of matter? it does not follow, then, that a truth is not "self-evident", because it does not appear so to all men; for some may be blinded to the truth by an illusion of the senses. this is the case, with the necessitarian. he has always seen the motion of body produced by the action of something else; and hence, confounding the activity of mind with the motion of body, he concludes that volition is produced by the prior action of something else. all that he needs in order to see the impossibility of such a thing, is severe and sustained meditation. but how can we expect this from him? is he not a great reasoner, rather than a great thinker? does he not display his skill in drawing logical conclusions from the illusions of the senses, and assumptions founded thereon; rather than in laying his foundations and his premises aright, in the immutable depths of meditation and consciousness? we may appeal to his _reason_, and he will fall to _reasoning_. we may ask for _meditation_, and he will give us _logic_. indeed, he wants that severe and scrutinizing observation which pierces through all the illusions and associations of the senses, rising to a contemplation of things as they are in themselves; which is one of the best attributes of the great thinker. to show that he does this, i shall begin with president day. no other necessitarian has made so formal and elaborate an attempt to prove, that the mind may be caused to act. he undertakes to answer the objection which has been urged against the scheme of moral necessity, that it confounds action and passion. it is alleged, that a volition cannot be produced or caused by the action or influence of any thing. to this president day replies, "these are terms of very convenient ambiguity, with which it is easy to construct a plausible but fallacious argument. the word passive is sometimes used to signify that which is _inactive_. with this meaning, it must, of course, be the opposite of every thing which is active. to say that that which is in _this_ sense passive, is at the same time active, is to assert that that which is active is not active. but this is not the only signification of the term passive in common use. it is very frequently used to express the relation of an effect to its cause," p. . now, here is the distinction, but is it not without a difference? if an effect is produced, is it not passive in relation to its cause? this is not denied. is it active then in relation to any thing? president day says it is. but is this so? is not an effect, which is wholly produced in one thing by the action or influence of another, wholly passive? is not the thing which, according to the supposition, is wholly passive to the influence acting upon it, wholly passive? in other words; is it made to act? does it not merely suffer? if it is endued with an active nature, and really puts forth an act, is not this act clearly different from the passive impression made upon it? one would certainly suppose so, but for the logic of the necessitarian. let us examine this logic. "the term passive," says president day, "is sometimes employed to express the relation of an effect to its cause. in this sense, it is so far from being inconsistent with activity, that activity may be the very effect which is produced. a thing may be _caused_ to be active. a cannon shot is said to be passive, with respect to the charge of powder which impels it. but is there no activity given to the ball? is not the whirlwind active, when it tears up the forest?" &c. &c., p. . now, all these illustrations are brought to show that the mind may be caused to act;--that it may be passive in relation to the cause of its volition, and active in relation to the effect of its volition. a more striking instance could not be adduced to prove the correctness of the assertion already made, that the necessitarian confounds the motion of body with the action of mind. "a thing may be caused to act," says president day. but how does he show this? by showing that a thing may be caused to move! "is no _activity_ given to the ball? is not the whirlwind _active_, when it tears up the forest?" and so he goes on, leaving the light of reason and of consciousness; now rushing into the darkness of the whirlwind; now riding "on the mountain wave;" and now plunging into the depths of "volcanic lava;"--all the time in quest of light respecting the phenomena of mind! we could have wished him to stop awhile, in the impetuous current of rhetoric, and inform us, whether he really considers, "the motion of a ball" as the same thing with the volition of the mind. if he does, then he may suppose that his illustrations are to the purpose, how great soever may be his mistake; but if he supposes there is a real difference between them, how can he ever pretend to show that mind may be caused to act, by showing that body may be caused to move? i freely admit, that body may be caused to move. body is perfectly passive in motion; and hence, its motion may be caused. but the mind is not passive in volition; and hence the difference in the two cases. it is an error, as i have already said, pervading the views of the necessitarian, that he confounds the action of mind with the motion of body. even mr. locke, who, in some places, has recognized the essential difference between them, has frequently confounded them in his reasonings and illustrations. hence, it becomes necessary to bear this distinction always in mind, in the examination of their writings. it should be rendered perfectly clear to our minds by meditation; and never permitted to grow dim through forgetfulness. this is indispensably necessary to shut out the illusions of the senses, in order that we may have a clear and unclouded view of the phenomena of nature. is the motion of body, then, one and the same thing with the action of mind? they are frequently called by the same name. the motion of mind, and the action of body, are very common modes of expression. body is said to act, when it only moves; and mind is said to move, when it really acts. these metaphors and supposed analogies are intimately and inseparably interwoven into the very frame-work of our language; and hence the necessity of guarding against them in our conceptions. they are almost as subtle as the great adversary of truth; and therefore we should be constantly on the watch, lest we should be deceived or misled by them. let us look, then, at these things just as they are in themselves. when a body moves, it simply passes from one place to another; and when the mind acts or chooses, it simply prefers one thing to another. here, there is no real identity or sameness of nature. the body _suffers_ a change; the mind itself _acts_. the one is pure passim or passiveness; the other is pure action--the very opposite of passivity. the one is a _suffering_, and the other is a _doing_. there are no two things in the whole range of nature, which are more perfectly and essentially distinct; and he who confounds them in his reasonings, as philosophers have so often done, can never arrive at a clear perception of the truth. president day, if he intended any thing to the purpose, undertook to show that an act may be produced in mind, in that which is active, by the action or influence of something else; and what has he shown? why, that body may be caused to move! let a case be produced in which the mind, the active soul of man, is made to act: let a case be produced in which a volition is caused to exist in the soul of man, by the action or influence of any thing whatever, and it will be something to the purpose: but what does it signify to tell us, that a body, that that which is wholly and essentially passive in its nature, may be made to move, or _suffer_ a change of place? a more palpable sophism was never perpetrated; and that such a mind should have recourse to such an argument, only betrays the miserable weakness, and the forlorn hopelessness, of the cause in which it is enlisted. indeed, the learned president seems, after all, to be at least half conscious that the analogies of matter can throw no light on the phenomena of mind; and that what he has so eloquently said, amounts to just nothing at all. for he says, "it may be objected, that these are all examples of _inanimate_ objects; and that they have no proper application to mental activity," p. . yes, truly, this is the very objection which we should urge against all the fine illustrations of president day; and it is a full and complete answer to them. it is the great principle of the inductive study of mind, that its phenomena can be understood only in so far as we have observed them in the pure light of consciousness, and no farther; they should never be viewed through the darkening and confounding analogies of matter. no one, that i know of, has ever denied that a body may be caused to move; the only point on which we desire to be enlightened is, whether the mind may be caused to act. to this point president day next directly comes. leaving "inanimate objects," he says, "take the case of deep and earnest thinking. is there no activity in this? and is it without a cause? when reading the orations of demosthenes, or the demonstrations of newton, are our minds wholly inactive; or if they think intensely, have our thoughts no dependence on the book before us?" p. . truly, there is activity in this, in our "deep and earnest thinking"; but what is the cause of this activity? does the book before us _cause_ us to think? this is the point at which the argument of the author is driving, and to which it should come, if it would be to the purpose, and yet he does not seem to like to speak it out right manfully; and hence, instead of saying that the book causes us to think, he chooses to say that our thoughts have a _dependence_ on the book. it is true, that no man can read a book, unless he has it to read; and, consequently, his thoughts in reading the book are absolutely dependent on the possession of it. but still, the possession of a book is the _condition_, and not the _cause_, of his reading it. the cause of a thing, and the indispensable _condition_ of it, are perfectly distinct from each other; and the argument of day, in confounding them, has presented us with another sophism. the ideas of a condition and of a cause, though so different in themselves, are always blended together by necessitarians; and hence the confusion into which they run. edwards has united them, as we have seen, under the term cause; and then employed this term to signify the one or the other at his pleasure. the word "dependence," is the favourite of president day; and he uses it with fully as much vagueness and vacillation of meaning, as edwards does the term cause. he has undertaken to show us, that the mind may be _caused_ to act; and he has shown us, that a particular class of thoughts cannot come to existence, except upon a particular condition! this is not to reason; but to slip and to slide from one meaning of an ambiguous word to another. when it is said that the mind cannot be caused to act, president day must have known in what sense the term cause is used in this proposition. he must have known, that no one meant to assert, that there are no _conditions_ or _antecedents_, on which the action of the mind depends. there is not an advocate of free-agency in the universe, who will contend, that the mind can choose a thing, unless there is a thing to be chosen; or, to take his own illustration, can read a book, unless there is a book to be read. the question is not, whether there are _conditions_, without the existence of which the mind cannot act; this no one denies; but whether there is, or can be, a real and efficient cause of the mind's action. the point in dispute, relates not to mere fact of dependence, but to the _nature_ of that dependence. the question is, _can the mind be efficiently caused to act?_ this being the question, what does it signify to tell us, that it cannot read a book, unless it has a book to read? or what does it signify to tell us, that a body may be caused to move? these are mere irrelevancies; they fall short of the point in dispute; and they only seem to reach it by means of a very "convenient ambiguity" of words. but still it may be said, that although a body is passive in motion, it may act upon other bodies, and thereby communicate motion to them. this is the ground taken by president day. "the very same thing," says he, "may be both cause and effect. the mountain wave, which is the effect of the wind, may be the cause which buries the ship in the ocean," p. . i am aware, that one body is frequently said to _act_ upon another; but this word action, as president day has well said, is a term "of very convenient ambiguity, with which it is easy to construct a plausible but fallacious argument," p. . the only cause in every case of motion, is that _force_, whatever it may be, which acts upon the body moved, and puts it in motion. all the rest is pure passion or passiveness. the motion of the body is not action; it is the most pure passion of which the mind can form a conception. if a body in action is said to act upon another, this is but a metaphor; there is no real action in the case. indeed, if a body be put in motion, and meets with no resistance, it will move on in a right line forever--and why? just because of its _inertia_, of its inherent destitution of a power to act. as a mathematician, president day certainly knew all this; but he seems to have forgotten it all, in his eagerness to support the cause of moral necessity. he saw that motion is frequently called action; he saw that one body is sometimes said to act upon another; and this was sufficient for his purpose. he did not reflect upon the natures of motion and of volition, as they are in themselves; he views them through the medium of an ambiguous phraseology. nor did he reflect, that if motion is communicated from one body to another, this is not because one body really acts upon another, but because it is impossible for two bodies to occupy the same place at one and the same time. he did not reflect, that if motion is communicated from one body to another, this does not arise from the activity, but from the impenetrability of matter. in short, he did not reflect, that there is no state or phenomena of matter, whatever may be its name, that at all resembles the state of mind which we call action or volition; or else he would have seen, that all his illustrations drawn from material objects can throw no light on the point in controversy. we find the same confusion of things in the works of the edwardses. we do not at all confound action and passion, president edwards contends, by supposing that acts of the soul are effects, wherein the soul is the object of something acting upon and influencing it, p. . and again, "it is no more a contradiction to suppose that action may be the effect of some other cause beside the agent, or being that acts, than to suppose that life may be the effect of some other cause beside the being that lives," p. . the younger edwards also asserts, that "to say that an agent that is acted upon cannot act, is as groundless, as to say, that a body acted upon cannot move," p. . we might adduce many similar passages; but these are sufficient. what do they prove? if they are any thing to the purpose, they are only so by confounding motion with volition, passion with action. no one would pretend to deny, that the mind may be, and is, caused to exist, or that the agent may be caused to live. in regard to our being and living we are perfectly passive; and hence we admit that we may be caused to exist and to live. _living_ and _being_ are not _acting_. we are not passive in regard to volition; this is an act of the mind itself. the above assertions only overlook the slight circumstance that _being_ and _doing_ are two different things; that motion is not volition, that passion is not action. this strange confusion of things is very common in the writings of the edwardses, as well as in those of all other necessitarians. edwards held volition to be a produced effect. this identifies a passive impression made upon the mind, with an act of the mind itself. in order to escape this difficulty, edwards was bound to show that action and passion are not opposite in their natures. "action, when properly set in opposition to passion or passiveness," says he, "is no real existence; it is not the same with _an action_, but is a mere relation." and again, "action and passion are not two contrary natures;" when placed in opposition they are only contrary relations. the same ground is taken by president day. "are not cause and effect," says he, "opposite in their natures? they are opposite relations, but not always opposite things." they contend, that an object may be passive in relation to one thing, and active in relation to another; that a volition may be passive in relation to its producing cause, and yet active in relation to its produced effect. now, this is not true. an act is opposite in its nature to a passive impression made upon the mind. this every man may clearly see by suitable reflection, if he will not blind himself to the truth, as the necessitarian always does, by false analogies drawn from the world of matter, and the phenomena of motion. we have seen how president day has attempted to show, that an object may be passive in relation to one thing, and yet active in relation to another; and that in all these attempts he has confounded the motion of body with the action or choice of mind. we have seen that all the illustrations adduced to throw light on this subject are fallacious. let this subject be studied in the light of consciousness, not through the darkening and confounding medium of false analogies, and we may safely anticipate a verdict in our favour. for who that will closely and steadily reflect upon _an action_ of the mind, does not perceive that it is different, in nature and in kind, from a passive impression made upon the mind from without? i do not say action, which president edwards seems to think does not signify any thing positive, such as _an action_, when it is set in opposition to passion; but i say that _an action_ itself is opposite in its nature to passion, to a produced effect. president edwards cannot escape the absurdity of his doctrine by alleging, that when action and passion are set in opposition, they do not signify opposite natures, but only opposite relations. for he has confounded _an act_ of the mind with a _passive impression_ made thereon; and these things are opposite in their natures, whether he is pleased to say that action and passion are opposite _natures_ or not. this position may be easily established. "i humbly conceive," says he, "that the affections of the soul are not properly distinguished from the will, as though they were two faculties in the soul." . . . . "the affections are no other than the more vigorous and sensible exercises of the inclination and will of the soul." these passages are referred to by president day to prove, that edwards regarded our "emotions or affections as acts of the will," p. . having confounded the will and the sensibility, it became exceedingly easy for edwards to show that a volition may be produced or caused: all that he had to do was to show, that an emotion may be produced, which is the same thing with an act of the will or a volition. it is upon this confusion of things, that his whole system rests; for if the sensibility is different from the will, as most persons, at the present day, will admit it is; then to excite an emotion, or to make a passive impression upon the sensibility, is very different from producing a volition. edwards has taken great pains with the superstructure of his system, while he has left its foundations without support. he has not shown, nor can any man show, that the sensibility and the will are one and the same faculty of the soul. he assumes that an emotion is an act of the will, and then proceeds to build upon it, and to argue from it, as if it were a clear and unquestionable truth. thus, he repeatedly says, that whatever pleases us most, or excites the most agreeable sensation, is that which "operates to induce a volition;" and to say otherwise, is to assert that that which pleases us most, does not please us most. such assertions, (and i have already had occasion to adduce many such,) clearly identify a sense of the most agreeable, or the most pleasing emotion, with an act of the will. his definition, as we have already seen, laid the foundation for this, and his arguments are based upon it. the passive impression, or the sensation produced, is, according to edwards, a volition! no wonder, then, that he could conceive of an action of the mind _as being produced_. the wonder is, how he could conceive of it _as being an action at all_. let us suppose, now, that a feeling or an emotion is produced by an object in view of the mind. it will follow, that the mind is passive in feeling, or in experiencing emotion. we are conscious of such feeling or emotion; and hence we infer, that we are susceptible of feeling or emotion. this susceptibility we call the sensibility, the heart, the affections, &c. but there is another phenomenon of our nature, which is perfectly distinct in nature and in kind from an emotion or a feeling. we are conscious of a volition or choice; and hence we infer that we have a power of acting, or putting forth volitions. this power we call the will. now, the phenomena exhibited by these two faculties of the soul, the sensibility and the will, are entirely different from each other; and there is not the least shadow of evidence going to show that the faculties themselves are one and the same. on the contrary, we are compelled by a fundamental law of belief, to regard the susceptibility of our nature, by which we feel, as different from that power of the soul, by which we act or put forth volitions. the only reason we have for saying that matter is different from mind, is that its manifestations or phenomena are different; and we have a similar reason for asserting, that the emotive part of our nature, or the sensibility, is distinct from the will. and yet, in the face of all this, president edwards has expressly denied that there is any difference between these two faculties of the soul. it is in this confusion of things, in this false psychology, that he has laid the foundation of his system. if president edwards be right, it is no wonder that the younger edwards should so often assert, that it is no more absurd to say, that volition may be caused, than it is to say, that feeling or emotion may be caused. for, if the doctrine in question be true, a volition is an emotion or feeling; and to produce the one is to produce the other. how short and easy has the path of the necessitarian been made, by a convenient definition! if we only bear the distinction between the sensibility and the will in mind, it will be exceedingly easy to see through the cloudy sophistications of the necessitarian. "how does it appear to be a _fact_," asks president day, "that the will cannot act when it is acted upon?" i reply that the _will_ is not acted upon at all; that passive impressions are made upon the sensibility, and not upon the will. this is a _fact_ which the necessitarian always overlooks. again; the same object may be both passive and active; passive with respect to one thing, and active with respect to another. thus, says president day, "the axe is passive, with respect to the hand which moves it; but active, with respect to the object which it strikes. the cricket club is passive in _receiving_ motion from the hand of the player; it is active in _communicating_ motion to the ball." the fallacy of all such illustrations, in confounding motion and action, i have already noticed, and i intend to say nothing more in relation to this point. but there is another less palpable fallacy in them. how are such illustrations intended to be applied to the phenomena of volition? is it meant, that volition itself is passive in relation to one thing, and active in relation to another? if so, i reply it is absurd to affirm, that volition, or an act, is passive in relation to any thing? is it meant, that not volition itself, but the will, is passive to that which acts upon it, while it is active in relation to its effect? if so, i contend that the will is not acted upon at all; that the passive impression is made upon the sensibility, and not upon the will. is it supposed, that it is neither the volition nor the will, which is both active and passive at the same time; but that it is the mind? this may be very true. the mind may be passive, if you please, in relation to that which acts upon its sensibility, while it is active in volition; but how does this prove the doctrine, that _an act_ may be produced by something else acting upon the will? how does this show, that action and passion are not confounded, in supposing that an act is caused? the passive impression, the state of the sensibility is produced but this is not _a volition_. the passive impression exists in the sensibility; the volition exists in the will. the first is a produced effect; the last is an act of the mind. and the only way in which this act of the mind itself has been linked with that which acts upon the mind, as an effect is linked with its cause, has been by confounding the _sensibility_ with the _will_; and the light of this distinction is no sooner held up, than we see that a very important link is wanting in the chain of the necessitarian's logic. let this light be carried around through all the dark corners of his system, and through all its dark labyrinths of words; and many a lurking sophism will be detected and brought out from its unsuspected hiding place. when it is said, that the same thing may be active and passive, this remark should be understood with reference to the mind itself. the language of the necessitarian, i am aware, sometimes points to the volition itself, and sometimes to the will; but we should always understand him as referring to the mind. he may not have so understood himself; but he must be so understood. for it is not the will that acts; it is the mind. this is conceded by the necessitarian. hence, when he says, that the same thing may be both active and passive, he must be understood as applying this proposition to the mind itself; and not to the will or to volition. it is the mind that acts; and hence the mind must be also passive; or we cannot say that _the same thing_ may be both active and passive. the mind then, it may be said, is both active and passive at the same time. but it is passive in regard to its emotions and feelings; and hence, if you please, these may be produced. it is active in regard to its volitions, or rather in its volitions; and hence these cannot be produced by the action of any thing upon the mind. to show that they can, the necessitarian, as we have seen, has confounded a passive impression with an active volition. if these be distinct, as they most clearly are, the necessitarian can make his point good, only by showing that the passive impression made upon the mind, is connected with the volition of the mind, as a producing cause is connected with its effect. but this he has not shown; and hence his whole system rests upon gratuitous and unfounded assumptions. i say his whole system; for if the mind cannot be caused to act, if it is absurd to speak of a produced action, it is not true, that an action or volition does or can result from the necessitating action, or influence of motives. section xi. of the argument from the foreknowledge of god. the argument from the foreknowledge of god, is one on which the necessitarian relies with great confidence. nor is this at all surprising; since to so many minds, even among distinguished philosophers, the prescience of deity and the free-agency of man have appeared to be irreconcilable. thus, says mr. stewart, "i have mentioned the attempt of clarke and others to show that no valid argument against the scheme of free-will can be deduced from the prescience of god, even supposing _that_ to extend to all the actions of voluntary beings. on this point i must decline offering any opinion of my own, because i conceive it as placed far beyond the reach of our faculties." dr. campbell also says, "to reconcile the divine prescience with the freedom, and even contingency, and consequently with the good or ill desert of human actions, is what i have never yet seen achieved by any, and indeed despair of seeing." and mr. locke declares, "i cannot make freedom in man consistent with omnipotence and omniscience in god, though i am as fully persuaded of both as of any truth i most firmly assent to; and therefore i have long since given off the consideration of that subject, resolving all into this short conclusion, that if it is possible for god to make a free-agent, then man is free, though i see not the way of it." sentiments like these, which are so often met with in the writings of eminent philosophers, have repeatedly led me to reconsider the conclusion at which i have arrived on this subject; but i have been able to discover no reason why it should be abandoned. indeed, if authority were a sufficient reason why the great difficulty in question should be regarded as incapable of being solved, i should abandon it in despair, and leave the necessitarian to make the most of his argument; but it has only induced me to proceed with the greater caution; and this, instead of having shaken my convictions, has settled them with the greater firmness and clearness in my mind. whether i am in the right, or whether i labour under a hallucination, satisfactory only to myself, and perplexing to all others, i must submit to the candid consideration of the reader. why should it be thought impossible to reconcile the free-agency of man with the foreknowledge of god? no one pretends that there is any disagreement between the things themselves, as they really exist; if there is any discrepancy in the case, it must exist only between our ideas of foreknowledge and free-agency. indeed, we cannot think of the things themselves, or compare them, except by means of the ideas we have formed of then; and if our ideas of them are really irreconcilable, it is because they have not been correctly formed, and do not correspond with the things themselves. what shall we do then? shall we set to work to reform our ideas? shall we explain away the free-agency of man, or deny the foreknowledge of god? no. we may retain both. edwards contends, that volitions are brought to pass by the influence of motives, and that it is impossible in any case, that a volition should depart from the influence of the strongest motive. this is the great doctrine of moral necessity, which it is the object of president edwards to establish. now, if his celebrated argument, or "demonstration," as it is called, proves this point, then it is to be held as true and valid; but if it only proves some other thing which is called by the name of necessity, it is not to the purpose. and if it can be shown, that his argument does not prove any thing at all in relation to the causation of choice, it will appear that it has no relevancy to the point at issue. the foreknowledge of god, i admit, infers the necessity of all human actions, in one sense of the word; but not that _kind_ of necessity for which any necessitarian pleads, or against which _any_ libertarian is at all concerned to contend. the fallacy of the argument in question is, that it shows all human actions to be necessary in a sense in which it is not opposed to any scheme of liberty whatever, and assumes them to be necessary in another and quite different sense; and thus the great doctrine of freewill, otherwise so clear and unquestionable, is overshadowed and obscured by an imperfect and ambiguous phraseology, rather than by the inherent difficulties of the subject. this is the position which i shall endeavour to establish. the first argument of president edwards is as follows. when the existence of a thing is infallibly and indissolubly connected with something else, which has already had existence, then its existence is necessary; but the future volitions of moral agents, are infallibly and indissolubly connected with the foreknowledge of god; and therefore they are necessary, p. - . now this argument is perfectly sound; the conclusion is really contained in the premise, or definition of necessity, and it is fairly deduced from it. it is as perfect as any syllogism in euclid _but what does it prove?_ it proves that all human actions are necessary--but in what sense? does it prove that they are necessary with a _moral necessity?_ does it prove that they are brought to pass by the influence of moral causes? no such thing is even pretended: "i allow what dr. whitby says to be true," says edwards, "that mere foreknowledge does not affect the thing known, to _make_ it more certain or future," p. . he admits that foreknowledge exerts "no influence on the thing known to make it necessary." he does not even pretend that there is any _moral necessity_ shown to exist by this argument; and hence his conclusion has no connexion with the great doctrine of the inquiry, or the point in dispute. it aims at the word, but not at the thing. the infallible connexion it shows to exist, is admitted to be entirely different from the infallible connexion between moral causes and volitions; that is to say, it is admitted that it does not prove any thing to the purpose. but is the indissoluble connexion, or necessity, established by this argument, at all inconsistent with human liberty? if it is not; and if our scheme of liberty is perfectly consistent and reconcilable with it; then it infers nothing, and is nothing, that is opposed to what we hold. this question admits of an easy solution. the foreknowledge of a future event proves it to be necessary in precisely the same manner that the knowledge of a present event shows it to be necessary. this is conceded by edwards. "all certain knowledge," says he, "whether it be foreknowledge, or after knowledge, or concomitant knowledge, proves the thing known now to be necessary, by some means or other; _or proves that it is impossible it should now be otherwise than true_," p. . and again, "all certain knowledge proves the necessity of the truth known; whether it be _before_, or _after_, or _at the same time_," p. ; and so in other places. in what sense then, let us inquire, does the knowledge of a present event prove it to be necessary? it is necessary, says edwards, because it is indissolubly connected with the knowledge of it. in other words, it could not possibly be known to exist, unless it did exist; and hence, its existence is said to be indissolubly connected with the knowledge of its existence, or, in other words, it is said to be necessary. this is all true; but is this indissoluble connexion, or necessity, at all inconsistent with the contingency of the event known? _this is the question;_ and let us not lose sight of it in a mist of words. let it be distinctly borne in mind, and it will be easily settled. for this purpose, let us suppose, to adopt the language of president edwards, "that nonentity is about to bring forth;" and that an event comes into being without any cause of its existence. this event then exists; it is seen, and it is known to exist. now, even on this wild supposition, there is an infallible and indissoluble connexion between the existence of the event and the knowledge of it; and hence it is necessary, in the sense above explained. but what has this necessary connexion to do with the cause of its existence? this indissoluble connexion, this dire necessity, is perfectly consistent, as we have seen, with the supposition that the event had no cause at all of its existence. how can it conflict, then, with any scheme of free-agency that ever was dreamed of by man? if this argument proves any thing in regard to human actions, it only proves that a volition has an effect, and not that it has a cause. indeed, it has been said, that the knowledge of an event is the effect of its existence; and the same remark has been extended to the foreknowledge of god with respect to the future volitions of human beings. this position is not denied by edwards; he considers, in fact, that it strengthens, rather than weakens, his argument. "because it shows the existence of the event to be so settled and firm, that _it is as if it had already been;_ inasmuch as _in effect_ it actually exists already;" and much more to the same purpose, p. - . "it is as strong arguing," says he, "from the effect to the cause, as from the cause to the effect." this is all true; it is as strong arguing from effect to cause, as it is from cause to effect. but do the arguments prove the same thing? let us see. i know a thing to exist; and therefore it does exist. this is to reason from effect to cause. the conclusion is inevitable; but what does it prove? why, it proves that the thing does exist--it proves the bare fact of existence. the indissoluble connexion, or the necessity, in this case, exists between the knowledge and the event known; and it has no relation to the question how the event came to exist. this argument, then, in regard to human volitions, only proves that they are indissolubly connected with their effects, and are necessarily implied by them; just as every cause is implied by its effects: but no libertarian in the world has ever questioned such a position. for all that such an argument proves, all the volitions of moral agents may come into existence, without having the least shadow of reason or ground of their existence. we admit that volitions are efficient causes; and that they have effects, with which they are indissolubly connected. edwards undertook to show, that volitions are necessary, because they are infallibly and indissolubly connected with their causes; and he has shown that they are necessary, because they are infallibly and indissolubly connected with their effects! this is one branch of his great argument. there is another sense, in which the knowledge of an event, whether it be _fore_, or _after_, or _concomitant_, knowledge, proves it to be necessary. this sense is not clearly distinguished from the former by edwards. he recognizes them both, however, although he blends them together, and frequently turns from the one to the other in the course of his argument. it is highly important, and affords no little satisfaction, to keep them clearly distinct in our minds. a thing is said to be necessary, as we have seen, because it is connected with the knowledge of it; and, if a thing does exist, or is certainly and infallibly known to exist, it may be said to be necessary, on the principle that it is impossible it should exist and not exist at one and the same time. these two things are evidently different; and, for the sake of distinctness in our language, as well as in our thoughts, i shall call the first a _logical_, and the last an _axiomatical_ necessity. a thing, then, which does exist, is said to be necessary with an _axiomatical_ necessity; because it is impossible for it not to exist while it does exist: and it is said to be necessary, with a _logical_ necessity, because it is indissolubly connected with the knowledge of it. the former kind of necessity is frequently presented in this form of expression, that if a thing does exist, it is impossible it should be otherwise than true that it does exist. in this form of expression, it is frequently resorted to by edwards. thus, says he, "i observed before, in explaining the nature of necessity, that in things which are past, their past existence is now _necessary;_ having already made sure of existence, _it is now impossible that it should be otherwise than true, that the thing has existed_," p. - . just so we may say in relation to things which now exist; for, having already made sure of existence, it is impossible it should be otherwise than true, that they do now exist; or, in other words, it is impossible they should not exist while they do exist. in like manner, if the future existence of any thing is foreknown, "it is impossible it should be otherwise than true," that it should exist, or come to pass: that is to say, if it will exist, it will be impossible for it not to exist at the time of its existence. foreknowledge, i admit, infers this kind of necessity; but is this any thing to the purpose? the conclusion is the same, whether it be deduced from foreknowledge, or concomitant knowledge. let us suppose, then, for the sake of clearness and convenience, that a thing is now known to exist. it follows from hence, by a _logical_ necessity, that it does exist; for it could not possibly be known to exist, unless it did exist. and, as it does exist, "it is impossible that it should be otherwise than true that it does exist;" or, in other words, it is impossible for it not to exist now, while it does exist. this is all there is in this part of the argument. and what does it amount to? it is a simple declaration of what no body ever denied--that if a thing exists, or is to exist, or has existed, it is impossible to conceive of it as not existing at the time of its existence. all this is perfectly true, without the least reference to the question, how it came to exist, or how it will come to exist? it is wholly irrelevant to the point at issue. it controverts no position, held by any sane man that now lives, or that ever has lived. in other words, if a thing is known to exist, certainly and infallibly, then it does exist; and if it does exist, then "it is impossible it should be otherwise than true" that it does exist; and hence its existence is said to be necessary with an _axiomatical_ necessity. but this does not prove that it is _necessarily produced_. for, supposing it to exist, its existence would be necessary in the above sense, even if it had no cause of its existence. the necessity here referred to, is a necessity _in the order of our ideas_, and not _in the course of events_. it arises from the impossibility of a thing's not existing at the time it does exist; and it has no reference whatever to the causation of any thing: it is a fundamental law of belief, and not a _causal_ necessity. these three things, an _axiomatical_, a _logical_, and a _causal_ necessity, are most strangely confounded in the argument of president edwards. will it be said, that in this argument, it was not the object of edwards, to prove that there is a moral necessity in regard to our volitions; but only that they are "not without all necessity?" suppose this to be the case, with whom has he any controversy, or to what purpose has he argued? no one has ever held that human volitions are "without all necessity," according to edwards' use of that term; and no one can hold it. no one can deny, that there is an indissoluble connexion between the existence of a thing, and the certain and infallible knowledge of its existence; or between the effect of a thing and the thing itself; or that it is impossible for a thing not to exist while it does exist. in these senses of the word, all rational creatures are bound to acknowledge that human volitions are necessary. the most strenuous advocate of free-agency has not one word to say against them; and such being the meaning of edwards, we must all heartily concur with him, when he says, "that there is no geometrical theorem or proposition whatever more capable of _strict demonstration_, than that god's certain prescience of the volition of moral agents is inconsistent with such a contingency of these events, _as is without all necessity_," p. - . if it can be truly said, that a thing is foreknown, it follows that it will come to pass, or the proposition which affirms the future existence of it, is necessarily true. in other words, it is self-contradictory and absurd, to assert that a thing is foreknown, and yet that it may not come to pass; just as it is to assert that a thing is known to exist and yet at the same time does not exist. hence, it is frequently alleged by edwards, that to deny his conclusions, drawn from foreknowledge, is self-contradictory and absurd; unless we deny foreknowledge itself. to admit this, says he, and yet contend that the thing foreknown may possibly not be, is to fall into a plain contradiction, and "to suppose god's foreknowledge to be inconsistent with itself," p. . is it not strange, that it did not occur to edwards, that if to deny his position is to deny that god foreknows what he foreknows; then to affirm it, is only to affirm that he foreknows what he foreknows? indeed, all those reasonings in which he represents the denial of his position as self-contradictory and absurd, should have convinced him that he could prove nothing to the purpose, by arguing from the foreknowledge of god, or else he must assume the very thing in dispute, by taking it for granted that it is future; or, which is the same thing in effect, that it is foreknown. for in admitting any premise, we admit, no more than is contained in it; and if we only deny what is not contained in our admission, we are not involved in a self-contradiction, or absurdity. in alleging that we have done this, therefore, in the present case;--in alleging that we contradict ourselves by admitting the foreknowledge of god, and in denying necessity, he takes it for granted that the very thing in dispute is included in that foreknowledge. in other words, if edwards does not mean to say, that the point in dispute is included in the foreknowledge of god; then he cannot say, that we contradict ourselves by admitting that divine prescience; and if he does mean to say, that the thing which we deny is included in the foreknowledge of god, then he begs the question. it is freely conceded, that whatever god foreknows will most certainly and infallibly come to pass. he foresees all human volitions; and, therefore, they will most certainly and infallibly come to pass, in some manner or other: the bare fact of their future existence is clearly established by god's foreknowledge of them. and if all human volitions will be brought to pass, by the operation of moral causes; then this manner of their existence is foreknown to god, and will all come to pass in this way; but to take this for granted, is to beg the question. we have just as much right to suppose, that god foreknows that the volitions of moral agents are not necessitated, as the necessitarian has to suppose that he foreknows the contrary; and then it would follow that our volitions are necessarily free, or without any producing causes. if god foreknows that our actions will come to pass in the way we call freely, (and we have as much right to this supposition as our opponents have to the contrary,) then, as foreknowledge infers necessity, our actions are necessarily free. and surely, if the necessity which is inferred from foreknowledge, is predicable of freedom itself, it cannot be inconsistent with it. in other words, if the necessity of human volitions, according to the scheme of edwards, be a fact, then it was foreknown to god that such is the fact; and, if we please, we may infer the fact from his foreknowledge, after having inferred his foreknowledge from the fact. on the other hand, if the scheme of necessity be a mere hypothesis, having no corresponding reality in the universe; then god never foreknew that it is according to such scheme that all human actions are brought to pass; unless he foreknew things to be necessitated which in reality are not necessitated. hence, we can prove nothing by reasoning from the foreknowledge of god; except what we first assume to be true, and consequently foreknown to him; and, if we choose to resort to this pitiful way of begging the question, we may prove our hypothesis just as well as any other. the foreknowledge of an event, as i have already said, proves nothing more nor less than _the bare certainty_ of its future existence; it decides nothing as _to the manner_ of its coming into existence. the necessitarian may ring the changes upon this subject as long as he pleases, and all he can possibly make out of it is, that if god foreknows a thing, it will certainly be, and to suppose otherwise, is a contradiction. thus, says edwards, "to suppose the future volitions of moral agents not to be necessary events; or, which is the same thing, events which it is not possible but that they may come to pass; and yet to suppose that god certainly foreknows them, and knows all things, is to suppose god's knowledge to be inconsistent with itself. for to say that god certainly, and without all conjecture, knows that a thing will infallibly be, which at the same time he knows to be so _contingent_ that it may possibly not be, is to suppose his knowledge inconsistent with itself; or that one thing he knows is utterly inconsistent with another thing he knows. it is the same as to say, he now knows a proposition to be of certain infallible truth, which he knows to be of contingent uncertain truth. if a future volition is so without all necessity, that nothing hinders but it may not be, then the proposition which asserts its future existence is so uncertain, that nothing hinders but that the truth of it may entirely fail. and if god knows all things, he knows this proposition to be thus uncertain; and that is inconsistent with his knowing it to be infallibly true; and so inconsistent with his knowing that it is true." p. . now all this going around and around amounts to just this, that if god certainly and infallibly foreknows a thing, he certainly and infallibly foreknows it, or that if it will certainly come to pass, it will certainly come to pass. we admit that the certainty of all future events is implied in god's foreknowledge of them. does the argument in question prove any more than the bare fact of the certainty of the events foreknown? the argument, so far as we have yet followed it, clearly does not. it merely proves the bare fact of the certainty of existence. indeed, edwards himself says, that "metaphysical or philosophical necessity," (and this is the necessity for which he here contends,) "is nothing different from their certainty." p. . and the younger edwards frequently says, "if a proposition asserting some future event, be a real and absolute truth, there is an absolute certainty of the event; _such absolute certainty is all that is implied in the divine foreknowledge; and all the moral necessity for which we plead_." p. . now, if these writers merely mean that a thing is certain, when they say it is necessary, it is to be regretted that they did not use the right word. it would have saved their works from no little confusion. but the truth is, that the moral necessity for which they contend consists sometimes in the certainty of an event, and sometimes in _the ground_ of that certainty. volitions are said to be morally necessitory in their definition, and in their system, because they are _made certain by the influence of moral causes_. but in their arguments, and the defence of their system, _the bare absolute certainty_, without any reference to the ground of it, is frequently all that is meant by moral necessity. thus, they build upon one idea of necessity, while they attack and defend themselves upon another idea thereof. this is our present starting point then, agreed upon by all sides, that the foreknowledge of god infers the certainty of all future realities. now, how can we conclude from hence, that the volitions of moral agents are, not only certain, but rendered certain by the influence of moral causes? it may be said, that it is sufficient that the foreknowledge of god proves that human volitions will certainly come to pass in some way or other; for if they will certainly come to pass in any way, we know that they must have some cause of their existence; and it is just as absurd to suppose that a volition can come into being without any cause of its existence, as it is to suppose that a world can come into being of itself. if this ground should be taken, (and it certainly will be,) the reply is obvious. it would show that the divine prescience can only prove the certainty of future events while it is left to the old maxim, that every effect must have a cause, in order to make out the doctrine of moral necessity, or the point in dispute! it would show, that after all the parade made with the divine prescience, it leaves the whole argument to rest upon ground which has already been occupied by one side, and fully considered by the other! it would only show, that a great pretence of demonstration had been made from the foreknowledge of god; whereas, in fact, it proves nothing to the purpose, unless "its most impotent and lame conclusion" be helped out by something else! another attempt is made to link the conclusion drawn from the foreknowledge of god, with the point to be established by the necessitarian. it is said, that god could not foreknow all future events, unless he views them as connected with known causes. this ground is taken by many eminent necessitarians. thus, says dr. john dick, "future events cannot be foreseen, unless they are certain; they cannot be certain, unless god have determined to bring them to pass." the same position is assumed by president edwards, "there must be a certainty in things themselves," says he, "before they are certainly foreknown." . . . "there must be a certainty in things to be a ground of certainty of knowledge, and render things capable of being known to be certain." p. . now, what is this certainty in things themselves, or in human volitions, without which they are incapable of being foreknown? the answer is obvious; for edwards every where contends, that unless volitions are brought to pass by the _influence_ of moral causes--that unless they are necessarily produced by an "effectual power and efficacy"--they are altogether uncertain and contingent, and connected with nothing that can render them certain. hence, he clearly maintains, that unless human volitions are necessarily brought to pass by the influence of motives, they are not certain in themselves, and hence are incapable of being foreknown. and besides, he has a laboured argument to prove, that god could not foreknow the future volitions of moral agents, unless he views them as "necessarily connected with something else that is evident." pp. - . this something else is not foreknowledge itself; for it is the ground of foreknowledge, it is the necessary influence of motives, or moral causes. but we need not dwell upon this point, as this is so evidently his meaning; and if it is not, then it is nothing to the purpose. if edwards means that a thing cannot be foreknown unless it has a sufficient ground and reason for its existence, and does not of itself come forth out of nothing, we are not at all concerned to deny his position. every advocate of free-agency contends, that volition proceeds from the mind, acting in view of motives; and therefore is not destitute of a sufficient ground and reason of its existence. he denies that volition is necessarily brought to pass by the operation of motives. hence, if edwards merely means that god could not foreknow a human volition, unless he foreknew all the circumstances in view of the mind when it is to act, as well as the nature and all the circumstances of the mind from which the act is to proceed; no advocate of free-agency is at all concerned to deny his position. it may be true, or it may be false; but it establishes nothing which may not be consistently admitted by the advocates of free-agency. if he means any thing to the purpose, he must mean, that god could not foresee human volitions, unless they are necessarily connected with causes, according to his scheme of moral necessity; that is, unless they are necessarily produced by "the action or influence" of motives, or moral causes. if this is his meaning, then indeed it is something to the purpose; but what unbounded presumption is it, on the part of a poor blind worm of the dust, thus to set bounds and limits to the modes of knowledge possesssd by an infinite, all-knowing god! it is true, that "no understanding, created or uncreated, can see evidence where there is none"; but what kind of evidence that is, by which all things are rendered perfectly clear to the eye of omniscience, it is surely not for us to determine. that all things are known to god, is freely admitted; but that they can be known, only by reason of their resulting from the necessitating influence of known causes, which are themselves necessitated, is more than any finite mind should presume to affirm. it were, indeed, to make our shallow, limited, and feeble intellects, the measure of all possible modes of knowledge. it were to make god like one of ourselves. yet this position the necessitarian has been compelled to assume. after all his pretended demonstrations from the foreknowledge of god, his argument can reach the point in dispute, only by means of this tremendous flight of presumption. let the necessitarian show, that god cannot foresee future events, unless he "have determined to bring them to pass," or unless they are brought to pass by a chain of producing causes, ultimately connected with his own will; and he will prove something to the purpose. but let him not talk so boastfully about demonstrations, while there is this exceedingly weak link in the chain of his argument. if god were so like one of ourselves, that he could not foresee future volitions, unless they are brought to pass by the operation of known causes; then, i admit, that his foreknowledge would infer the moral necessity for which edwards contends, provided he really possesses that knowledge; but if he were so imperfect a being, i should be compelled to believe, that there are some things which he could not foreknow. this assumption comes with a peculiarly ill grace from the necessitarian. he should be the last man to contend, that god cannot foresee future events unless they are involved in known producing causes; just as all that we know of the future is ascertained by reasoning from known causes to effects. for he contends that with god, "there is no time"; but that to his view all things are seen as if they were present. his knowledge is without succession, and there is no before nor after with him; all things are intimately present to his mind from all eternity. such is the doctrine of both the edwardses; and dr. dick believes, that "god sees all things at a glance." now, present things are not known to exist, because they are implied by known causes, but because they are present and seen. and hence, if god sees all things as present, there is not the shadow of a foundation whereon to rest the proof of "moral necessity" from his foreknowledge. it is all taken away by their own doctrine, and their argument is left without the least support from it. indeed, there is no need of lugging the foreknowledge of god into the present controversy, except it be to deceive the mind. for all future events will certainly and infallibly come to pass, whether they are foreknown or not; and foreknowledge cannot make the matter any more certain than it is without it. we may say that god foreknows all things, and we may mix this up with all possible propositions; but this will never help the conclusion, that "all future things will certainly and infallibly come to pass." if god should cease to foreknow all future volitions, or if he had never foreknown them, they would, nevertheless, just as certainly and infallibly come to pass, as if he had foreknown them from all eternity. the bare naked fact, that they are future infers all that is implied in god's foreknowledge of them; and it is just as much a contradiction in terms, to say that what is future will not come to pass, as it is to say, that what god foreknows will never take place. hence, by bringing in the prescience of deity, we do not really strengthen or add to the conclusion in favour of necessity. it only furnishes a very convenient and plausible method of begging the question, or of seeming to prove something by hiding our sophisms in the blaze of the divine attributes. it only serves as a veil, behind which is concealed those sophistical tricks, by which both the performer and the spectator are deceived. this whole argument from the foreknowledge of god, is, indeed, a grand specimen of undesigned metaphysical jugglery, by which the mind is called off in one direction, whilst it is deceived, perplexed, and confounded, by not seeing what takes place in another. it appears from these things, that those persons who have endeavoured to clear up this matter, by supposing that some things are not foreknown to god; have only got rid of one of the divine attributes, and not of their difficulty. it appears also, that edwards might have made his argument far more simple and direct, by leaving out the long section in which he proves that god really foreknows all _future_ things; and confining himself to the simple proposition, "that all future events will certainly and infallibly come to pass;" that "it is a contradiction in terms to say that a thing is future and yet that it will not come to pass"; or, in other words, "if a thing is future, _it is impossible it should be otherwise than true_," that it will come to pass. and how unreasonable are those, who have imagined that we are free-agents, because god has chosen not to foresee our free actions; as if the supposition that he might have foreseen them, does not infer necessity just as much as the fact that he does foresee them. indeed, these reasoners seem to have expected to see one truth, by shutting their eyes upon another! mr. hobbes has an argument to prove necessity, precisely like that of edwards, except that its nakedness is not covered up with the foreknowledge of god. "let the case be put," says he, "of the weather: 'tis necessary that to-morrow it shall rain or not rain. if, therefore, it be not necessary that it shall rain, it is necessary it shall not rain; otherwise there is no necessity that the proposition, it shall rain or not rain, should be true." this sophism confounds the _axiomatical necessity_ referred to in the premise, that it must rain or not rain, with the _causal necessity_ intended to be deduced from it in the conclusion. this poor sophism has been adopted by mr. locke, and seriously employed to prove that human volitions "cannot be free." thus, says he, "it is unavoidably necessary to prefer the doing or forbearance of an action in a man's power, which is once proposed to a man's thoughts. the act of volition or preferring one of the two, being that, which he cannot avoid, a man in respect of that act of willing is under necessity." here we have precisely the same confusion of an _axiomatical_ with a _causal_ necessity, that occurs in the argument of mr. hobbes. and yet, the younger edwards has deemed this argument of mr. locke as worthy of his special notice and commendation; and president day falls in with the same idea, alleging that "we will because we cannot avoid willing," because we must either choose or refuse. is it not wonderful, that these philosophers should have imagined, that they had any controversy with any one, in contending so manfully that the mind, under certain circumstances, must either choose or refuse? or that they could infer any thing from this, in favour of a causal necessity--the only question in dispute? with what clearness! with what force! would president edwards have dashed this poor flimsy sophism into a thousand atoms, if he had come across it in the atheism of hobbes! but, unfortunately, he came across it in a different direction; and hence, he has rescued it from the loathsome dunghill of atheistical trash, invested it with dignity, seeming to clothe it in the solemn sanction of religion, by covering it up in the ample folds of the divine omniscience. this, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter. the prescience of god does not _make_ our volitions necessary; it only _proves_ them to be certain. this is conceded by edwards. it proves them to be certain, just as present knowledge proves them to be certain. this also is admitted by edwards. but present knowledge proves an act of the mind to be certain, because it is infallibly connected with that knowledge, and not because it is necessitated by the influence of a cause. it proves it to be certain, because it is impossible for a volition, or any thing else, not to exist at the time of its existence, and not because it is impossible for it to come to pass without being necessitated. in short, it proves an _axiomatical_ and a _logical_ necessity, but not a _causal_ necessity; that is to say, it proves nothing to the point in dispute. the necessitarian can connect his conclusion with the thing he has undertaken to prove, in only one of two ways: he may say, that if an event is certain, it cannot come into existence without a producing cause; or he may allege, that god cannot foresee them, unless he is determined to bring them to pass. if he takes the former position, he really discards the argument from foreknowledge, and returns for support to the old argument, that every effect must have a cause. and if he assumes the latter, maintaining that god cannot foreknow future events unless he reasons from producing causes to effects, he builds his argument, not upon foreknowledge alone, but upon this in connection with a most unwarrantable flight of presumption, without which the argument from prescience is good for nothing. and besides, the bringing in of the divine prescience, only serves to blind, and not to illuminate. for god foreknows only what is future; and all future things will come to pass just as infallibly, without being foreknown, as they will with it. if we assume them to be future, it is just as much a contradiction to deny that they will come to pass; as it is to assume that they are foreknown and yet deny it. nothing can be proved in this way, except what is assumed or taken for granted; and the foreknowledge of god is only a plausible way of begging the question, or concealing a sophism. in conclusion, the necessitarian takes the wrong course in his inquiries, and lays his premises in the dark. to illustrate this point:--i know that i act; and hence, i conclude that god foreknew that i would act. and again, i know that my act is not necessitated, that it does necessarily proceed from the action, or influence of causes; and hence, i conclude that god foreknew that i would thus act freely, in precisely this manner, and not otherwise. thus, i reason from what i know to what i do not know, from my knowledge of the actual world as it is, up to god's foreknowledge respecting it. the necessitarian pursues the opposite course. he reasons from what he does not know, that is, from the particulars of the divine foreknowledge, about which he absolutely knows nothing _a priori_, down to the facts of the actual world. thus, quitting the light which shines so brightly within us and around us, he seeks for light in the midst of impenetrable darkness. he endeavours to determine the phenomena of the world, not by looking at them and seeing what they are; but by deducing conclusions from god's infinite foreknowledge respecting them! in doing this, a grand illusion is practised, by his merely supposing that the volitions themselves are foreknown, without taking into the supposition the whole of the case, and recollecting that god not only foresees all our actions, but also all about them. for if this were done, if it were remembered that he not only foresees that our volitions will come to pass, but also _how_ they will come to pass; the necessitarian would see, that nothing could be proved in this way except what is first tacitly assumed. the grand illusion would vanish, and it would be clearly seen, that if the argument from foreknowledge proves any thing, it just as well proves the _necessity of freedom_ as any thing else. indeed, it does seem to me, that it is one of the most wonderful phenomena in the history of the human mind, that, in reasoning about facts in relation to which the most direct and palpable sources of evidence are open before us, so many of its brightest ornaments should so long have endeavoured to draw conclusions from "the dark unknown" of god's foreknowledge; without perceiving that this is to reject the true method, to invert the true order of inquiry, and to involve the inquirer in all the darkness and confusion inseparable therefrom: without perceiving that no powers, however great, that no genius, however exalted, can possibly extort from such a method any thing but the dark, and confused, and perplexing exhibitions of an ingenious logomachy. section xii. of edwards' use of the term necessity. in the controversy concerning the will, nothing is of more importance, it will readily be admitted, than to guard against the influence of the ambiguity of words. yet, it may be shown, that president edwards has used the principal terms in this controversy in an exceedingly loose and indeterminate manner. this he has done especially in regard to the term _necessity_. his very definition prepares the way for such an abuse of language. "_philosophical necessity_," says he, "is really nothing else than the full and fixed connexion between the things signified by the subject and predicate of a proposition, which affirms something to be true. when there is such a connexion, then the thing affirmed in the proposition is necessary, in a philosophical sense, whether any opposition or contrary effort be supposed or no. when the subject and predicate of the proposition, which affirms the existence of any thing, either substance, quality, act, or circumstance, have a full and certain connexion, then the existence or being of that thing is said to be _necessary_ in a metaphysical sense. and in this sense i use the word _necessity_, in the following discourse, when i endeavour to prove _that necessity is not inconsistent with liberty_." "the subject and predicate of a proposition, which affirms existence of something, may have a full, fixed, and certain connexion several ways." " . they may have a full and perfect connexion _in and of themselves;_ because it may imply a contradiction, or gross absurdity, to suppose them not connected. thus many things are necessary in their own nature. so the eternal existence of being, generally considered, is necessary _in itself;_ because it would be in itself the greatest absurdity, to deny the existence of being in general, or to say there was absolute and universal nothing; and as it were the sum of all contradictions; as might be shown, if this were the proper place for it. so god's infinity, and other attributes are necessary. so it is necessary _in its own nature_, that two and two should be four; and it is necessary, that all right lines drawn from the centre to the circumference should be equal. it is necessary, fit, and suitable, that men should do to others, as they would that they should do to them. so innumerable metaphysical and mathematical truths are necessary _in themselves_; the subject and predicate of the proposition which affirms them, are perfectly connected of _themselves_." " . the connexion of the subject and predicate of a proposition, which affirms the existence of something, may be fixed and made certain, because the existence of that thing is _already_ come to pass; and either now is, or has been; and so has, as it were, made sure of existence. and therefore, the proposition which affirms present or past existence of it, may by this means, be made certain, and necessarily and unalterably true; the past event has fixed and decided the matter, as to its existence; and has made it impossible but that existence should be truly predicated of it. thus the existence of whatever is already come to pass, is now become necessary; it is become impossible it should be otherwise than true, that such a thing has been." " . the subject and predicate of a proposition which affirms something to be, may have a real and certain connexion _consequentially_; and so the existence of the thing may be consequentially necessary, as it may be surely and firmly connected with something else, that is necessary in one of the former respects. as it is either fully and thoroughly connected with that which is absolutely necessary in its own nature; or with something which has already made sure of its existence. this necessity lies _in_, and may be explained _by_, the connexion between two or more propositions, one with another. things which are _perfectly connected_ with other things that are necessary, are necessary themselves, by a necessity of consequence." after having defined what he means by philosophical or metaphysical necessity, he tells us, that this is the sense in which he uses the word, when he endeavours to show that necessity is not inconsistent with liberty. and yet under "this sense," how many totally distinct ideas are embraced! the eternal existence of being in general; the attributes of god; the proposition that two and two are four; the equality of the radii of a circle; the moral duty that we should do as we would be done by; the existence of a thing which has already come to pass; the existence of things, that are connected with that which is absolutely necessary in itself, or with something that has already made sure of its existence; the connexion of two or more propositions with each other--all these things are included in his definition of philosophical necessity! and yet he tells us, that he uses the term in this sense (in what sense?) when he undertakes to reconcile liberty with necessity! when he says, that he employs the word in _this_ sense, one would suppose that, as a great metaphysician, he referred to some one of its precise and definite significations; but no such thing. he merely refers to its philosophical sense, which, according to his own explanation, embraces a multitude of different ideas. hence, although he may keep close to this philosophical sense of the word, "in the ensuing discourse;" yet he may, before the discourse is concluded, shift his position a thousand times from one of these ideas to another. and he may always seem, to superficial observers, to speak of the same thing; because although the things spoken of are really different, they are all drawn together under one definition, and called by one name. he not only may have done this; he actually has done it. and if he had formed the express design to envelope the whole subject in a cloud of sophistry, he could not have taken a better course to accomplish his object. it was the design of the inquiry to establish the doctrine of moral necessity; and hence it was incumbent on president edwards to reconcile this kind of necessity, and not philosophical necessity, with the free-agency of man. he contends that there is a necessary connexion between the influence of motives and volitions. this he calls moral necessity. it differs from natural necessity, says he, it differs from the necessary connexion between cause and effect; but yet, he expressly tells us, that this difference "does not lie so much _in the nature of the connexion_, as in the _terms connected_." in both cases, he maintains, the connexion is necessary and absolute. the two terms connected are different; but the kind and nature of the connexion is the same. this is the kind of necessity for which he pleads; and we can never be satisfied with his scheme, until the term shall be used in this precise and definite sense, and the doctrine it expresses shall be shown to be consistent with the true idea and feeling of liberty in the human breast. it will not, it cannot satisfy the mind, that any other kind of necessity is reconcilable with liberty; while it remains to be shown that moral necessity, as it is defined and explained in the inquiry, is consistent with the free-agency of man. there is one sense of the term in question, says he, "which especially belongs to the controversy about acts of the will," p. . it is what he calls "a necessity of consequence." this would be very true, if he merely meant by a necessity of consequence, to refer to the necessary connexion between cause and effect. but this is not his meaning; for he expressly says, that "a necessity of consequence" "lies _in_, and may be explained _by_, the connexion of two or more propositions one with another." now what has the connexion between any two or all the propositions in the universe, to do with the controversy about acts of the will? is it not evident, that it is the connexion which subsists between effects and their producing causes, and which is supposed to subsist between motives and actions, that has to do with the controversy in question; and that the connexion which subsists between two or more propositions is entirely foreign to the subject? it may be said, that by "a necessity of consequence," edwards referred not only to the connexion between two or more propositions, but also to the connexion between cause and effect. this is undoubtedly true; for he speaks of effects as coming to pass by this kind of necessity. but then it is to be lamented that two ideas, which are so perfectly distinct, should have been couched under the same mode of expression, and treated as if they were identically the same. such a confounding of different ideas, has led to no little confusion and error in the reasoning of president edwards. the subject of the last section furnishes a striking illustration of the justness of this remark. from the proposition that a volition is certainly and infallibly foreknown, it follows, by a necessity of consequence, that it will come to pass. this is an instance of the necessary connexion between two ideas or propositions; between the idea or proposition, that a certain volition is foreknown, and the idea that it will come to pass; between the proposition which affirms that, it is foreknown, and the idea that it will come to pass in other words, the proposition which affirms that it is foreknown, necessarily assumes that it will come to pass; and to deny this assumption, at the same time that we make it, is surely to be guilty of a contradiction in terms. to suppose that a volition will not come to pass, is inconsistent with the proposition that it is certainly and infallibly foreknown. edwards himself has frequently declared that this is the kind of necessity which is inferred from foreknowledge. in truth, the necessary connexion which exists between the idea that a thing is foreknown, and the truth of the proposition which predicates future existence of it, is perfectly distinct from the necessary connexion between cause and effect. they are as widely different, as the connexion between any two propositions in euclid is from the connexion between the motion of a ball and the force by which it is put in motion. hence, the kind of necessity which is involved in the idea of foreknowledge, has nothing to do with the controversy about acts of the will. there is, in like manner, a necessary connexion between the idea that a volition is now certainly and infallibly known to exist, and the truth of the proposition which affirms present existence of it; and hence, its present existence is necessary, by "a necessity of consequence," according to the definition of president edwards. but all this has no relevancy to the question, as to _how_ that volition came to pass. its present existence is necessarily connected with the idea that it is certainly known to exist; but this is "a necessity of consequence" which "lies in, and may be explained by, the connexion between two or more propositions." it is not "a necessity of consequence" that lies _in_, or can be explained _by_, the connexion between cause and effect. the two things are entirely different, and it is strange, that they should always have been confounded by president edwards. i do most certainly and infallibly know, for example, that i am now _willing_ to write; and from this knowledge, it necessarily follows, that i am now _willing_ to write. but if any one should infer from hence, that i am necessitated to write, by the operation of some cause, we should certainly think his inference very badly drawn. yet this is precisely the way in which the necessitarian proceeds, when he infers the necessity of human actions from the foreknowledge of god. he confounds the necessary connexion between two propositions, with the necessary connexion between cause and effect. this single ambiguity has been a mighty instrument in the building up of that portentous scheme of necessity, which has seemed to overshadow the glory and beauty of man's nature as a free and accountable being. this is not the only ambiguity of the term in question which has been turned to account by the necessitarian. in opposition to the scheme of moral necessity, or the necessary connexion between volitions and the influence of motives, it has been said, that volitions are produced neither by motives, nor by preceding acts of choice. this is a direct denial of the doctrine of moral necessity, of the only thing which we are at all concerned to deny. we may thus attempt to escape from the thing, but the name still pursues us. for, to this view of the subject, president edwards replies as follows: "if any shall see cause to deny this, and say they hold no such thing as that every action is chosen or determined by a foregoing choice; but that the very first exertion of will only, undetermined by any preceding act, is properly called action; then i say, such a man's notion of action implies necessity; for what the mind is the subject of, without the determination of its own previous choice, it is the subject of necessarily, as to any hand that free choice has in the affair; and without any ability the mind has to prevent it, by any will or election of its own; because by the supposition it precludes all previous acts of the will or choice in the case, which might prevent it. so that it is again, in this other way, implied in the notion of an act, that, it is both necessary and not necessary," p. . it is in this manner, that president edwards disposes of this important view of the subject of free-agency. let us examine his logic. in the first place, the argument is not sound. it proceeds on the supposition, that unless a volition is produced, it cannot be prevented, by a preceding act of volition. this is a false supposition. i choose, for example, to go out at one of the doors of my room. this choice is not produced by any preceding act of choice. and yet i can certainly prevent it, by choosing to go out at the other door of the room, or by choosing to sit still. thus one act of choice may, from the very nature of things, necessarily exclude or prevent another act of choice; although it could not possibly have produced that other act of choice. but suppose the argument to be sound, what does it prove? it proves our actions to be necessary; but in what sense? does it show them to be subject to that moral necessity, for which edwards contends, and against which we protest? this is the question, let me repeat, which we have undertaken to discuss; and if we would not wander in an eternal maze of words, we must keep to it; it is the talisman which is to conduct us out of all our difficulties and perplexities. it is the first point, and the second point, and the third point in logic, to keep to the issue, steadily, constantly, and without the least shadow of turning. otherwise we shall lose ourselves in a labyrinth of words, in darkness and confusion interminable. in what sense, then, does the above argument, supposing it to be sound, prove our actions to be necessary? does it prove them to be necessary with a moral necessity? it does not. according to the argument in question, volitions are necessary, "_as to any hand free choice has in the affair;_ because _by the supposition_ it precludes all previous acts of the will or choice in the case, _which might prevent them_." that is to say, volitions are necessary as to previous acts of choice; because _by the supposition_ previous acts of choice do not produce them, and consequently cannot prevent them. this is the argument. now, it is very true, that this is not an unheard of use of the term in question. we say a thing is necessary, when it is dependent upon no cause for its existence. thus the existence of the supreme being is said to be necessary, because he is the uncaused cause of all things. as he owes his existence to nothing, so there is nothing capable of destroying it. he is independent of all causes; and hence, his existence is said to be necessary. in like manner, a thing may be said to be necessary as to any other particular thing, upon which it does not depend for its existence. as the supreme being is said to be necessary as to all things, because his existence depends upon nothing; so any created object may be said to be necessary, as to the influence of any other object, to which it does not owe its existence, and upon which its existence does not depend. it is in this sense that our volitions are shown to be necessary by the above argument of president edwards. a volition "is necessary as to any hand free choice has in the affair; because by the supposition it preclude all previous acts of the will or choice in the case, which might prevent it." that is to say, it is necessary as to preceding acts of choice; because, by the supposition, it is wholly independent of preceding acts of choice for its existence. now, in so far as the doctrine of moral necessity is concerned, this argument amounts to just exactly nothing. for although a volition may be necessary as to one particular cause, in consequence of its being wholly independent of that cause; it does not follow that it is necessarily produced by another cause. because it does not result from any preceding act of volition, and consequently is necessary as to any hand that preceding act of volition had in the affair, it does not follow, that the "strongest motive" produces it. supposing a volition to be independent of all causes, as well as of preceding acts of choice; and then it would be necessary, in the same sense, as to all causes, as well as to preceding acts of choice. but how infinitely absurd would it be to conclude, that because a volition is independent of the influence of all causes, it is therefore necessarily connected with the influence of a particular cause! we only deny that volitions are necessarily connected with the "power," or "influence," or "action," of motives or moral causes. this is the only kind of necessity against which, as the advocates of free-agency, we are at all concerned to contend. and it is worse than idle for the necessitarian to endeavour to establish any other kind of necessity beside this. let him come directly to the point, and _keep to it_, if he would hope to accomplish any thing. this shifting backwards and forwards from one meaning of an ambiguous term to another; this showing a volition to be necessary in one sense, and then tacitly assuming it to be necessary in another sense; is not the way to silence and refute the adversaries of the doctrine of moral necessity. it may show, (supposing the argument to be sound,) that a volition is necessary as to a particular cause, on the supposition that it is not produced by that cause; and in the same manner, it might be shown, that a volition is necessary as to all causes, on the supposition that it is produced by no cause. but the necessity which results from such a supposition, would be directly arrayed against the necessity for which president edwards contends. in the same sense, volitions "are necessary as to any hand motives have in the affair," on the supposition that they do not result from the influence of motives; but instead of building on this kind of necessity, one would have supposed that president edwards was somewhat concerned in its destruction. in short, the case stands thus: a thing is said to be necessary, on the supposition that it has _no cause_ of its existence; or necessary as to another thing, on the supposition that it does not depend on that other thing for its existence. again, a thing is said to be necessary, on the supposition that it proceeds from the operation of _a cause_. these ideas are perfectly distinct. the difference between them is as clear as noonday. it is true, they have the same name; but to reason from the one to the other, is about as wild an abuse of language as could be made. president edwards is required to show that a volition is necessary, in the sense of _its having a moral cause;_ he has shown that it is necessary in the sense of _its not having a cause_. this is his argument. let us view this subject in another light. if we say that a volition proceeds from a prior act of choice, we certainly hold the doctrine of necessity. president edwards speaks out from the inquiry and convicts us of this doctrine. "their notion of, action," says he, "implies necessity, and supposes that it is necessary, and cannot be contingent. for they suppose, that whatever is properly called action, must be determined by the will and free choice; and this is as much as to say, that it must be necessary, being dependent upon, and determined by something foregoing; namely, a foregoing act of choice," p. . thus, if we say that a volition is produced by a preceding act of volition, we are clearly convicted of the doctrine of necessity. now let us endeavour to escape from this accusation. for this purpose, let us assume the directly opposite position: let us deny that our volitions are produced by preceding acts of choice--and what then? are we out of danger? far from it. we are still convicted of the dreaded doctrine of necessity. on the very supposition we have made, diametrically opposite as it is to the former, we are still convicted of the same doctrine of necessity. we cannot escape from it. it pursues us, like a ghost, through the dark and ill-defined shadows of an ambiguous phraseology, and lays its cold hand upon us. turn wheresoever we may, it is sure to meet us in some shape or other. this is not all. we are also convicted of a contradiction in terms. it is shown, that we hold an act to be "both necessary and not necessary." this may appear to be an exceedingly grave charge; and yet i think we may venture to put in the plea of "guilty." we do hold an act to be necessary, as to the strongest motive, as well as to any preceding act of choice, by which we contend it is not produced, and by which it cannot be prevented. we likewise most freely admit, that many volitions are necessary in other senses of the word, as explained by president edwards. we cannot deny this, so long as we retain our senses; for "a thing is said to be necessary," according to him, "when it has already come to pass, and so made sure of its existence; and it is likewise said to be necessary, when its present existence, is certainly and infallibly known, as well as when its future existence is certainly and infallibly foreknown. but yet we deny, that an act of volition is necessary, in the sense that it is produced by the operation of the strongest motive, as it is called. that is to say, we admit an act of choice to be necessary, in some senses of the word; and, in another sense of it, we deny it to be necessary." is there any thing very contradictory in all this? any thing to shock the common sense and reason of mankind? it may be said, that edwards does not always endeavour to establish the doctrine of moral necessity; that he frequently aims merely to show, that our actions are "not without all necessity." this is unquestionably true. he frequently arrives at this conclusion; and he seems to think that he has done something, whenever he has shown our actions to be necessary in any sense of the word as defined by himself. but it is difficult to conceive with whom he could have had any controversy. for certainly no one in his right mind, could pretend to deny that human actions are necessary in any sense, as the word is explained and used in the inquiry. when it is said, for example, that the truth of the proposition which affirms the future existence of an event, is _necessarily_ connected with the idea that that event is certainly and infallibly foreknown; no one, in his right mind, can deny the position. such a denial, as edwards says, involves a contradiction in terms. hence, this notion of necessity only requires to be stated and understood, in order to rivet irresistible conviction on the mind of every rational being. no light has been thrown upon it, by the pages which president edwards has devoted to the subject; nor could a thousand volumes render it one whit clearer than it is in itself. hence, the author of the inquiry should have seen, that if there was any controversy with him on this point, it was not because there was any diversity of opinion; but because there was a misconception of his proposition. and no doubt he would have seen this, if the meaning of his own language had been clearly defined in his own mind: if he had marked out and circumscribed, as with a sunbeam, the precise limitation within which his own propositions are true, and beyond which they are false. if he had done this, he would have seen that there was, and that there could have been, but one real point of difference between himself and his adversaries. he would have seen, that, aside from the ambiguities of language, there was but one real point in dispute. he would have seen, that it was affirmed, on the one side, that the strongest motive operates to produce a choice; and that this was denied on the other. and hence, he would have put forth his whole strength to establish this single point, to fortify this single doctrine of moral necessity. he would not have crowded so many different ideas into the definition of the term _necessity_; and then imagined that he was overwhelming and confounding his adversaries, when he was only showing that human "actions are not without all necessity." and when they said, that "a necessary action is a contradiction," he would have seen how they used the term necessary; and he would not have concluded, as he has done, that this "notion of action implies contingence, _and excludes all necessity_," p. . he would have seen, that the idea of an action, in our view, is inconsistent with necessity, in one sense of the word; and yet not inconsistent with every thing that has been called necessity. in the definition of president edwards, there is an inherent and radical defect, which i have not as yet noticed; and which is, indeed, the source of all his vacillating on this subject. it proceeds from a very common error, which has been well explained and illustrated by mr. stewart in his essay on the beautiful. the various theories, which ingenious men have framed in relation to the beautiful, says mr. stewart, "have originated in a prejudice, which has descended to modern times from the scholastic ages; that when a word admits of a variety of significations, these different significations must all be _species_ of the same _genus_; and must consequently include some essential idea common to every individual to which the generic term can be applied." the question of aristippas, "how can beauty differ from beauty," says mr. stewart, "plainly proceeded on a total misconception of the nature of the circumstances; which, in the history of language, attach different meanings to the same word; and which by slow and insensible gradations, remove them to such a distance from their primitive or radical sense, that no ingenuity can trace the successive steps of their progress. the variety of these circumstances is, in fact, so great, that it is impossible to attempt a complete enumeration of them; and i shall, therefore, select a few of the cases, in which the principle now in question appears most obviously and indisputably to fail." "i shall begin with supposing, that the letters a, b, c, d, e, denote a series of objects; that a possesses some quality in common with b; b a quality in common with c; c a quality in common with d; d a quality in common with e;--while at the same time, no quality can be found which belongs in common to any _three_ objects in the series. is it not conceivable, that the affinity between a and b may produce a transference of the name of the first to the second; and that, in consequence of the other affinities which connect the remaining objects together, the same name may pass in succession from b to c; from c to d; and from d to e?" this idea, and the reasoning which mr. stewart has founded upon it, are at once obvious, original and profound. it shows that the most gifted philosophers, have not been able to frame a satisfactory theory of the beautiful, because they have proceeded on the false supposition, that all those objects which are called beautiful have some common property, merely because they have a common appellation, by which they are distinguished from other objects; and that in endeavouring to point out and define this common property, they have engaged in an impracticable attempt; and hence they have succeeded to their own satisfaction, only by doing violence to the nature of things. this is a fruitful idea. it admits of many illustrations. i shall select only a few. philosophers and jurists have frequently attempted to define executive power; but they have proceeded on the supposition, that all those powers called executive, have a common and distinguishing property, because they have a common name. hence, they have necessarily failed; because the supposition on which they have proceeded is false. executive power, properly so called, is that which sees to the execution of the laws; and other powers are called executive, not because they partake of the nature of such powers, but simply because they have been conferred upon the chief executive magistrate. the same remark, may be made, in relation to the attempts of ingenious men, to define the nature of law in general. if we analyze all those things which have been called laws, we shall find that they have no element or property in common: the only thing they have in common is the name. hence, when we undertake to define law in general, or to point out the common property by which laws are distinguished from other things, we must necessarily fail. we may frame a definition in words, as others have done; but, however carefully this may be constructed, it can be applied to different kinds of laws, only by giving totally different meanings to the words of which it is composed. thus, for example, a law is said to be "a rule of conduct," given by a superior to an inferior, and "which the inferior is bound to obey." now, who does not see, that the words _conduct_ and _obedience_, must have totally distinct meanings, when they are applied to inanimate objects and when they are applied to the actions of moral and accountable beings? and who does not see, that human beings are _bound_ to do their duty, in an entirely different sense, from that in which matter can be said to be under an obligation? the same remark may be extended to all the definitions which have been given of law in general. and whoever understands the philosophy of definitions, will easily perceive that every attempt to draw things, so wholly unlike each other, under one and the same mode of expression, is not really to define, but to hide, the true nature of things under the ambiguities of language. of this common fault, president edwards has been guilty. instead of defining the various senses of the term necessity, and always using it with precision and without confusion; he has undertaken to show wherein those things called necessary really agree in some common property. he looked for a common nature, where there is only a common name. as aristippas could not conceive, "how beauty could differ from beauty;" so, if we may judge from his argument, it was a great difficulty with him, to conceive how necessity can differ from necessity. hence, when he proves an action to be necessary in any one of the various senses which are included under his definition of philosophical necessity, he imagines that his work is done; and when his adversary denies that an action is necessary in any one of those senses, he concludes that he denies "all necessity!" in all this, we see the question as plainly as if it had been expressly written down, "how can philosophical necessity differ from philosophical necessity?" to which i would simply reply, that a thing cannot differ from itself, it is true; but the same word may have very different meanings; and that it is "a prejudice which has descended to modern times from the scholastic ages," to suppose that things have a common nature, merely because they have a common name. no better illustration of the fallacy of this prejudice could be furnished, than that which edwards has given in his definition of philosophical or metaphysical necessity. under this definition, as we have seen, he has included the being of a god, which is said to be necessary, because he has existed from all eternity, unmade and uncaused; and also the existence of an effect, which is said to be necessary, because it necessarily results from the operation of a cause. now, these two ideas stand in direct opposition to each other; and the only thing they have in common is the name. and yet president edwards reasons from the one to the other! if he can, in any way, reach the name, this seems to satisfy him. the _thing_ in dispute is entirely overlooked. if we say that choice is produced by choice, then he contends it is an effect, and consequently necessary. if we deny that choice is produced by choice, then it is necessary any how; not because it is produced by a cause, but because it is independent of a cause, being neither produced nor prevented by it. it makes no difference with this great champion of necessity, whether choice is said to be produced by choice or not; for, on either of these opposite suppositions, he can show that our volitions are necessary. the absence of the very circumstance which makes it necessary in the one case, is that which makes it necessary in the other. is choice produced by choice? then this dependence of choice upon choice, shows it to be necessary. is choice _not_ produced by choice? then this independence of choice upon choice is the very thing which shows it to be necessary! thus this great champion of necessity, just passes from one meaning of the term to another, without the least regard to the point in dispute, or to the logical coherency of his argument. surely, if "a reluctant world has bowed in homage" to his logic, it must have been because the world has been too indolent to pry into the sophisms with which it swarms. it is only in his onsets upon error, that the might of his resistless logic is felt; in the defence of his own system, he does not reason at all, he merely rambles. indeed, with all his gigantic power, he was compelled to reel and stagger under the burden of such a cause. section xiii. of natural and moral necessity. i have already said many things bearing upon the famous distinction between natural and moral necessity; but this distinction is regarded as so important by its advocates, that it deserves a separate notice. this i shall proceed to give it. the distinction in question is treated with no great reverence by the advocates of free-agency. it is denounced by them as a distinction without a difference; and, though this may be true in the main, yet this is not the way to settle any thing. there is, indeed, a real difference between natural and moral necessity, as they are held and described by necessitarians; and if we pay no attention to it, our declarations about its futility will be apt to produce more heat than light. i fully recognize the justness of the demand made by dr. edwards, that those who insist that natural and moral necessity are the same, should tell us in what respects they are so. "we have informed them," says he, "in what respects we hold them to be different. we wish them to be equally explicit and candid," p. . i intend to be equally explicit and candid. i admit, then, that there is a real difference between natural and moral necessity; they differ, as the edwardses say, in the nature of the terms connected. in the one case, there is a natural cause and its effect, such as force and the motion produced by it, connected together; and in the other, there is a motive and a volition. in this respect, i believe that there is a greater difference between them than does the necessitarian himself; for he considers volition to be of the same nature with an effect, whereas i regard it as essentially different in nature and in kind from an effect. there is another difference between natural and moral necessity. natural necessity admits of an opposition of the will; whereas it is absurd to suppose any such opposition in the case of moral necessity. a man may be so bound that his utmost efforts to move may prove unavailing: in such a case, he is said to labour under a natural necessity. this always implies and presupposes an opposition of will. but not so in regard to moral necessity. it is absurd to suppose, that our wills can ever be in opposition to moral necessity; for this would be to suppose that we are made willing by the influence of motives, and yet are not willing. now, i fully recognize these differences between natural and moral necessity, as they are viewed by the necessitarian. whether they are not inconsistent with their ideas of moral necessity, is another question. but as i am not concerned with that question at present, i am willing to take these differences without the least abatement. admitting, then, that these distinctions are well-founded, and that they are perfectly consistent with the idea of moral necessity, let us see in what respects there is an agreement between the things under consideration. the difference does not lie, says edwards, _so much in the nature of the connexion_, as in the two terms connected. moral necessity is "a sure and perfect connexion between moral causes and effects." it is "as absolute as natural necessity." the influence of motives is not a condition of volition, which the will may or may not follow; it is the _cause_ thereof; and it is absurd to suppose that the effect, the volition, can be loose from the influence of its cause, p. - . yes, volition is just as absolutely and unconditionally controlled by motive, as the inanimate objects of nature are controlled by the power of the almighty. the connexion, the necessary connexion, which subsists between motion and the force by which it is produced, is the same in nature and in kind as that which subsists between the "action or influence of motive" and volition. herein, then, is the agreement, that in moral necessity, as well as in natural, the effect is produced by the influence of its cause. the nature of the connexion is the same in both; and in both it is equally absolute. now we have seen the differences, and we have also seen the points of agreement; and the question is, not whether this famous distinction be well-founded, but whether it will serve the purpose for which it is employed. in the full light, and in the perfect recognition of this distinction, we deny that it will serve the purpose of the necessitarian. it is supposed, that natural necessity alone interferes with the free-agency of man, while moral necessity is perfectly consistent with it. but, in reality, moral necessity is more utterly subversive of all free-agency and accountability than natural necessity itself. think not that this is a mere hasty and idle assertion. let us look at it, and see if it is not true. we have already seen, that a caused volition is no volition at all;--that a necessary agent is a contradiction in terms. in other words, a power to act must itself act, and not be made to act by the action of any other power, or else it does not act at all. and if it must be caused to act, before it can act, then, as we have already seen, there must be an infinite series of acts. these things have been fully illustrated, and defended against the false analogies, by which they have been assailed; and they are here mentioned only for the sake of greater clearness and distinctness. if the scheme of moral necessity be true, then, according to which our volitions are absolutely caused by the "action or influence of motive," it is idle to talk about free acts of the will; for there are no acts of the will at all. if our wills are caused to put forth volitions, and are turned to one side or the other, by the controlling influence of motives, it is idle to talk about a free-will; for we have no will at all. i know full well, that president edwards admits that we have a will; and that the will does really act; but this admission is contradicted by bringing the will and all its exercises under the domination and absolute control of motives. he obliterates the distinction between cause and effect, between action and passion, between mental activity and bodily motion; and thereby draws the phenomena of will, the volitions of all intelligent creatures, under the iron scheme of necessity. we are eternally reminded that edwards believes in the existence of a will, and in the reality of its acts. we know it; but let us not be accused of misrepresenting him, unless it can be shown that one part of his system does not contradict another,--unless it can be shown, not by false analogies and an abuse of words, but by valid evidence, that _an act of the mind may be necessarily caused_. this never has been shown; and the attempts of the necessitarian to show it, as we have seen, are among the most signal failures in the whole range of human philosophy. until this be shown, we must contend that there is nothing in the universe so diametrically opposed to all free-agency--to all liberty of the will, as the scheme of moral necessity; which so clearly overthrows and, demolishes the very idea of a will and all its volitions. indeed, what is called natural necessity does not properly interfere with the liberty of _the will_ at all; it merely restrains the freedom of _motion_. it is moral necessity that reaches the seat of the mind, and takes away all the freedom thereof; even denying to us the possession of a will itself. when my hand is bound, i may strive to move it in vain; in this case, my _will_ is free, because i may strive, or i may not; but the hand is not free, because it cannot move. but if motives cause the mind to follow their influence, so that it may not possibly depart or be loose from that influence; then we have no will at all; and it is idle and a mockery to talk about freedom of the will. and yet, although edwards would have us to believe that no system is consistent with free-agency but his own; he occupies the position, that it is absurd to suppose, that a volition may possibly be loose from the influence of motive; that this is to suppose that it is the effect of motive, and at the same time that it is not the effect of motive! "all agree," says day, "that a necessity which is opposed to our choice, is inconsistent with liberty," p. . that is to say, a necessity which cuts off or prevents the external consequence of our choice, is inconsistent with liberty of the will; but that which takes away one choice, and sets up another, is perfectly consistent with it! if the arm is held, so that the free choice cannot move it, then is the liberty of the will interfered with; but, though the will may be absolutely swayed and controlled, by the influence of motives, or by the sovereign power of god himself, yet is it perfectly free! if such be the liberty of the will, what is it worth? there are many things, which it is beyond the power of the human mind to accomplish. even in such cases, the natural necessity under which we are said to labour, does not interfere with the liberty of the will. if we cannot do such things, it is not because our will is not free in regard to them, but because its power is limited. we might very well attempt them, and put forth volitions in order to accomplish them, as in our ignorance we often do; and if we abstain from so doing in other cases, wherein we might wish to act, it is because we know they are beyond our power, and, as rational creatures, do not choose to make fools of ourselves. to say that we are under a natural necessity, then, is only to say that our power is limited, and not that it is not free. it is reserved for moral necessity--shall i say to enslave?--no, but to annihilate the will. it is true, if we will to do a thing, and are restrained from doing it by a superior force, we are not to blame for not doing it; or if we refuse to do it, and are constrained to do it, we are equally blameless. in such cases, natural necessity, although it does not reach the will, is an excuse for external conduct. if the question were, is a man accountable for his external actions? for the movements of his body? then we might talk about natural necessity. but as the question, in the present controversy, is, whether a man is accountable for his internal acts, for the volitions of his mind? to talk about natural necessity is wholly irrelevant. it has nothing to do with such a controversy; and hence, edwards is entirely mistaken when he supposes that it is natural necessity, and that alone, which is opposed to the freedom of the will. it is in fact opposed to nothing but the freedom of the body; and by lugging it into the present controversy, it can only serve to make confusion the worse confounded. it is the general sentiment of mankind, that moral necessity is inconsistent with free-agency and accountability. edwards has taken great pains to explain this fact. his great reason for it is, that men are in the habit of excusing themselves for their outward conduct, on the ground of natural necessity. in this way, by early and constant association, the idea of blamelessness becomes firmly attached to the term necessity, as well as those terms, such as must, cannot, &c., in which the same thing is implied. hence, we naturally suppose that we are excusable for those things which are necessary with a moral necessity. thus, the fact that men generally regard moral necessity and free-agency as incompatible with each other, is supposed by edwards to arise from the ambiguity of language; and that if we will only shake off this influence, we shall see a perfect agreement and harmony between them. but is this so? let any man fix his mind upon the very idea of moral necessity itself, and then answer this question. let him lay aside the term necessity, and all kindred words; let him simply and abstractedly consider a volition as being produced by the "action or influence of motives;" and then ask himself, if the subject in which this effect is produced is accountable for it? if it can be his virtue or his vice? let him conceive of a volition, or anything else, as being produced in the human mind, by an extraneous cause; and then ask himself if the mind in which it is thus produced can be to praise or to blame for it? let any man do this, and i think he will see a better reason for the common sentiment of mankind than any which edwards has assigned for it; he will see that men have generally regarded moral necessity as incompatible with free-agency and accountability, just because it is utterly irreconcilable with them. indeed, however liable "the common people," and philosophers too, may be to be deceived and misled by the ambiguities of language, there is no such deception in the present case. the common people, as they are called, do not always say, my actions are "necessary," "i cannot help them," and therefore i am not accountable for them. they as frequently say, that if my actions, if my volitions, are brought to pass by the strength and influence of motives, i am not responsible for them. this common sentiment and conviction of mankind, therefore, does not blindly aim merely at the name, while it misses the thing; it does indeed bear with all its force directly upon the scheme of moral necessity itself. and its power is sought to be evaded, as we have seen, and as we shall still further see, not by explaining the ambiguities of language, so as to enlighten mankind, but by confounding the most opposite natures, such as action and passion, volition and local motion, through the ambiguities of language. it is the necessitarian, who is always talking about the ambiguities of language, that is continually building upon them. indeed, it is hard to conceive why he has so often been supposed to use language with such wonderful precision, if it be not because he is eternally complaining of the want of it in others. just let the common people, or those of them who may desire an opiate for their consciences, see the scheme of moral necessity as it is in itself, stripped of all the disguises of an ambiguous phraseology, and it will satisfy them. it will be the one thing needful to their craving and hungering appetites. let them be made to believe that all our volitions are produced by the action and influence of motives, so that they may not be otherwise than they are; and a sense of moral obligation and responsibility will be extinguished in their breasts, unless nature should prove too strong for sophistry. indeed, if we may believe the most authentic accounts, this doctrine has done its strange and fearful work among the common people, both in this country and in europe. it is a philosophy which is within the reach of the most ordinary minds, as well as the most agreeable to the most abandoned hearts; and hence its awfully desolating power. and if its ravages and devastations have not extended wider and deeper than they have, it is because they have been checked by the combined powers of nature and of religion, rather than by logic; by the happy inconsistency, rather than by the superior metaphysical acumen, of its advocates and admirers. section xiv. of edwards' idea of liberty. it was not the design of edwards, as it is well known, to interfere with the moral agency of man. he honestly believed that the scheme of necessity, as held by himself, was perfectly consistent with the doctrine of liberty; and he retorted upon his adversaries that it was their system, and not his, which struck at the foundation of moral agency and accountability. but however upright may have been his intentions, he has merely left us the name of liberty, while he has in reality denied to us its nature and its essence. according to his view of the subject, "the plain and obvious meaning of the words freedom and liberty, in common speech, is the _power, opportunity_, or _advantage that any one has to do as he pleases_. or, in other words, his being free from hindrance or impediment in the way of doing, or conducting in any respect as he wills. and the contrary to liberty, whatever name we call that by, is a person's being hindered, or unable to conduct as he will, or being necessitated to do otherwise." this is the kind of liberty for which he contends. and he says, "there are two things contrary to what is called liberty in common speech. one is _constraint_, otherwise called _force_, _compulsion_, and _co-action_, which is a person's being necessitated to do a thing _contrary_ to his will. the other is _restraint_; which is his being hindered, and not having power to do _according_ to his will. but that which has no will cannot be the subject of these things." this notion of liberty, as edwards says, presupposes the existence of a will. in fact, it presupposes more than this; it presupposes the existence of a determination of the will. for, unless one is determined not to do a thing, he cannot be constrained to do it, contrary to his will; and, unless he is determined to do a thing, he cannot be restrained from doing it according to his will. this kind of liberty, then, as it presupposes the existence of a determination of the will, has nothing to do with the manner in which that determination is brought to pass. if the determination of the mind or will were brought to pass, so to speak, by an absolutely irresistible force; just as any other effect is brought to pass by its efficient cause; yet this kind of liberty might exist in its utmost perfection. for it only requires that after the will is determined in this manner, or in any other, that it should be left free from _constraint_ or _restraint_, to flow on just as it has been determined to do. it is no other liberty than that which is possessed by a current of water, when it is said to flow _freely_, because it is not opposed in its course by any material obstruction. that the liberty for which edwards contends, has nothing to do with the manner in which our actions or volitions come to pass; or, more properly speaking, with the kind of relation between motives and actions, we have his own express acknowledgment. "what is vulgarly called liberty," says he, "namely, that power and opportunity for one to do and conduct as he will, or according to his choice, is all that is meant by it; without taking into the meaning of the word _any thing of the cause of that choice; or at all considering how the person came to have such a volition;_ whether it was caused by some _external motive_, or _internal habitual bias;_ whether it was determined by some internal antecedent volition, or whether it happened without a cause; whether _it was necessarily connected with something foregoing, or not connected. let the person come by his choice_ any how, yet if he is able, and there is nothing in the way to hinder his pursuing and executing his will, _the man is perfectly free_, according to the primary and common notion of freedom." this notion of liberty, it is easy to see, is consistent with the most absolute scheme of fatality of which it is possible to conceive. for, according to this idea of it, if we should come by our choice "any how," even by the most irresistible influence of external circumstances, yet we might be "perfectly free." hence it is no wonder that we find the same definition of liberty in the writings of the most absolute fatalists. it is remarkable that edwards has taken great pains to define his idea of philosophical necessity, and to distinguish it from the common sense of the word; and yet he supposes that the notion of liberty, about which the same dispute is conversant, is that which is referred to "in common speech," or that "which is vulgarly called liberty." he contends for a _philosophical necessity_, and especially for a necessary connexion between the influence of motives and volitions; but the _philosophical liberty_ which stands opposed to his scheme, which denies any such _necessary_ connexion, he has not deemed it worth his while to notice! liberty, according to edwards' sense of the term, has nothing to do with the controversy respecting free-agency and necessity. it is as consistent with fatalism as could be desired by the most extravagant supporters of that odious system. hence, when the doctrine of necessity is denied, and that of liberty or moral agency is asserted, something more than this is intended. the idea of liberty, as it stands connected with the controversy in question, has reference to the manner in which our volitions come to pass, to the relation which subsists between motives and their corresponding actions. when we say that the will is free, we mean "that it is not necessarily determined by the influence of motives;" we mean to deny the doctrine of moral necessity, or that the relation which subsists between a motive and its corresponding act, is not that which subsists between an efficient cause and its effect. we mean to contend for a philosophical liberty, as president edwards contends for a philosophical necessity, and not for that "which is vulgarly called liberty." there is an inconsistency, i am aware, in supposing a choice to be induced by the force of external circumstances, or by the force of motives, whether external or internal; but this inconsistency belongs to the scheme of necessity; and if i have indulged in the supposition for a moment, it was only to meet the necessitarian, and argue with him on his own ground. as i have already said, a will that is _determined_, instead of _determining_, is no will at all. and the liberty of the will for which we contend, is implied by the power of the mind to act. it does not depend upon the presence or the absence of any external obstruction. it is no such occasional, or accidental thing; it is an inherent and essential attribute and power of the mind. no power in the universe, but that of creation, can produce it, and no chains on earth can bind it. the idea of liberty, as contended for by president edwards, is no other than that entertained by mr. locke. thus, says the latter, "there may be thought, there may be will, there may be _volition, where there is no liberty_." in illustration of this position he says, "a man falling into water, (a bridge breaking under him,) has not herein liberty, is not a free-agent. for though he has _volition_, though he prefers his not falling to falling, yet the forbearance of that motion not being in his power, the stop or cessation of that motion follows not upon his volition; and therefore therein he is not free." it is true, he is not therein free, in one of the most common senses of the term; but it is wrong to conclude from hence, that there is in such a case, "_no liberty_." for if the volition, of which he is said to be possessed, did not result from the action of any thing, if it was simply an act of the mind, which was not necessarily produced by another act, then he possessed freedom in the philosophical sense of the term. he was free in the act of willing, in the possession of his volition, although the consequence of that volition was cut off and prevented by an over-ruling necessity, which had no conceivable relation to the manner in which he came by his volition. wherever there is a volition, there is this kind of liberty; for a volition is not, and cannot be, produced by any coercive force. the foregoing illustration might have been very consistently offered by president edwards, who considered a volition and a preference of the mind as identically the same; but it comes not with so good a grace from mr. locke. he considered an act of the will as different from a preference. according to his doctrine, a man might prefer not to fall, in such a case as that put by himself, and yet not will not to fall. and he illustrates the difference by saying, "a man would prefer flying to walking, yet who can say he ever wills it?" now, if a man cannot will to fly, it is very difficult to see how he can will not to fall, in case he were dropped from the air. the illustration of mr. locke is fallacious. it does not show, and i humbly conceive it cannot be shown, that there can be a volition anywhere in the universe where there is not freedom. the very idea of a volition, or an act of the mind, necessarily implies that kind of philosophical liberty for which we contend. the above notion of liberty, which mr. locke borrowed from hobbes, and edwards from locke, evidently confounds the motion of the body, (which they frequently call action,) with volition or action of the mind. thus, no matter how a volition comes to pass, or is caused to exist, if there is nothing to prevent the _motion_ of the body from following its influence, we are said to be perfectly free. this kind of liberty, therefore, refers to the motion of the body, and not to the action of the mind. it has no reference whatever to the question, is the mind free in the act of willing? this is the question in dispute; and hence, if the necessitarian would say any thing to the purpose, he must show that his scheme is reconcilable with the freedom of the mind in willing. this edwards has not attempted to do. he has, in fact, as we have seen, only given us the name, while he has taken from us the substance of liberty. the idea of liberty, for which edwards contends, may be illustrated by an unobstructed fall of water. indeed, this is the very thing by which mr. hobbes has chosen to illustrate and explain it. "i conceive liberty to be rightly defined in this manner," says he; "liberty is the absence of all the impediments to action, (motion?) that are not contained in the nature and intrinsical quality of the agent, as for example, the water is said to descend freely, or to have liberty to descend by the channel of the river, because there is no impediment that way, but not across, because the banks are impediments, and though the water cannot ascend, yet men never say it wants the liberty to ascend, but the faculty or power, because the impediment is in the nature of the water, and intrinsical." mr. hobbes encountered no more difficulty in reconciling this notion of liberty with the scheme of fatality for which he contended, than president edwards found in reconciling it with the same scheme in disguise. according to the inquiry, then, we have no other liberty than that which may be ascribed to the winds and the waves of the sea, as they are carried onward in their courses by the power of the almighty. edwards looks for liberty, and he finds it, not in the will, but in the motions of the body, which is universally admitted to be passive to the action of the will. he looks for liberty, and he finds it, where, by universal consent, an absolute necessity reigns; thus seeking and finding the living among the dead. it is no wonder, that he could reconcile such a liberty with the scheme of necessity. even president day is not satisfied with this account of liberty. "on the subject of liberty or freedom," says he, "which occupies a portion of the fifth section of edwards' first book, he has been less particular than was to be expected, considering that this is the great object of inquiry in his work." how could edwards have been more particular? he has repeatedly and most explicitly informed us, that liberty consists in a power, or opportunity, to do as we choose; _without considering how we come by our choice_. if we can only do as we choose, though our choice should be produced by the most absolute and irresistible power in the universe, yet are we perfectly free in the highest conceivable sense of the word. "if any imagine they desire, and that they conceive of a higher liberty than this," says he, "they are deceived, and delude themselves with confused ambiguous words instead of ideas." president day complains that all this is not sufficiently particular; but although he may not have been aware of it, i apprehend that he has been dissatisfied with the dreadful particularity and precision with which the doctrine of the inquiry has been exhibited. it is precisely the doctrine of liberty which has been held by the most absolute and unqualified fatalists the world has ever seen; and it is set forth, too, with a bold precision and clearness, which would have done honour to the stern consistency of hobbes himself. it is no wonder, that president day should have felt a desire to see such a doctrine softened down by the author of the inquiry. "the professed object of his book," says president day, "_according to the title-page_, is an inquiry concerning the freedom of the will;--not the freedom of external conduct. we naturally look for his meaning of this internal liberty. what he has said, in this section, respecting freedom of the will, has rather the appearance of evading such a definition of it as might be considered his own." yes, it is in this section that we naturally look for his idea of the liberty of the will; but we do not find it. we must turn to the title-page, if we wish to see any thing about the liberty of the will. "what he has said, in this section, respecting freedom of the will," does not, (president day himself being judge,) relate to the freedom of the will at all; it only relates to the freedom of the body, which has no freedom at all; but which is wholly passive to the action of the will. president day is not satisfied with all this; and hence, he proceeds to tell us, what edwards would have said in this section, if he had not thus evaded his own definition of internal liberty. let us see, then, what he would have said. from a letter to a minister of the church of scotland, president day finds that in the phrase conducting as a man pleases, the author of the inquiry means to include the idea of _choosing as he pleases_. now, this is all true; and this is the internal liberty, which president day has extracted from the aforesaid letter. then, according to edwards, we have two kinds of liberty: the one is a liberty to move the body as we please, or as we choose; and the other is, to choose as we please, or as we choose. in the vocabulary, and according to the psychology of president edwards, as we have frequently seen, and as we here see, our pleasing and our choosing are one and the same thing. hence, to move our bodies according to our pleasure, is to move it according to our choice; and to choose as we please, is to choose as we choose. president day need not have gone to the letter in question, in order to find this doctrine; for it is repeatedly set forth in the inquiry. president edwards, as we have seen, frequently contends in the inquiry, that we always choose as we choose; and as frequently makes his adversaries assert, that we can "choose without choosing;" which is just as absurd, he truly declares, as to say that a body can move while it is in a state of rest. now, to place liberty in this "choosing as we choose," without regard to the cause or origin of our choice, is just about as rational as it would be to place it in the axioms of geometry. suppose a man is made to choose, by an absolute and uncontrollable power; it is nevertheless true, that he chooses as he does choose. this cannot be otherwise than true; it is a self-evident and necessary truth; for nothing can be different from itself, can be what it is, and yet not what it is, at one and the same time. to speak of a power of choosing as we choose, as edwards and day both do, is just about as reasonable as it were to speak of a power to make two and two equal to four. supposing the almighty should cause us to choose, it is not in his power to prevent us from choosing as we do choose; for he cannot work contradictions. whether president edwards speaks of our moving as we please, or of our choosing as we please; whether he speaks of an external liberty, or of this internal liberty; he is always careful to remind us, that it has no reference to the question, how we come by our pleasure or choice. in the letter referred to, wherein he admits that a man's liberty of conducting as he pleases or chooses, includes "a liberty of choosing as he pleases," he instantly adds, but "without determining how he came by that pleasure." yes, no matter how we come by our choice, though it be wrought into us by the most uncontrollable power in the universe, yet are we free in the highest conceivable sense of the word, if we can only "conduct according to our choice." this, instead of being the greatest liberty, is indeed the greatest mockery, of which it is possible for the imagination of man to conceive. the liberty of fate itself, is, in all respects, to the full as desirable as such a liberty as this. is it not wonderful, to behold the great and good author of the inquiry, thus planting himself upon the very ground of atheistical fatalism; and from thence, in sober, serious earnestness, holding out to us, as a great and glorious reality, the mere name and shadow and fiction of liberty? the very phantom which atheists, in mockery and derision, have been pleased to confer upon mankind, as upon poor blind fools, who merely dream of liberty, and fondly dote upon the empty name thereof, whilst they are ignorant of the chains which bind them fast in fate. section xv. of edwards' idea of virtue. in order to reconcile his scheme of necessity with the existence and reality of virtue, it appears that edwards has adopted a false notion of virtue. this is the course he has taken, as i have already shown, in regard to the doctrine of liberty or free-agency, in order to reconcile it with necessity; and if i mistake not, it may be shown, that he has been able to reconcile necessity and virtue only by transforming the nature of virtue to make it suit his system. i do not intend, at present, to enter into a full discussion of the author's views in relation to the nature of virtue. i shall content myself with a brief consideration of his notion of virtue, as it stands more immediately and directly connected with the subject of the inquiry. it is a fundamental principle with him, that "the essence of the virtue and viciousness of dispositions of the heart, and acts of the will, lies not in their cause, but their nature." in what precise sense the author would have us to understand this proposition, i shall not now stop to inquire. it is sufficient for my present purpose, that he attaches such a sense to it, as to make the idea of virtue it is intended to define, to agree not only with his doctrine of necessity, but also with any other kind of necessity or fatality whatever. for he maintains, that as the essence of virtue does not consist in its cause, but in its nature, so a man by the mere act of creation may, in the proper sense of the word, be endowed with virtuous and holy dispositions. it is true, the man himself has had no share in the production of his dispositions, they are exclusively the work of his creator; but yet they are virtuous, they are the objects of moral approbation, because the virtuousness of dispositions has nothing at all to do with their cause or origin. it depends wholly on their nature, and having this nature, (as he supposes they may have by creation alone,) he concludes that they are properly and truly virtuous, although the person in whom they exist has in no manner whatever contributed to their production; neither in whole nor in part, neither exclusively nor concurrently with his maker. now, it is evident, i think, that if virtue may be made to exist in this way, by a power wholly extraneous to the being in whom it exists, and wholly independent of all his own thoughts and reflections and doings, then it may be easily reconciled with the most absolute scheme of fatality that has ever been advocated. for it may exist without any agency or concurrence or consent on the part of the person in whom it exists; and hence, there would be no difficulty in reconciling it with any scheme of necessity that any fatalist may be pleased to advance. to show that i have not misrepresented the author, i shall select from many passages of similar import, the following from his work on "original sin:"--"human nature must be created with some dispositions; a disposition to relish some things as good and amiable, and to be averse to other things as odious and disagreeable: otherwise it must be without any such thing as inclination or will, perfectly indifferent, without preference, without choice or aversion towards any thing as agreeable or disagreeable. but if it had any concreated dispositions at all, they must be either right or wrong, either agreeable or disagreeable to the nature of things. if man had at first the highest relish of things excellent and beautiful, a disposition to have the quickest and highest delight in those things which are most worthy of it, then his dispositions were morally right and amiable, and _never can be excellent in a higher sense_. but if he had a disposition to love most those things that were inferior and less worthy, then his dispositions were vicious. and it is evident there can be no medium between these." now, this principle, that a man may be to praise or to blame, that he may be esteemed virtuous or vicious, on account of what he has wholly and exclusively received from another, appears to me to be utterly irreconcilable with one of the clearest and most unequivocal dictates of reason and conscience. according to the above passage, there can be no medium between virtuous and vicious dispositions. this sentiment is still more explicitly declared in the following words; "in a moral agent, subject to moral obligations, it is the same thing to be perfectly _innocent_, as to be perfectly _righteous_. it must be the same, because there can no more be any medium between sin and righteousness, or between being right and being wrong, in a moral sense, than there can be between being straight and crooked, in a natural sense." now, all this is very true, in regard to a moral being who has been called upon to act; for he must either live up to the rule of duty, or he must fall short of it. if he does the former, he becomes righteous in the true and proper sense of the term; and if he does the latter, he loses his original innocence, and becomes a transgressor. but before he has any opportunity of acting, at the instant of his creation, i humbly conceive that no moral agent is either to be praised or blamed for any disposition with which he may have been endowed by his maker. he is neither virtuous nor vicious, neither righteous nor sinful. this was the condition of adam, as it very clearly appears to me, at the instant of his creation. he was in a state of perfect _innocency_; having neither transgressed the law of god, nor attained to true holiness. and if this be the case, then in regard to such a moral agent, before he has an opportunity to act, or to think, or to feel, it is not "the same thing to be perfectly innocent, as to be, perfectly righteous;" nor the same thing to be destitute of true righteousness, as to be sinful. it strikes my mind with the force of a self-evident truth, that nothing can be our virtue, unless we are in some sense the author of it; and to affirm that a man may be justly praised or blamed, that he may be esteemed virtuous or vicious, on account of what he has wholly and exclusively received from another, appears to me to contradict one of the clearest and most unequivocal dictates of reason, one of the most universal and irreversible laws of human belief. though the almighty endowed adam with all that is lovely in human nature, the recipient of such noble qualities certainly deserved no credit for them, as he had no agency in their production. all the praise and glory belonged to god. such dispositions are no doubt the objects of our admiration and love, but they are no more the objects of our _moral approbation_ than is the beauty of a flower. both are the work of the same creative energy which hath diffused so much of loveliness and beauty over every part of the creation. hence, i deny that adam was "created or brought into existence righteous." i am willing to admit, that he "was brought into existence capable of acting immediately as a moral agent; and, therefore, he was immediately under a rule of _right_ action. he was obliged as soon as he existed, to _act right_." but i deny that until he did begin to act, he could possess the character of true holiness or virtue. that president edwards thought otherwise, is evident, not only from the passage already quoted, but also from many others, as well as from the fact, that he argues if adam had not possessed virtuous dispositions before he began to act,--if he had not derived them directly from his creator, then the existence of virtue would have been impossible. on this subject, his argument is ingenious and plausible. it is as follows: "it is agreeable to the sense of men, in all nations and ages, not only that the fruit or effect of a good choice is virtuous, but that the good choice itself from whence that effect proceeds, is so; yea, also the antecedent good disposition, temper, or affection of mind, from whence proceeds that _good_ choice, is virtuous. this is the general notion--not that principles derive their goodness from actions, but--that actions derive their goodness from the principles whence they proceed; so that the act of choosing what is good, is no further virtuous, than it proceeds from a good principle, or virtuous disposition of mind. which supposes that a virtuous disposition of mind, may be before a virtuous act of choice; and that, therefore, it is not necessary there should first be thought, reflection, and choice, before there can be any virtuous disposition. if the choice be first, before the existence of a good disposition of heart, what is the character of that choice? there can, according to our natural notions, be no virtue in a choice which proceeds from no virtuous principle, but from mere self-love, ambition, or some animal appetite: therefore, a virtuous temper of mind may be before a good act of choice, as a tree may be before the fruit, and the fountain before the stream which proceeds from it," p. . it is true, that actions derive their good or evil quality, as the case may be, from the principles whence they proceed. this accords, as the author truly says, with the universal sentiment of mankind. but this proposition, plain and simple as it appears to be at first sight, may be misunderstood. the term "principle" is ambiguous; and, according to the idea attached to it, the above proposition may be true or false. when it is said, for example, that a vicious or sinful action derives its evil quality from the principle or motive whence it proceeds, i apprehend that no one pretends to fix the brand of condemnation on the implanted principle, or the natural spring of action, from which it is supposed to proceed. to take the very case in question; our first parents, in eating the forbidden fruit, acted partly from a desire of food and partly from a desire of knowledge. now, this was a sinful action, because forbidden, and consequently, according to the sense of men in all ages and nations, it must have proceeded from a sinful inclination or principle. but yet no one, i presume, will contend that either the desire of food or the desire of knowledge, from which it is supposed to have proceeded, is in itself sinful. they were implanted in our nature by the finger of god, for wise and beneficent purposes; and to assert that they are sinful, is to make god the author of sin. our first parents were not to blame because they were endowed with these principles. hence, when it is said, that a sinful action must proceed from a sinful principle, we are not to understand the proposition as meaning that the inherent constitutional principle of action from which it is supposed to proceed is sinful. our first parents sinned, not in possessing an appetite for food, or a desire for knowledge, but in indulging these contrary to the will of god. it was their _intention_ and _design_ to do that which god had commanded them not to do, and which they knew it was wrong for them to do. it was this intention and design, which was certainly not an implanted principle, or any part of the work of the creator, which constituted their sin; and it is this intention and design that is pointed at, when it is said, that the principle or motive from which their transgression proceeded, was a sinful principle or motive. and hence, we very clearly perceive, that a sinful action may result from those principles of our constitution, which are in themselves neither virtuous nor vicious, which are wholly destitute of any moral character whatever. so, in like manner, a virtuous action may result from a principle of our nature, implanted in the human breast by the author of our being, although such principle may not, properly speaking, be called a virtuous principle, or an object of moral approbation. the fallacy of the author's argument, i conceive, has arisen from the ambiguity of the term principle. as it is truly said, that a holy action can proceed only from a holy principle or disposition, he concluded, that if man had not been created with a principle of virtue or holiness in his heart, then no such thing as virtue or holiness could ever have found its way into the world. supposing, all the time, that it is universally considered that a virtuous act could proceed only from an implanted principle of virtue, of which god alone is the author; whereas, in fact, the virtuous principle from which the virtuous act is supposed to derive its character, is not an implanted principle at all, but the design, or intention, or motive with which the act is done; and of which the created agent is himself the author. there is one thing well worthy of remark in this connexion. president edwards contends, as we have seen, that adam must have been created with a principle of virtue, of which his maker was the sole author, or else the existence of virtue would have been impossible, and yet, he contends that adam was created perfectly free from sin;--that as he came from the hand of his maker, he was perfectly pure and holy, without the least stain or blemish of any wrong or vicious principle upon his nature. is it not wonderful, that it did not occur to so acute a reasoner as the author of the "inquiry," that if his own argument was sound, it would, according to his own principle, prove the introduction of sin into the world to be utterly impossible? that he did not see, if it is impossible to account for the existence of holiness, except on the supposition that man was created or brought into the world with a principle of holiness implanted in his heart; so, for the same reason, it is equally impossible to account for the existence of sin, except on the supposition that a sinful principle was implanted in the breast of man by the hand of his maker? the above extract, by which edwards endeavours to prove that adam could not have performed a virtuous act, unless a virtuous principle had been planted in his nature by the creator, would be just as correct and conclusive, if we were to read vicious instead of virtuous. by the very same argument, we might prove that he could not have sinned, and so sin would have been impossible, unless god had planted a sinful principle or disposition in his nature. it is sufficiently evident, that president edwards' idea of the essence of virtue, was not altogether correct, and that he was led to adopt it by the necessities of a false system. for if we admit that the essence of virtue or of sin consists in its nature, and not in its cause or origin, it must be conceded, on the other hand, that the nature of those principles, or dispositions, or volitions, or habits, (call them what we may,) which are termed virtuous or vicious, depend in a very important sense upon their cause or origin. it must be conceded, that no disposition or principle whatever which has derived its origin wholly from any cause or power extraneous to the moral agent in which it exists, can be properly denominated virtuous or vicious. it cannot partake of the nature of virtue or of vice, unless it owes its origin to the agent whose virtue or whose vice it is supposed to be. if it proceeds wholly from the "power, influence, or action," of motives, or from the hand of the creator, it is not the act of the agent in whom it exists, and consequently he is not accountable for it. or, in other words, the nature of virtue and vice is such, that they cannot possibly be produced by any "cause, or power, or influence," which is wholly extraneous to the mind in which they exist. virtue and vice, in the strict and proper sense of the words, must have the concurrence and consent of the mind in which they exist, or they cannot possibly exist at all. to speak of virtue,--of that which deserves our moral approbation, as being wholly derived from another--as being exclusively the work of god in the soul, is to be guilty of a contradiction, as plain and palpable as the light of heaven. it is to be regretted, it is to be deeply lamented, that edwards did not try to bring his doctrine of the will into harmony with the common sentiments of mankind with respect to the nature of virtue and free-agency, instead of exerting his matchless powers to make virtue and free-agency agree with his scheme of necessity, by explaining away and transforming their natures. it is to be lamented; because in attempting to uphold and support the distinctive peculiarities of his own system of theology, he has unintentionally struck a deadly blow at the vital and fundamental principles of all religion, both natural and revealed. the infidel and the atheist are much indebted to him for such an exertion of his immortal powers. section xvi. of the self-determining power. the advocates of free-agency have contended that the will is determined by itself, and not by the strongest motive. this is the ground which, so far as i know, has always been taken against the doctrine of necessity; but it may be questioned whether it is tenable, and whether the friends of moral agency might not have made far greater headway against their adversaries if they had not assumed such a position. it appears to be involved in several inevitable contradictions; in the exposure of which the necessitarian has been accustomed to triumph. the leading argument of edwards against the self-determining power may be substantially stated in a few words. the will can be the cause of no effect, says he, except by acting, or putting forth a volition to cause it; and hence, if we assert that the will causes its own volitions, we must suppose it causes them by preceding volitions. it can cause a volition only by a prior volition, which, in its turn, can be caused only by another volition prior to it; and so on _ad infinitum_. thus, according to edwards, the self-determining power of the will necessarily runs out into the absurdity of an infinite series of volitions. if this reasoning is just, the doctrine in question must be abandoned; for no sound doctrine can lead to such a conclusion. but is it just? does such an absurdity really flow from the self-determining power of the will? it has been objected to the argument of edwards, that it is based on a false assumption. the position of edwards, "that if the will determines itself, it must determine itself by an act of choice," is, it has been contended, clearly an assumption unsupported, and incapable of being supported. the reason assigned for this objection is, that we do not know how any cause exerts itself in the production of phenomena; and consequently we have no right to assume that the will can cause its volitions only by volitions. in other words, as we do not know how any cause produces its effects, so it is wholly a gratuitous assumption to say, that if the will causes its volitions, it must cause them in this particular manner, that is, by preceding acts of volition. this objection does not seem to be well taken. when we say, that the will is the cause of any thing, we do not really mean that the will itself is the cause of it; for the will itself does not act: it is not an agent, it is merely the power of an agent. it is that power by which the mind acts. hence, when the will is said to cause a thing, the language must either have no intelligible meaning, or it must be understood to mean, that the mind causes it by an exercise of its power of willing. but to say that the mind causes a thing by an exercise of its power of willing, is to say that it causes it by an act of the will or a volition; which brings us to the assumption of edwards. hence, if the language that "the will causes its own volitions" means any thing, it must mean what edwards supposes it does. that is, if the will causes its volition, or rather, if the mind in the act of willing causes them, then they must be caused by volitions or acts of the will. it is said, that "we do not know _how_ any cause acts." this is very true, when properly understood; but in the true sense of this maxim, edwards has not undertaken to explain how a cause acts; nor has he made any assumption as to how it acts. the _term_ cause has a variety of meanings; and it is frequently applied with extreme vagueness and want of precision. what is the cause of an effect?--of the motion of the hand, for example? it is the mind, says one; it is the will, says another; it is a volition, replies a third. now here are three distinct things,--the mind, the will, and the volition; and yet each is said to be the cause of the same identical effect. this diversity of expression may do very well in popular discourse, but it must be laid aside whenever philosophical precision is required. what is then, really and properly speaking, the cause of the motion in question? it is neither the mind, nor the will; for these might both exist, and yet no such effect result from them. a mind, or a will, that lies still and does not act, is the cause of no effect. if we would speak with philosophical precision, then, we should say that the act of the mind is the cause of the effect in question. the idea of a cause, in the strict and proper sense of the term, is that from which the effect immediately and necessarily flows. now the motion of the hand is not necessarily connected with the mind itself; for if the mind were to lie still and not act, no such effect would follow. it is with the act of the mind that the effect in question is connected as with its efficient cause. it is the act of the mind which implies the motion of the hand, and that is implied by it; and hence, it is the act of the mind, or the volition, that is properly said to be the cause of such motion. for cause and effect, are said to imply each other. now edwards has not pretended to say how a volition acts upon the external part of our being; if he had done so, he would have been justly obnoxious to the charge of presuming to know how a cause acts, in the proper sense of the word; but he has done no such thing. the connexion between cause and effect, in the proper sense of the terms, he has left enveloped in profound mystery. he has not presumed to say how an act, or cause, properly so called, produces its corresponding effect. he does not assume to know how a cause acts; but how what is sometimes called a cause really becomes such. the will may be called a cause, if you please; but, in reality, unless it acts, it is the cause of no effect; and even then, properly speaking, the act is the cause. he clearly saw that a will which lies still and does nothing, is the cause of no effect; and hence he stated the simple fact, that it must act in order to become a cause, or, which is the same thing, in order to produce an effect. and is not this perfectly self-evident? we do not know how the will acts, nor how its act produces a change in the external part of our being; but yet do we not certainly know, that a dormant will can do nothing, and that it must act in order to produce an effect. if this be to explain how a cause acts, i humbly conceive that we may do so with perfect propriety. indeed, all that is assumed by edwards, has been conceded to him by most of his adversaries. thus says dr. west, as quoted by edwards the younger, "no being can become a cause, i. e. an efficient, or that which produces an effect, but by first operating, acting, or energizing." here we are told, not how a cause acts, but how the mind becomes a cause, or the author of effects. this is all that edwards takes for granted; and, for aught that i can see, he has done so with perfect propriety. the same thing is conceded by dr. reid. "the change," says he, "whether it be of thought, of will, or of motion, is the effect. active power, therefore, is a quality in the cause, which enables it to produce the effect. and the exertion of that active power in producing the effect, is called action, agency, efficiency. in order to the production of any effect, there must be in the cause, not only power, _but the exertion of that power_."--essays on the active powers, p. . here it is declared by dr. reid, that active power or the will must act, in order to produce an effect, whether the effect be in the mind itself, or out of the mind, whether it be "of thought, of will, or of motion." this is all that edwards assumes as the basis of his argument. but the question is not so much what has been conceded, as what is true. is it true, then, that if the will causes its own volitions, it can cause them only by preceding volitions? it is, as we have already seen, according to the common acceptation of the terms; for a dormant cause can produce no effect; it must act in order to produce effects. edwards has truly said, that "if the will be determined, there is a determiner. this must be supposed to be intended even by those that say the will determines itself. if it be so, the will is both determiner and determined; it is a cause that acts and produces effects upon itself, and is the object of its own influence and action." p. . now, whatever may be the meaning of those who choose to affirm that the will determines itself, admitting that it is both determined and determiner; the conclusion of edwards seems to be fairly drawn from the language in which their doctrine is expressed. to say the least, he fairly reduces the obvious meaning of their language to the absurdity of an infinite series of volitions. if the phrase, that the will is determined by itself, has any meaning, it must mean, either that the will is made to act by a preceding act of the will, or that the will simply acts. if the meaning be, that the act or choice of the will is produced by a preceding act of the will, then is the inference of edwards well drawn, and the self-determining power is involved in the aforesaid _ad infinitum_ absurdity. but if the meaning be, that the will simply acts, why not present the idea in this its true and unambiguous form? it is evident, that while the will remains inactive, it can produce no effect; it must act, in order to become the author of effects. the effect caused, and the causative act, are clearly distinct; the one produces the other. if the causative act is a volition, then we have an infinite series of volitions. and if it be not a volition, but some other effort of the mind, the same difficulty arises; for if it be necessary to suppose a preceding effort of the mind in order to account for a volition, it will be equally necessary to suppose the existence of another effort to account for that; and so on _ad infinitum_. and an infinite series of efforts is just as great an absurdity as an infinite series of volitions. now let us suppose that, in order to escape these difficulties, an advocate of the self-determining power should deny that there is any causative act of volition; but that volition is itself an act uncaused by any preceding act. according to this view, what does the self-determining power amount to? it amounts to just this, that the will itself acts,--a position which is as freely recognized by edwards as it could possibly be by the warmest advocate of the self-determining power. if this be all that is meant by self-determination, why not state the simple fact that the will itself acts, in plain english, instead of going about to envelope it in a mist of words? if this be all that is meant, why not state the thing so that it may be acquiesced in by the necessitarian, instead of keeping up such a war of words? indeed, it appears plain to me, that the assertion that the will is determined by itself, is either false doctrine, or else the language in which it is couched is not a clear and distinct expression of its own meaning. on either supposition, this mode of expression should be abandoned. i have long been impressed with the conviction, that the self-determining power, as it is generally understood, is full of inconsistencies. while we hold this doctrine, we cannot with a good grace contend that the motive-determining power is involved in the absurdity of an infinite series of causes; for we ourselves are involved in it. nor can we very well maintain that "a necessary agent is no agent at all;" for the necessitarian will reply, as he always does, that according to our own scheme, our actions are caused; and hence, if it be absurd to speak of a caused action, this is equally true, whether the cause be intrinsic or extrinsic. moreover, if we should complain that, according to the necessitarian, the phenomena of the will are involved in the "mechanism of cause and effect," he will be sure to reply, that the same thing is true according to our own scheme, inasmuch as we admit volition to be an effect, and place it under the dominion of an internal cause. these difficulties, as well as some others, have always encumbered the cause of free and accountable agency; just because it has been supposed to consist in the self-determining power of the will. we should, therefore, abandon this doctrine. if clarke, and price, and reid, and west, have not been able to maintain it without running into such inconsistencies, it is high time it should be laid aside forever. it has always been taken for granted that the will is determined. the use of this word clearly implies that the will is acted upon, either by the will itself, or by something else. it has been conceded, on all sides, that it is determined; and the only controversy has been, as to what is the determiner. it is determined by the strongest motive, says one; it is determined by itself, says another; and upon these two positions the combatants have arranged themselves. but behind all this controversy, there is a question which has not been agitated; and that is, whether the will is determined at all? for my part, i am firmly and fully persuaded that it is not, but that it simply determines. it is the "determiner," but not the "determined." it is never the object of its own determination. it acts, but there is no causative act, by which it is made to act. this position, i trust, has been made good in the preceding pages. if we say that the will is determined by itself, this implies that it is determined in the passive voice, at the same time that it determines in the active voice; whereas, in reality, it is simply active, and not passive to the action of any thing, in its determinations. we should not say, then, that the mind is self-determined, but simply that it is self-active. on this ground we may securely rest in our opposition to the scheme of necessity. it can never be shown that it is involved in the absurdity of an endless series of causes; it will remain for the necessitarian alone to extricate himself from that absurdity. that the mind is self-active, i have already shown, by showing that it is absurd to suppose that an act of the mind is produced by the action of any thing upon it. it is right here, then, upon the self-activity of the human mind, that we take our stand, in order to plant the lever which shall heave the scheme of moral necessity from its foundations. it is right here that we find our stronghold; that we erect the bulwark and the fortifications of man's free-agency, against which, as against a wall of adamant, all the shafts of the necessitarian will fall blunted to the earth, or else recoil with destructive force upon himself. but why fight against the doctrine of those who have laboured in the same great cause with myself? truly, most truly, not because it is a grateful task, but because it is a deep and earnest conviction, wrought into my mind by the meditation of years, that the great and glorious cause of free-agency has been retarded by some of the errors of its friends, more than by all the truths of its enemies. this has appeared to be the case especially in regard to the self-determining power of the will. it seems to have retained its hold upon the mind of its friends, not so much by its intrinsic merits, as by its denial of moral necessity, and the idea that it is the only mode of such denial. as the scheme of moral necessity has triumphed in the weakness of the self-determining power, so has the self-determining power resisted the siege of centuries, in the unconquerable energy of its opposition to the determining and controlling power of motives. and if both have stood together, each deriving strength from the weakness of the other, is it not possible that both may fall together, and that a more complete and satisfactory scheme of moral agency may arise out of the common ruins? section xvii. of the definition of a free agent. having shown, as i trust, that there is no influence whatever operating upon the mind to produce volition, i am now prepared to declare the true idea of a free-agent. a free-agent, then, is one who acts without being caused to act. here the question arises, is such a thing possible? can any being act, without being caused to act? the answer to this question, depends upon the meaning which is attached to the very ambiguous term cause. if it means an efficient cause, or that which produces a thing by prior action or influence, it is possible for a spirit to act without being caused to do so; and, as we have already seen, if there can be no action without such a cause of its existence, then there must be an infinite series of actions or causes. but if the question be, can an act arise and come into being, without a sufficient "ground and reason" of its existence? i answer, no. it is very necessary to separate the different questions included in the general one, is not a volition caused? or has it not a cause? and to pass upon them separately. there is, i admit, a "sufficient ground and reason" for our actions; but not an _efficient_ cause of them. this is the all-important distinction which has been overlooked in the present controversy. edwards frequently asks, if a volition is without a cause? now we call for a division of this question. has volition an efficient cause? i answer, no. has it a "sufficient ground and reason" of its existence? i answer, yes. no one ever imagined that there are no indispensable antecedents to choice, without which it could not take place; but edwards has framed this question in such a manner, that we cannot give a categorical answer to it, without either denying our own doctrine, or else subscribing to his. unless there were a mind, there could be no act of the mind; and unless the mind possessed a power of acting, it could not put forth volitions. the mind, then, and the power of the mind called will, constitute the ground of action or volition. but a power to act, it will be said, is not a sufficient reason to account for the existence of action. this is true. the _reason_ is to come. the sufficient reason, however, is not an efficient cause; for there is some difference between a blind impulse or force, and rationality. the mind is endowed with various appetites, passions, and desires,--with noble affections, and, above all, with a feeling of moral approbation and disapprobation. these are not the "active principles," or the "motive powers," as they have been called; they are the ends of our acting: we simply act in order to gratify them. they exert no influence over the will, much less is the will controlled by them; and hence, we are perfectly free, to gratify the one or the other of them;--to act in obedience to the dictates of conscience, or in order to gratify the lowest appetites of our nature. we see that certain means must be used, in order to gratify the passion, desire, affection, or feeling, which we _intend_ to gratify; and we act accordingly. in all this, we form our designs or _intentions_ free from all influence whatever: nothing acts upon the will: we fix upon the end, and we choose the means to accomplish it. we adapt the means to our end; because there is a fitness in them to accomplish that end or design; and because, as rational creatures, we perceive that fitness. thus, we act according to reason, but not from the influence of reason. we act with a view to our desires, but not from the influence of our desires; and our volition is virtuous or vicious according to the intention with which it is put forth,--according to the design with which it is directed. passion is not "the gale," it is "the card." reason is not the force, it is the law. all the power resides in the free, untrammelled will. he who overlooks this, and blindly seeks for something to "move the mind to volition," loses sight of the grand and distinctive peculiarity of man's nature, and brings it down to the dust, subjecting it to the laws of matter and to bondage. we do not allow mr. hobbes to declare our idea of a free-agent, as "one that, when all the circumstances necessary to produce action are present, _can nevertheless not act_;" nor do we accept of the amendment, of another, "that a free-agent is one who, when all the circumstances necessary to produce action are present, _can act_." for if all the circumstances necessary _to produce_ action are present, then they would produce it; and nothing would be left for the will to do, except to receive the producing influence. in other words, if volition is produced by circumstances, then it is a passive impression made upon the will, and not an act at all. it is contended by edwards, that it is just as absurd to say, that a volition can come into existence without a cause, as it is that a world should do so. it is true, that a world cannot arise out of nothing, and come into existence of itself; and this is also equally true of a volition. but is the mind nothing? is the will nothing? is a free, intelligent, designing cause nothing? the mind is something; and it is capable of acting in order to fulfil its own designs, though it be not impelled to act. is this idea absurd? is it self-contradictory? is it any thing like the assertion, that an effect has no cause? it is not. it implies no contradiction;--it is a possible idea. how does it act, then? i do not know. this is a mystery. indeed, every ultimate fact in man's nature, and every simple exercise of his intellectual powers, is a mystery. an exercise of the power of conception, by which the past is called up, and made to pass in review before us; an exercise of the imagination, by which the world is made to teem with wonders of our own creation; and an exercise of the will, by which we produce changes in, the external world; are all mysteries? now, shall we fly from these mysteries? shall we strive to make the matter plain, in a single instance, by assigning an efficient cause to an act of the will? if so, whether we escape the _mystery_ or not, we shall certainly plunge into _absurdity_. we shall embrace a doctrine, which denies the nature of action, and which is necessarily involved in the great absurdity of an infinite series of causes. for my part, i prefer a simple statement of the fact of volition, with its attendant circumstances, how much soever of mystery it may seem to leave around the subject, to any _explanation_ which involves it in absurdity. the philosophers of all ages have sought for the efficient cause of volition; but who has found it? is it in the will? the necessitarian has shown the absurdities of this hypothesis. is it in the power of motive? this hypothesis is fraught with the very same absurdities. is it in the uncaused volition of deity? the younger edwards could do nothing with this hypothesis. in truth, the efficient cause of volition is nowhere. it has never been found, because it does not exist; and it never will be found, so long as an action of mind continues to be what it is. this, then, is the true idea of a free-agent: it is one who, in view of circumstances, both external and internal, can act, without being efficiently caused to do so. this is the idea of a free-agent which god has realized by the creation of the soul of man. it may be a mystery; but it is not a contradiction. it may be a mystery; but then it solves a thousand difficulties which we have unnecessarily created to ourselves. it may be a mystery; but then it is the only safe retreat from self-contradiction, absurdity, and atheism. it is no reason for disbelieving a thing, that we cannot conceive how it is. this will be readily admitted; but this principle, like every other, may be misapplied and abused. if any thing is possible in itself considered, that is, if it implies no contradiction, we should not refuse to believe it, because we cannot conceive how it is. when confined within these limits, the principle or maxim in question is one of immense importance; and to disregard it betrays one of the greatest weaknesses to which the human mind is exposed. if we do not adhere to it, there is no resting-place for us this side of the most unqualified atheism: we shall be compelled to renounce, not only the stupendous facts and mysteries of revelation, but also all the great truths of natural religion. the very being and attributes of god can find no place in our minds, if we expunge this principle from them; and insist upon seeing how every thing is, before we consent to receive it as an object of belief. we should find no difficulty, therefore, in believing that the mind of man acts, without being efficiently caused to act. this implies no contradiction; and hence the creative power of god can produce such a being--a being that acts freely, without labouring under any necessity, either natural or moral, in its accountable and moral agency. a being, the end of whose action is found in the sensibility; the intention, the design, and the plan of whose action is formed in the intelligence; and the power by which this intention is executed, and this plan accomplished, is in the will alone. it is in this triunity of the sensibility, the intelligence, and the will, that the glory of man's nature, as a free and accountable being, consists. the relation between them is most intimate,--is inconceivably intimate; but the relation is not the same in nature and kind as that which subsists between an effect and its efficient, or producing cause. the only relation of this kind, which is to be found in the case, is that which subsists between the action of the will, or the volition, and the corresponding change which it produces in the external part of our being. i say, we can very easily believe all this, as it implies no contradiction; and yet not feel ourselves bound, by a regard for consistency, to believe that a world may rise up out of nothing, and come into being of itself, without any cause of its existence. these things are blended together, in the philosophy of the necessitarian, by a most convenient use of an ambiguous phraseology; but they are, indeed, as widely different from each other as mystery is from absurdity,--as light is from darkness. but the above maxim, as i have already said, may be grievously misapplied; and thus the garb of intellectual humility may be thrown over the greatest absurdities. we may be told, for example, that the same body may be wholly in one place, and wholly in a far distant place, at one and the same time; and, if we object to this doctrine, the murmurings of reason are sought to be silenced, by reminding us, that it is exceedingly weak and presumptuous for poor blind creatures like ourselves, to reject a truth because we cannot conceive how it is. in like manner, we are informed that a volition, or an act of the will, may be produced in the mind, may be necessitated, by the action of an extraneous cause; or, if you please, of an intrinsic cause; and if we ask how this can be, without interfering with our free-agency, it is frequently replied, that we cannot tell; but that it is exceedingly absurd and presumptuous to disbelieve a thing because we cannot conceive how it is. that god operates upon the mind, not to rectify and elevate its powers, but to produce a volition in it; not to cleanse and purify the whole stream and current of our natures, but merely to throw up a bubble upon the surface thereof, for which _effect_ he holds us accountable: that he does this, we are told, is a great mystery, which we should not presume to call in question. for my part, i had rather believe the doctrine of transubstantiation itself, than such a _mystery_ as this. there is some difference, i have supposed, between disbelieving a thing because we cannot see how it is, and disbelieving it, because we very clearly see that it cannot possibly be any how at all. it is upon this distinction that i stand, when i receive the great mysteries of the godhead, and reject the absurdities of transubstantiation. and it is upon the same ground, that i most freely and fully recognize and embrace the great mysteries of our being, whilst i reject the absurdities of an efficiently caused and accountable agency. is not this distinction properly applied? if the action or influence of any thing produces an effect upon the mind, is not that effect merely a passive impression? is it not absurd to suppose, that it is a passive impression, produced by the action of something else, and yet that it is an action of the mind itself? if so; and so i think it has been made to appear, then we not only should, but must, reject it. we must reject it, unless we suffer ourselves to be blinded by false analogies, and verbal ambiguities. this is not to deny the divine influence, as has been so often imagined. the regeneration, the new creation, of the soul, by the power of god, is no more inconsistent with free and accountable agency, than was the original creation of it with all its powers; but this cannot be said of the production of our acts or volitions by a divine influence. those must take an exceedingly narrow and superficial view of the great work of regeneration; who suppose that it is altogether denied, unless we admit that the spirit produces our volitions; who suppose that the divine agency can in no way cleanse and purify our powers, unless it can superinduce a volition, or an act, upon our depraved natures. how many persons have laboured in vain, to reconcile the free-agency of man with the reality of a divine influence; just because they have laboured under the superficial notion, the grand illusion, that the spirit of god cannot act upon the mind at all, unless it acts to produce a volition! it is no wonder that they have laboured in vain, and abandoned the task in despair; because what they have taken for a seeming difficulty, is, when narrowly inspected, seen to be a real absurdity. lay this aside, and there will be a mystery in the case, it is true; but there will not be _even a seeming contradiction_. but i do not intend to enter upon the subject of theology. this is entirely beside the purpose of the present work; and if i have touched upon it for a moment, it was only to show, by a passing glance, how very easy it were for any one, if he were so disposed, to draw false conclusions with respect to theology, from the views which have been advanced in regard to the philosophy of the will. true, philosophy and religion will always perfectly harmonize; but then he is very apt to be a poor philosopher, who derives his philosophy from his religion; and he a miserable theologian, who derives his religion from his philosophy. it was in that way, that edwards became a necessitarian; it is in this, that many a necessitarian has become an infidel or an atheist. section xviii. of the testimony of consciousness. whether our volitions come to pass in the manner we call freely, or are brought to pass by the operation of necessary causes, is a question of fact, which should be referred to the tribunal of consciousness. if we ever hope to settle this question, we must occasionally turn from the arena of dialectics, and unite our efforts in the cultivation of the much-neglected field of observation. we must turn from the dust and smoke of mere logical contention, and consult the living oracle within; we must behold the pure light that ever burns behind the darkened veil of disputation. this appeal is not declined by the necessitarian. he consents to the appeal; and the dispute is, as to the true interpretation of the decision of the tribunal in question. we contend that the testimony of consciousness is clearly and unequivocally in favour of the doctrine of liberty, while our opponents allege the same evidence in their own favour. now, what is the real import of this testimony? it is to be regretted that president edwards has said so little on this subject. he has disposed of it in one brief note; as if the nature of our mental operations were to be determined by abstract and universal propositions, or truisms, and observation consulted only to confirm our preconceived opinions. what little he has said on this subject, however, is sufficient to show with what faint hope of success the necessitarian can venture to submit his cause to the tribunal of consciousness. the testimony of consciousness, i have no doubt, might have been made much stronger in our favour, if the wrong question had not been submitted to it. all the advocates of free-agency, so far as i remember, have said that we are conscious of freedom; that we are conscious of a power of contrary choice. or, in other words, that when we put forth a volition, we are conscious that we might forbear to do so. but this does not seem to be the case. we are not conscious of what does not take place in our minds; and hence, we are only conscious of the volition which we put forth. we are not even conscious of our power to act; this is necessarily inferred from the acts of which we are conscious. as we do not then, according to the supposition, put forth the contrary choice, we cannot be conscious of it, nor of the power to put it forth. by referring this, therefore, to the tribunal of consciousness, it seems to me that most advocates of free-agency have rendered a disservice to the cause which they have so ably supported in other respects. for the necessitarian sees, that the doctrine of liberty, or the power of choice to the contrary, cannot be established by the direct testimony of consciousness alone; and hence he strengthens himself in his own convictions, by picking flaws in our evidence. he sees that we are not borne out by the testimony of consciousness, in regard to the point which we submit to it; and hence, he readily concludes that we are wrong in the whole matter. it is well, it is exceedingly important, to observe what are the strong points of our cause, upon which we can rest with unshaken confidence, and to take our stand upon them; giving up all untenable positions. by consciousness, then, we discover the existence of an act. we see no cause by which it is produced. if it were produced by the act or operation of any thing else, it would be a passive impression, and not an act of the mind itself. the mind would be wholly passive in relation to it, and it would not be an act at all. whether it is produced by a preceding act of the mind, or by the action of any thing else, the mind would be passive as to the effect produced. but we see, in the clear and unquestionable light of consciousness, that instead of being passive, the mind is active in its volitions.--hence, it follows by an inference as clear as noonday, and as irresistible as fate, that the action of the mind is not a produced effect. it is not a passive impression; and hence it does not, _it cannot_, result from the action of any thing else. to say that it is produced by the action of something else upon the mind, is to say that it is a passive impression, and to deny that it is an act. we are simply conscious of an act then, and the irresistible inference which results from this fact, stands out in direct and eternal opposition to the doctrine of necessity. when we reflect upon the operation of the will, or of the mind in the act of willing, we simply find ourselves in possession of a volition. we do not see how we come by this volition; how we come to exist in this state of activity. on this point, i am happy to find that the consciousness of president edwards agreed with my own. "it is true," says he, "i find myself possessed of my volitions before i can see the effectual power of any cause to produce them, for the power and efficacy of the cause is seen but by the _effect_, and this, for aught i know, may make some imagine that volition has no cause, or that it produces itself." our consciousness is precisely the same; but just observe how he interprets it. he finds himself possessed of a _volition_; but does he look at this volition to see what it is? does he ask himself whether it is the same in nature and in kind with a produced effect? he does not. it is most unquestionably a produced effect; this is beyond all doubt, and it is taken for granted. he sees no effectual power by which this volition is produced; _but he knows it is a produced effect_, and therefore he knows it must have a producing cause. the oracle is not consulted on this point at all. it would be an insult to reason to consult the great oracle of nature on so plain a point as this. this has been decided long ago, and the ear is deaf to any response that might possibly contravene so clear a decision. thus it is that the necessitarian goes to the true oracle within, and delivers oracles himself. he reasons not from the observed, but from the assumed, nature of a volition. it must be an effect, says he, and though i do not see "the effectual power by which it is produced;" yet there must be such a power. yes, it is just as absurd to suppose that it can exist, without being produced by the effectual power of something operating upon the mind, as it is to suppose that a world can create itself! but as we appeal to consciousness, let us pay some little attention to its teaching. we find ourselves, then, possessed of a volition; we find our minds in a state of acting. this is all we discover by the light of consciousness. we see "not the effectual power of any cause" operating to produce it. what shall we conclude then? shall we conclude that there _must_ be some cause to produce it? this were not to study nature, as "the humble servants and interpreters thereof;" but to approach it in the attitude of dictators. if we draw such an inference at all, it must be from the fact, it seems, that volition is a produced effect. but is it such an effect? what says consciousness upon this point? we have already repeatedly seen, what every man may see, that a volition is not the passive result of any prior action; it is action itself. it is not a produced effect; it is a producing cause. it is not _determined_ at all; it is simply a _determination_. as it stands out in the light of consciousness, it is as perfectly distinct from the idea of an effect, as any one thing can possibly be from another; and if it has not so appeared to every reflecting mind, it is because it has not been simply looked at, and beheld as it is in itself, but has been viewed through the medium of a certain fixed notion, a certain preconceived form of thought, a certain grand illusion, by which the witchery of the senses has blinded the eye of consciousness. every change in the external world requires a producing cause; who then can possibly conceive of a volition as existing upon any other terms or conditions! it is this fallacy, this begging of the question, this perpetual declaration that it is self-evident, that has, through a natural illusion of the senses, spread the scheme of necessity far and wide over the minds of men. it is this grand illusion of the senses, or, if you please, of the mind, that has brought "the dictates of reason," as they have been called, into conflict with the testimony of consciousness. the doctrine of liberty is as inevitably connected with the _observed_ nature of a volition, as that of necessity is connected with its assumed nature. i would not say that we are conscious of liberty; for that would not be correct; but i will say, that we are conscious of that which necessarily leads to the conviction that we are free, that we have a power of contrary choice. i would not say with dr. clarke, that liberty consists in a power to act; but i will say, that it necessarily results from it. i would not say, that we are conscious of the existence of no producing cause of our volitions; for we cannot be conscious of that which does not exist. but i will say, that as we are conscious of the existence of an act, so we see and do know that this is not a passive impression, or a produced effect. and as we are not compelled to act, so we know that we may act or may not act, so we know that our actions are not necessitated, but may be put forth or withheld. this is liberty, this is "a power of contrary choice." this idea of liberty, i say, follows from the fact of consciousness that we do act, by an inference as clear as noonday; by an inference so natural, so direct, and so inconceivably rapid, that it has often been supposed to be included in the testimony of consciousness itself. no man could help the conclusion, if he would only allow his reason to speak for itself. is this doctrine any the less certain, because it is a matter of inference? it will be conceded that it is not. the most unquestionable facts in the universe are made known by the same kind of evidence. it is sometimes said, that we are conscious of our own existence; but this is not to use language with philosophical precision. we are merely conscious of the existence of thought, of feeling, of volition; and we are so made, that we are compelled to believe that there is something which thinks, and feels, and wills. it is thus, by what has been called a fundamental law of belief, that we arrive at the knowledge of the existence of our minds. in like manner, from the fact of consciousness that we do act, or put forth volitions, we are forced, by a fundamental law of belief, to yield to the conviction that we are free. this inference as necessarily results from the observed phenomena of the mind, as the existence of the mind itself results from the same phenomena. and if the doctrine of the necessitarian were true, that volition is a produced effect, we should never infer from it that we have _a power of acting_ at all; we should simply infer that we are _susceptible of passive impressions_. i have said, that we are not conscious that there is no producing cause of volition. no man can be conscious of that which does not exist. hence, it is highly absurd to require us to furnish the evidence of consciousness that there is no such cause of volition. it cannot testify to any such universal negative; and one might as well require a mathematical demonstration of the point in dispute, as to demand such evidence from us. and yet, president edwards declares, that by experience he knows nothing like the doctrine, that "any volition arises in his mind contingently;" that is to say, he was not conscious that a volition has _no producing_ cause of its existence. did he expect that we should prove the non-existence of a thing by the direct evidence of consciousness? all that he could reasonably expect in such a case is, that we should not be conscious of any such influence; and this president edwards himself admits. he admits, that we do not see the "effectual power of any cause," or feel its influence, operating to produce a volition: he merely infers this from the assumption that volition is a produced effect. he also says, i find "that the acts of my will are my own; i. e. that they are acts of my will--the volitions of my own mind; or, in other words, that what i will, i will; which, i suppose, is the sum of what others experience in this affair." surely, no one was ever so silly as to deny that what a man wills, he wills; and if this is all that consciousness teaches on the subject, its information can throw no light upon this or upon any other controversy. this proposition, that a man wills what he wills, is independent of all experience and all consciousness. it is an identical proposition, which experience can neither shake nor confirm. we may see, nay, we must see, that each and every thing in the universe is what it is, without any reference to consciousness or experience. indeed, it is as absurd to appeal to experience or consciousness for the truth of such a universal and self-evident axiom, as it is to appeal to universal and self-evident axioms, to ascertain and determine the _nature_ of our mental phenomena,--of the states and processes of the mind. edwards has done both: he has deduced the truth of the proposition, that a man wills what he wills, from the evidence of consciousness or experience, as the sum of all its teaching; and he has established the fact, that a volition is produced by the operation of an effectual power, by an appeal to a universal axiom. he has submitted a truism, which declines every test of its truth, to the tribunal of consciousness; and he has determined the nature of a volition, as well as the manner of its production, by the application of a similar truism, which contains no conceivable information respecting the nature of any thing in the universe. edwards says, "i find myself possessed of my volitions." he was conscious of his own acts. this is a sufficient foundation for the doctrine of liberty; for such a consciousness is utterly irreconcilable with the supposition that those acts are produced by the operation of efficient causes. to say that they are "my acts," and yet to say that they are produced by the action of something else, is, as we have repeatedly seen, to say that they are my acts, and at the same time to say that they are not my _acts_, but _effects_ produced upon my mind. this very admission, therefore, lays the foundation of the doctrine of liberty. and hence, it has been supposed that edwards himself was an advocate of this doctrine; because he has spoken of the soul as exerting its own volitions. from such an admission, it has been concluded by some of his admirers, that he really regarded the mind as the "efficient cause of its own acts," and "motives as merely the occasions on which it acts." but such an admission only proves, that his consciousness cannot be reconciled with his theory. his consciousness lays the foundation of liberty; but he does not build thereon. on the contrary, he lays the foundation of his system in universal abstractions, and not in observed facts; and hence, as it is not derived from an observation of nature, so it can never be brought into harmony with the dictates and operations of nature. it is altogether a thing of definitions and words; and as such it must pass away, when men shall cease to construct for themselves, and come forward as "the humble servants and interpreters of nature," to study the world of mind upon the true principles of the inductive method. edwards did not observe the intellectual world just as it has been constructed by the almighty, and narrowly watch it in its workings; he only reasoned about it and about it; and hence, he was necessarily devoted to blindness. with all his gigantic power, he was necessarily compelled to go around, eternally, upon the treadmill of a merely dialectical philosophy, which of itself can yield no fruit, instead of going forth to the harvest upon the rich and boundless field of discovery. why should the failure of other times, resulting from such a course, inspire us with despair? we hope for better results, not from better minds, but from better methods. socrates dissuaded the men of his time from the study of nature, alleging that "the wonderful art" wherewith the heavens had been constructed, was concealed from their eyes; and that it was displeasing to the gods, that men should so vainly strive to pry into mysteries which are so far above their reach. faint-hearted sage! though bacon had beheld the genius and labour of two thousand years after socrates had been laid in the dust, wasted upon the same great problem, yet did not the unconquerable ardour of his hope droop for a moment. rising aloft, even from the wild waste which men had made of their powers in all times past, he poured down the floods of his indignation upon those who are thus ready and willing to devote mankind to darkness and despair. inspired by his philosophy, and pursuing his method, the more than immortal newton did not fear, cautiously yet boldly, humbly yet hopefully, to pry into "the wonderful art" wherewith the almighty has constructed the heavens; and the great problem which socrates had so timidly, yet so rashly, pronounced to lie beyond the reach of man, did this humble student of nature most triumphantly solve; showing, to the admiration of the world and the glory of god, that that wonderful art is infinitely more wonderful than any thing which had ever been dreamed of in the philosophy of antiquity. how great soever, then, the failure of times past may have been, we should not despair. nor should we listen, for a moment, to those who are ever ready to declare, that the great problem of the intellectual system of the universe is not within the reach of the human faculties. _note_.--the edition of edwards' works quoted in this volume, is that by g. & c. & h. carvill, new york, . contents dedicatory preface footnotes doctrine of the will. by rev. a. mahan, president of the oberlin collegiate institute. "not man alone, all rationals heaven arms with an illustrious, but tremendous power, to counteract its own most gracious ends; and this, of strict necessity, not choice; that power denied, men, angels, were no more but passive engines void of praise or blame. a nature rational implies the power of being blest, or wretched, as we please. man falls by man, if finally he falls; and fall he must, who learns from death alone, the dreadful secret--that he lives for ever." young. new york: mark h. newman, broadway. oberlin; ohio: r. e. gillet. . entered according to an act of congress, in the year , by asa mahan, in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states, for the southern district of new york. s. w. benedict & co., ster. & print., spruce street. contents. chapter i. introductory observations.--importance of the subject--true and false methods of inquiry--common fault--proper method of reasoning from revelation to the system of mental philosophy therein pre-supposed--errors of method chapter ii. classification of the mental faculties.--classification verified chapter iii. liberty and necessity.--terms defined--characteristics of the above definitions--motive defined--liberty as opposed to necessity, the characteristic of the will--objections to doctrine of necessity--doctrine of liberty, direct argument--objection to an appeal to consciousness--doctrine of liberty argued from the existence of the idea of liberty in all minds--the doctrine of liberty, the doctrine of the bible--necessity as held by necessitarians--the term certainty, as used by them--doctrine of ability, according to the necessitarian scheme--sinful inclinations--necessitarian doctrine of liberty--ground which necessitarians are bound to take in respect to the doctrine of ability--doctrine of necessity, as regarded by necessitarians of different schools chapter iv. extent and limits of the liberty of the will.--strongest motive--reasoning in a circle chapter v. greatest apparent good.--phrase defined--its meaning according to edwards--the will not always as the dictates of the intelligence--not always as the strongest desire--nor as the intelligence and sensibility combined--necessitarian argument--motives cause acts of the will, in what sense--particular volitions, how accounted for--facts wrongly accounted for--choosing between objects known to be equal, how treated by necessitarians--palpable mistake chapter vi. doctrine of liberty and the divine prescience.--dangers to be avoided--mistake respecting divine prescience--inconsistency of necessitarians--necessitarian objection chapter vii. doctrine of liberty and the divine purposes and agency.--god's purposes consistent with the liberty of creatures--senses in which god purposed moral good and evil--death of the incorrigible preordained, but not willed--god not responsible for their death--sin a mystery--conclusion from the above chapter viii. obligation predicable only of the will.--men not responsible for the sin of their progenitors--constitutional ill-desert--present impossibilities not required chapter ix. standard of moral character.--sincerity, and not intensity, the true standard chapter x. moral acts never of a mixed character.--acts of will resulting from a variety of motives--loving with a greater intensity at one time than another--momentary revolutions of character chapter xi. relations of the will to the intelligence and sensibility, in states morally right, or wrong.--those who are and are not virtuous, how distinguished--selfishness and benevolence--common mistake--defective forms of virtue--test of conformity to moral principle--common mistake--love as required by the moral law--identity of character among all beings morally virtuous chapter xii. element of the will in complex phenomena.--natural propensities--sensation, emotion, desire, and wish defined--anger, pride, ambition, &c.--religious affections--repentance--love--faith-- convictions, feelings and external actions, why required or prohibited-- our responsibility in respect to such phenomena--feelings how controlled by the will--relation of faith to other exercises morally right chapter xiii. influence of the will in intellectual judgments.--men often voluntary in their opinions--error not from the intelligence, but will--primary faculties cannot err--so of the secondary faculties--assumptions-- pre-judgments--intellect not deceived in pre-judgments--mind, how influenced by them--influences which induce false assumptions--cases in which we are apparently, though not really, misled by the intelligence chapter xiv. liberty and servitude.--liberty as opposed to moral servitude--mistake of german metaphysicians--moral servitude of the race chapter xv. liberty and dependence.--common impression--spirit of dependence--doctrine of necessity tends not to induce this spirit--doctrine of liberty does--god controls all influences under which creatures act--dependence on account of moral servitude chapter xvi. formation of character.--commonly how accounted for--the voluntary element to be taken into the account--example in illustration-- diversities of character chapter xvii. concluding reflections.--objection, the will has its laws--objection, god dethroned from his supremacy if the doctrine of liberty is true--great and good men have held the doctrine of necessity--last resort--willing and aiming to perform impossibilities--thought at parting dedicatory preface. to one whose aim is, to "serve his generation according to the will of god," but two reasons would seem to justify an individual in claiming the attention of the public in the capacity of an author--the existence in the public mind of a want which needs to be met, and the full belief, that the work which he has produced is adapted to meet that want. under the influence of these two considerations, the following treatise is presented to the public. whether the author has judged rightly or not, it is not for him to decide. the decision of that question is left with the public, to whom the work is now presented. it is doubtful, whether any work, prepared with much thought and pains-taking, was ever published with the conviction, on the part of the author, that it was unworthy of public regard. the community, however, may differ from him entirely on the subject; and, as a consequence, a work which he regards as so imperiously demanded by the public interest, falls dead from the press. many an author, thus disappointed, has had occasion to be reminded of the admonition, "ye have need of patience." whether the following treatise shall succeed in gaining the public ear, or not, one consolation will remain with the writer, the publication of the work has satisfied his sense of duty. to his respected associates in the institution over which he presides, associates with whose approbation and counsel the work was prepared, the author would take this occasion publicly to express his grateful acknowledgments for the many important suggestions which he received from them, during the progress of its preparation. having said thus much, he would simply add, that, to the lovers of truth, the work is now respectfully dedicated, with the kind regards of the author. chapter i. introductory observations. importance of the subject. the doctrine of the will is a cardinal doctrine of theology, as well as of mental philosophy. this doctrine, to say the least, is one of the great central points, from which the various different and conflicting systems of theological, mental, and moral science, take their departure. to determine a man's sentiments in respect to the will, is to determine his position, in most important respects, as a theologian, and mental and moral philosopher. if we turn our thoughts inward, for the purpose of knowing what we are, what we ought to do, and to be, and what we shall become, as the result of being and doing what we ought or ought not, this doctrine presents itself at once, as one of the great pivots on which the resolution of all these questions turns. if, on the other hand, we turn our thoughts from ourselves, to a study of the character of god, and of the nature and character of the government which he exercises over rational beings, all our apprehensions here, all our notions in respect to the nature and desert of sin and holiness, will, in many fundamental particulars, be determined by our notions in respect to the will. in other words, our apprehensions of the nature and character of the divine government, must be determined, in most important respects, by our conceptions of the nature and powers of the subjects of that government. i have no wish to conceal from the reader the true bearing of our present inquiries. i wish him distinctly to understand, that in fixing his notions in respect to the doctrine of the will, he is determining a point of observation from which, and a medium through which, he shall contemplate his own character and deserts as a moral agent, and the nature and character of that divine government, under which he must ever "live, and move, and have his being." true and false methods of inquiry. such being the bearing of our present inquiries, an important question arises, to wit: what should be the influence of such considerations upon our investigations in this department of mental science it should not surely induce us, as appears to be true in the case of many divines and philosophers even, first to form our system of theology, and then, in the light of that, to determine our theory of the will. the true science of the will, as well as that of all ether departments of mental philosophy, "does not come by observation," but by internal reflection. because our doctrine of the will, whether true or false, will have a controlling influence in determining the character of our theology, and the meaning which we shall attach to large portions of the bible, that doctrine does not, for that reason, lose its exclusively psychological character. every legitimate question pertaining to it, still remains purely and exclusively a psychological question. the mind has but one eye by which it can see itself, and that is the eye of consciousness. this, then, is the organ of vision to be exclusively employed in all our inquiries in every department of mental science, and in none more exclusively than in that of the will. we know very well, for example, that the science of optics has a fundamental bearing upon that of astronomy. what if a philosopher, for that reason, should form his theory of optics by looking at the stars? this would be perfectly analogous to the conduct of a divine or philosopher who should determine his theory of the will, not by psychological reflection, but by a system of theology formed without such reflection. suppose again, that the science of geometry had the same influence in theology, that that of the will now has. this fact would not change at all the nature of that science, nor the mode proper in conducting our investigations in respect to it. it would still remain a science of demonstration, with all its principles and rules of investigation unchanged. so with the doctrine of the will. whatever its bearings upon other sciences may be, it still remains no less exclusively a psychological science. it has its own principles and laws of investigation, principles and laws as independent of systems of theology, as the principles and laws of the science of optics are of those of astronomy. in pursuing our investigations in all other departments of mental science, we, for the time being, cease to be theologians. we become mental philosophers. why should the study of the will be an exception? the question now returns--what should be the bearing of the fact, that our theory of the will, whether right or wrong, will have an important influence in determining our system of theology? this surely should be its influence. it should induce in us great care and caution in our investigations in this department of mental science. we are laying the foundation of the most important edifice of which it ever entered into the heart of man to conceive--an edifice, all the parts, dimensions, and proportions of which, we are required most sedulously to conform to the "pattern shown us in the mount." under such circumstances, who should not be admonished, that he should "dig deep, and lay his foundation upon a rock?" i will therefore, in view of what has been said above, earnestly bespeak four things of the reader of the following treatise. . that he read it as an honest, earnest inquirer after truth. . that he give that degree of attention to the work, that is requisite to an _understanding_ of it. . that when he dissents from any of its fundamental principles, he will distinctly state to his own mind the reason and ground of that dissent, and carefully investigate its validity. if these principles are wrong, such an investigation will render the truth more conspicuous to the mind, confirm the mind in the truth, and furnish it with means to overturn the opposite error. . that he pursue his investigations with _implicit confidence in the distinct affirmations of his own consciousness in respect to this subject_. such a suggestion would appear truly singular, if made in respect to any other department of mental science but that of the will. here it is imperiously called for so long have philosophers and divines been accustomed to look without, to determine the characteristics of phenomena which appear exclusively within, and which are revealed to the eye of consciousness only. having been so long under the influence of this pernicious habit, it will require somewhat of an effort for the mind to turn its organ of self-vision in upon itself, for the purpose of correctly reporting to itself, what is really passing in that inner sanctuary. especially will it require an effort to do this, with a fixed determination to abandon all theories formed from external observation, and to follow implicitly the results of observations made internally. this method we must adopt, however, or there is at once an end of all real science, not only in respect to the will, but to all other departments of the mind. suppose an individual to commence a treatise on _colors_, for example, with a denial of the validity of all affirmations of the intelligence through the eye, in respect to the phenomena about which he is to treat. what would be thought of such a treatise? the moment we deny the validity of the affirmations of any of our faculties, in respect to the appropriate objects of those faculties, all reasoning about those objects becomes the height of absurdity. so in respect to the mind. if we doubt or deny the validity of the affirmations of consciousness in respect to the nature and characteristics of all mental operations, mental philosophy becomes impossible, and all reasoning in respect to the mind perfectly absurd. implicit confidence in the distinct affirmations of consciousness, is a fundamental law of all correct philosophizing in every department of mental science. permit me most earnestly to bespeak this confidence, as we pursue our investigations in respect to the will. common fault. it may be important here to notice a common fault in the method frequently adopted by philosophers in their investigations in this department of mental science. in the most celebrated treatise that has ever appeared upon this subject, the writer does not recollect to have met with a single appeal to _consciousness_, the only adequate witness in the case. the whole treatise, almost, consists of a series of syllogisms, linked together with apparent perfectness, syllogisms pertaining to an abstract something called will. throughout the whole, the facts of consciousness are never appealed to. in fact, in instances not a few, among writers of the same school, the right to make such an appeal, on the ground of the total inadequacy of consciousness to give testimony in the case, has been formally denied. would it be at all strange, if it should turn out that all the fundamental results of investigations conducted after such a method, should be wholly inapplicable to _the_ will, the phenomena of which lie under the eye of consciousness, or to stand in plain contradiction to the phenomena thus affirmed? what, from the method adopted, we see is very likely to take place, we find, from experience, to be actually true of the treatise above referred to. this is noticed by the distinguished author of the natural history of enthusiasm, in an essay introductory to edwards on the will. "even the reader," he says, "who is scarcely at all familiar with abstruse science, will, if he follow our author attentively, be perpetually conscious of a vague dissatisfaction, or latent suspicion, that some fallacy has passed into the train of propositions, although the linking of syllogisms seems perfect. this suspicion will increase in strength as he proceeds, and will at length condense itself into the form of a protest against certain conclusions, notwithstanding their apparently necessary connection with the premises." what should we expect from a treatise on mental science, from which the affirmations of consciousness should be formally excluded, as grounds of any important conclusions? just what we find to be true, in fact, of the above named treatise on the will; to wit: all its fundamental conclusions positively contradicted by such affirmations. what if the decisions of our courts of justice were based upon data from which the testimony of all material witnesses has been formally excluded? who would look to such decisions as the exponents of truth and justice? yet all the elements in those decisions may be the necessary logical consequents of the data actually assumed. such decisions may be all wrong, however, from the fact that the data which ought to be assumed in the case, were excluded. the same will, almost of necessity, be true of all treatises, in every department of mental science, which are not based upon the facts of consciousness. proper method of reasoning from revelation to the system of mental philosophy therein pre-supposed. by what has been said, the reader will not understand me as denying the propriety of comparing our conclusions in mental science with the bible. though no system of mental philosophy is directly revealed in the bible, some one system is therein pre-supposed, and assuming, as we do, that the scriptures are a revelation from god, we must suppose that the system of mental science assumed in the sacred writings, is the true system. if we could find the system pre-supposed in the bible, we should have an infallible standard by which to test the validity of any conclusions to which we have arrived, as the results of psychological investigation. it is therefore a very legitimate, interesting, and profitable inquiry--what is the system of mental science assumed as true in the bible? we may very properly turn our attention to the solution of such a question. in doing this, however, two things should be kept distinctly in mind. . in such inquiries, we leave the domain of mental philosophy entirely, and enter that of theology. in the latter we are to be guided by principles entirely distinct from those demanded in the former. . in reasoning from the bible to the system of mental philosophy pre-supposed in the scriptures, we are in danger of assuming wrong data as the basis of our conclusions that is, we are in danger of drawing our inferences from those truths of scripture which have no legitimate bearing upon the subject, and of overlooking those which do have such a bearing. while there are truths of inspiration from which we may properly reason to the theory of the will, pre-supposed in the bible, there are other truths from which we cannot legitimately thus reason. now suppose that we have drawn our conclusions from truths of inspiration which have no legitimate bearing upon the subject, truths which, if we do reason from them in the case, will lead us to wrong conclusions; suppose that in the light of such conclusions we have explained the facts of consciousness, assuming that such must be their true character, else we deny the bible. shall we not then have almost inextricably lost ourselves in the labyrinth of error? the following principles may be laid down as universally binding, if we would reason correctly, as philosophers and theologians, on the subject under consideration. . in the domain of philosophy, we must confine ourselves strictly and exclusively to the laws of psychological investigation, without reference to any system of theology. . in the domain of theology, when we would reason from the truths of inspiration to the theory of the will pre-supposed in the bible, we should be exceedingly careful to reason from those truths only which have a direct and decisive bearing upon the subject, and not from those which have no such bearing. . we should carefully compare the conclusions to which we have arrived in each of these domains, assuming that if they do not harmonize, we have erred either as philosophers or theologians. . in case of disagreement, we should renew our independent investigations in each domain, for the purpose of detecting the error into which we have fallen. in conducting an investigation upon such principles, we shall, with almost absolute certainty, find ourselves in each domain, following rays of light, which will converge together in the true theory of the will. errors of method. two errors into which philosophers and divines of a certain class have fallen in their method of treating the department of our subject now under consideration, here demand a passing notice. . the two methods above referred to, the psychological and theological, which should at all times be kept entirely distinct and separate, have unhappily been mingled together. thus the subject has failed to receive a proper investigation in the domain, either of theology or of philosophy. . in reasoning from the scriptures to the theory of the will pre-supposed in the same, _the wrong truth_ has been adduced as the basis of such reasoning, to wit: _the fact of the divine foreknowledge_. as all events yet future are foreknown to god, they are in themselves, it is said, alike certain. this certainty necessitates the adoption of a particular theory of the will. now before we can draw any such conclusion from the truth before us, the following things pertaining to it we need to know with absolute certainty, things which god has not revealed, and which we never can know, until he has revealed them, to wit: the _mode_, the _nature_, and the _degree_ of the divine foreknowledge. suppose that god should impart to us apprehensions perfectly full and distinct, of the mode, nature and degree of his foreknowledge of human conduct. how do we know but that we should then see with the most perfect clearness, that this foreknowledge is just as consistent with the theory of the will, denied by the philosophers and divines under consideration, as with that which they suppose necessarily to result from the divine foreknowledge? this, then, is not the truth from which we should reason to the theory of the will pre-supposed in the bible. there are truths of inspiration, however, which appear to me to have a direct and decisive bearing upon this subject, and upon which we may therefore safely base our conclusions. in the scriptures, man is addressed as a moral agent, the subject of commands and prohibitions, of obligation, of merit and demerit, and consequently of reward and punishment. now when we have determined the powers which an agent must possess, to render him a proper subject of command and prohibition, of obligation, of merit and demerit, and consequently of reward and punishment, we have determined the philosophy of the will, really pre-supposed in the scriptures. beneath these truths, therefore, and not beneath that of the divine foreknowledge, that philosophy is to be sought for. this i argue-- . because the former has a _direct_, while the latter has only an _indirect_ bearing upon the subject. . of the former our ideas are perfectly clear and distinct, while of the mode, the degree, and the nature of the divine foreknowledge we are profoundly ignorant. to all eternity, our ideas of the nature of commands and prohibitions, of obligations, of merit and demerit, and of reward and punishment grounded on moral desert, can never be more clear and distinct than they now are. from such truths, then, and not from those that we do not understand, and which at the utmost have only an indirect bearing upon the subject, we ought to reason, if we reason at all, to the philosophy of the will pre-supposed in the scriptures. the reader is now put in possession of the _method_ that will be pursued in the following treatise, and is consequently prepared to enter upon the investigation of the subject before us. chapter ii. classification of the mental faculties. every individual who has reflected with any degree of interest upon the operations of his own mind, cannot have failed to notice three classes of mental phenomena, each of which is entirely distinct from either of the others. these phenomena, which comprehend the entire operations of the mind, and which may be expressed by the terms _thinking_, _feeling_, and _willing_, clearly indicate in the mind three faculties equally distinct from one another. these faculties are denominated the intellect, the sensibility or sensitivity, and the will. to the first, all intellectual operations, such as perceiving, thinking, judging, knowing, &c., are referred. to the second, we refer all sensitive states, all feelings, such as sensations, emotions, desires, &c. to the will, or the active voluntary faculty, are referred all mental determinations, such as purposes, intentions, resolutions, choices and volitions. classification verified. . the classes of phenomena, by which this tri-unity of the mental powers is indicated, differ from one another, not in _degree_, but in _kind_. thought, whether clear or obscure, in all degrees, remains equally distinct, in its nature, from feelings and determinations of every class. so of feelings. sensations, emotions, desires, all the phenomena of the sensibility, in all degrees and modifications, remain, in their nature and essential characteristics, equally distinct from thought on the one hand, and the action of the will on the other. the same holds true of the phenomena of the will. a resolution, for example, in one degree, is not a thought in another, a sensation, emotion, or desire and in another a choice, purpose, intention, or volition. in all degrees and modifications, the phenomena of the will, in their nature and essential characteristics, remain equally distinct from the operations of the intelligence on the one hand, and of the sensibility on the other. . this distinction is recognized by universal consciousness. when, for example, one speaks of _thinking_ of any particular object, then of _desiring_ it, and subsequently of _determining_ to obtain the object, for the purpose of gratifying that desire, all mankind most clearly recognize his meaning in each of the above-named affirmations, and understand him as speaking of three entirely distinct classes of mental operations. no person, under such circumstances, ever confounds one of these states with either of the others. so clearly marked and distinguished is the three-fold classification of mental phenomena under consideration, in the spontaneous affirmations of universal consciousness. . in all languages, also, there are distinct _terms_ appropriated to the expression of these three classes of phenomena, and of the mental power indicated by the same. in the english language, for example, we have the terms _thinking_, _feeling_, and _willing_, each of which is applied to one particular class of these mental phenomena, and never to either of the others. we have also the terms intellect, sensibility, and will, appropriated, in a similar manner, to designate the mental powers indicated by these phenomena. in all other languages, especially among nations of any considerable advancement in mental culture, we find terms of precisely similar designation. what do such facts indicate? they clearly show, that in the development of the universal intelligence, the different classes of phenomena under consideration have been distinctly marked, and distinguished from one another, together with the three-fold division of the mental powers indicated by the same phenomena. . the clearness and particularity with which the universal intelligence has marked the distinction under consideration, is strikingly indicated by the fact, that there are _qualifying terms_ in common use which are applied to each of these classes of phenomena, and never to either of the others. it is true that there are such terms which are promiscuously applied to all classes of mental phenomena. there are terms, however, which are never applied to but one class. thus we speak of _clear thoughts_, but never of clear feelings or determinations. we speak of _irrepressible feelings and desires_, but never of irrepressible thoughts or resolutions. we also speak of _inflexible determinations_, but never of inflexible feelings or conceptions. with what perfect distinctness, then, must universal consciousness have marked thoughts, feelings, and determinations of the will, as phenomena entirely distinct from one another--phenomena differing not in _degree_, but in _kind_, and as most clearly indicating the three-fold division of the mental powers under consideration. . so familiar are mankind with this distinction, so distinctly marked is it in their minds, that in familiar intercourse, when no particular theory of the mental powers is in contemplation, they are accustomed to speak of the intellect, sensibility, and will, and of their respective phenomena, as entirely distinct from one another. take a single example from scripture. "what i shall _choose_, i wot not--having a _desire_ to depart." here the apostle evidently speaks of _desire_ and _choice_ as phenomena differing in kind, and not in degree. "if you engage his heart" [his feelings], says lord chesterfield, speaking of a foreign minister, "you have a fair chance of imposing upon his _understanding_, and determining his will." "_his will_," says another writer, speaking of the insane, "is no longer restrained by his _judgment_, but driven madly on by his passions." "when wit is overruled by _will_, and will is led by fond _desire_, then _reason_ may as well be still, as speaking, kindle greater fire."[ ] in all the above extracts the tri-unity of the mental powers, as consisting of the intellect, sensibility, and will, is distinctly recognized. yet the writers had, at the time, no particular theory of mental philosophy in contemplation. they speak of a distinction of the mental faculties which all understand and recognize as real, as soon as suggested to their minds. the above considerations are abundantly sufficient to verify the three-fold distinction above made, of mental phenomena and powers. two suggestions arise here which demand special attention. . to confound either of these distinct powers of the mind with either of the others, as has been done by several philosophers of eminence, in respect to the will and sensibility, is a capital error in mental science. if one faculty is confounded with another, the fundamental characteristics of the former will of course be confounded with the same characteristics of the latter. thus the worst forms of error will be introduced not only into philosophy, but theology, too, as far as the latter science is influenced by the former. what would be thought of a treatise on mental science, in which the will should be confounded with the intelligence, and in which _thinking_ and _willing_ would be consequently represented as phenomena identical in kind? this would be an error no more capital, no more glaring, no more distinctly contradicted by fundamental phenomena, than the confounding of the will with the sensibility. . we are now prepared to contemplate one of the great errors of edwards in his immortal work on the will--an error which we meet with in the commencement of that work, and which lays a broad foundation for the false conclusions subsequently found in it. he has confounded the will with the sensibility. of course, we should expect to find that he has subsequently confounded the fundamental characteristics of the phenomena of the former faculty, with the same characteristics of the latter. "god has endowed the soul," he says, "with two faculties: one is that by which it is capable of perception and speculation, or by which it discerns, and views, and judges of things; which is called the _understanding_. the other faculty is that by which the soul does not merely perceive and view things, but is some way inclined _to_ them, or is disinclined and averse _from_ them; or is the faculty by which the soul does not behold things as an indifferent, unaffected spectator; but either as liking or disliking, pleased or displeased, approving or rejecting. this faculty, as it has respect to the actions that are determined by it, is called the will." from his work on the affections, i cite the following to the same import: "the affections of the soul," he observes, "are not properly distinguished from the will, as though they were two faculties of the soul. all acts of the affections of the soul are, in some sense, acts of the will, and all acts of the will are acts of the affections. all exercises of the will are, in some degree or other, exercises of the soul's appetition or aversion; or which is the same thing, of its love or hatred. the soul wills one thing rather than another, or chooses one thing rather than another, no otherwise than as it loves one thing more than another." "the affections are only certain modes of the exercise of the will." "the affections are no other than the more vigorous and sensible exercises of the inclination and will of the soul." whether he has or has not subsequently confounded the fundamental characteristics of the phenomena of the will with those of the phenomena of the sensibility will be seen in the progress of the present treatise. chapter iii. liberty and necessity. we come now to consider the great and fundamental characteristic of the will, that by which it is, in a special sense, distinguished from each of the other mental faculties, to wit: that of liberty. sec. i. terms defined. our first inquiry respects the meaning of the term liberty as distinguished from that of necessity. these terms do not differ, as expressing genus and species; that is, liberty does not designate a species of which necessity expresses the genus. on the other hand, they differ by way of _opposition_. all correct definitions of terms thus related, will possess these two characteristics. . they will mutually exclude each other that is, what is affirmed of one, will, in reality, be denied of the other. . they will be so defined as to be universal in their application. the terms _right_ and _wrong_, for example, thus differ from each other. in the light of all correct definitions of these terms, it will be seen with perfect distinctness, st, that to affirm of an action that it is right, is equivalent to an affirmation that it is not wrong; and to affirm that it is wrong, is to affirm that it is not right; d, that all moral actions, actual and conceivable, must be either right or wrong. so of all other terms thus related. the meaning of the terms liberty and necessity, as distinguished the one from the other, may be designated by a reference to two relations perfectly distinct and opposite, which may be supposed to exist between an _antecedent_ and its _consequent_. . the antecedent being given, one, and only one, consequent can possibly arise, and that consequent _must_ arise. this relation we designate by the term necessity. i place my finger, for example, constituted as my physical system now is, in the flame of a burning candle, and hold it there for a given time. the two substances in contact is the antecedent. the feeling of intense pain which succeeds is the consequent. now such is universally believed to be the correlation between the nature of these substances, that under the circumstances supposed, but one consequent can possibly arise, and that consequent must arise; to wit--the feeling of pain referred to. the relation between such an antecedent and its consequent, therefore, we, in all instances, designate by the term necessity. when the relation of necessity is pre-supposed, in the presence of a new consequent, we affirm absolutely that of a new antecedent. . the second relation is this. the antecedent being given, either of two or more consequents is equally possible, and therefore, when one consequent does arise, we affirm that either of the others might have arisen in its stead. when this relation is pre-supposed, from the appearance of a new consequent, we do not necessarily affirm the presence of a new antecedent. this relation we designate by the term liberty. characteristics of the above definitions. on the above definitions i remark: . that they mutually exclude each other. to predicate liberty of any phenomenon is to affirm that it is not necessary. to predicate necessity of it, is equivalent to an affirmation that it is not free. . they are strictly and absolutely universal in their application. all antecedents and consequents, whatever the nature of the subjects thus connected may be, must fall under one or the other of these relations. as the terms right and wrong, when correctly defined, will express the nature of all moral actions, actual and conceivable, so the terms liberty and necessity, as above defined, clearly indicate the nature of the relation between all antecedents and consequents, real and supposable. take any antecedent and consequent we please, real or conceivable, and we know absolutely, that they must sustain to each other one or the other of these relations. either in connection with this antecedent, but this one consequent is possible, and this must arise, or in connection with the same antecedent, either this, or one or more different consequents are possible, and consequently equally so: for possibility has, in reality, no degrees. . all the phenomena of the will, sustaining, as they do, the relation of _consequents_ to motives considered as antecedents, must fall under one or the other of these relations. if we say, that the relation between motives and acts of will is that of _certainty_, still this certainty must arise from a necessary relation between the antecedent and its consequent, or it must be of such a nature as consists with the relation of liberty, in the sense of the term liberty as above defined. . the above definitions have this great advantage in our present investigations. they at once free the subject from the obscurity and perplexity in which it is often involved by the definitions of philosophers. they are accustomed, in many instances, to speak of moral necessity and physical necessity, as if these are in reality different kinds of necessity: whereas the terms moral and physical, in such connections, express the nature of the _subjects_ sustaining to each other the relations of antecedents and consequents, and not at all that of the _relation_ existing between them. this is exclusively expressed by the term necessity--a term which designates a relation which is always one and the same, whatever the nature of the subjects thus related may be. an individual in a treatise on natural science, might, if he should choose, in speaking of the relations of antecedents and consequents among solid, fluid, and aeriform substances, use the words, solid necessity, fluid necessity, and aeriform necessity. he might use as many qualifying terms as there are different subjects sustaining to each other the relation under consideration. in all such instances no error will arise, if these qualifying terms are distinctly understood to designate, not the nature of the _relation_ of antecedent and consequent in any given case (as if there were as many different kinds of necessity as there are qualifying terms used), but to designate the nature of the _subjects_ sustaining this relation. if, on the other hand, the impression should be made, that each of these qualifying terms designates a necessity of a peculiar kind, and if, as a consequence, the belief should be induced, that there are in reality so many different kinds of necessity, errors of the gravest character would arise--errors no more important, however, than actually do arise from the impression often induced, that moral necessity differs in kind from physical necessity. . i mention another very decisive advantage which the above definitions have in our present investigations. in the light of the terms liberty and necessity, as above defined, the two great schools in philosophy and theology are obliged to join issue directly upon the real question in difference between them, without the possibility on the part of either, of escaping under a fog of definitions about moral necessity, physical necessity, moral certainty, &c., and then claiming a victory over their opponents. these terms, as above defined, stand out with perfect clearness and distinctness to all reflecting minds. every one must see, that the phenomena of the will cannot but fall under the one or the other of the relations designated by these terms inasmuch as no third relation differing in _kind_ from both of these, is conceivable. the question therefore may be fairly put to every individual, without the possibility of misapprehension or evasion--do you believe, whenever a man puts forth an act of will, that in those circumstances, this one act only is possible, and that this act cannot but arise? in all prohibited acts, for example, do you believe that an individual, by the resistless providence of god, is placed in circumstances in which this one act only is possible, and this cannot but result, that in these identical circumstances, another and a different act is required of him, and that for not putting forth this last act, he is justly held as infinitely guilty in the sight of god, and of the moral universe? to these questions every one must give an affirmative or negative answer. if he gives the former, he holds the doctrine of necessity, and must take that doctrine with all its consequences. if he gives the latter, he holds the doctrine of liberty in the sense of the term as above defined. he must hold, that in the identical circumstances in which a given act of will is put forth, another and different act might have been put forth; and that for this reason, in all prohibited acts, a moral agent is held justly responsible for different and opposite acts. much is gained to the cause of truth, when, as in the present instance, the different schools are obliged to join issue directly upon the real question in difference between them, and that without the possibility of misapprehension or evasion in respect to the nature of that question. motive defined. having settled the meaning of the terms liberty and necessity, as designating two distinct and opposite relations, the only relations conceivable between an antecedent and its consequent, one other term which may not unfrequently be used in the following treatise, remains to be defined; to wit--_motive_--a term which designates that which sustains to the phenomena of the will, the relation of antecedent. volition, choice, preference, intention, all the phenomena of the will, are considered as the consequent. whatever within the mind itself may be supposed to influence its determinations, whether called susceptibilities, biases, or anything else; and all influences acting upon it as incentives from without, are regarded as the antecedent. i use the term motive as synonymous with antecedent as above defined. it designates _all the circumstances and influences_ from within or without the mind, which operate upon it to produce any given act of will. the term antecedent in the case before us, in strictness of speech, has this difference of meaning from that of motive as above defined: the former includes all that is designated by the latter, together with the _will_ itself. no difficulty or obscurity, however, will result from the use of these terms as synonymous, in the sense explained. sec. ii. liberty, as opposed to necessity, the characteristic of the will. we are now prepared to meet the question, to which of the relations above defined shall we refer the phenomena of the will? if these phenomena are subject to the law of necessity, then, whenever a particular antecedent (motive) is given, but one consequent (act of will) is possible, and that consequent must arise. it cannot possibly but take place. if, on the other hand, these phenomena fall under the relation of liberty, whenever any particular motive is present, either of two or more acts of will is equally possible; and when any particular consequent (act of will) does arise, either of the other consequents might have arisen in its stead. before proceeding directly to argue the question before us, one consideration of a general nature demands a passing notice. it is this. the simple statement of the question, in the light of the above relations, settles it, and must settle it, in the judgment of all candid, uncommitted inquirers after the truth. let any individual contemplate the action of his voluntary powers in the light of the relations of liberty and necessity as above defined, and he will spontaneously affirm the fact, that he is a free and not a necessary agent, and affirm it as absolutely as he affirms his own existence. wherever he is, while he retains the consciousness of rational being, this conviction will and must be to him an omnipresent reality. to escape it, he must transcend the bounds of conscious existence. objections to the doctrine of necessity. such is the importance of the subject, however, that a more extended and particular consideration of it is demanded. in the further prosecution of the argument upon the subject, we will-- i. in the first place, contemplate the position, that the phenomena of the will are subject to the laws of necessity. in taking this position we are at once met with the following palpable and insuperable difficulties. . the conviction above referred to--a conviction which remains proof against all apparent demonstrations to the contrary. we may pile demonstration upon demonstration in favor of the doctrine of necessity, still, as the mind falls back upon the spontaneous affirmations of its own intelligence, it finds, in the depths of its inner being, a higher demonstration of the fact, that that doctrine is and must be false--that man is not the agent which that doctrine affirms him to be. in the passage already cited, and which i will take occasion here to repeat, the writer has, with singular correctness, mapped out the unvarying experience of the readers of edwards on the will. "even the reader," he says, "who is scarcely at all familiar with abstruse science, will, if he follow our author attentively, be perpetually conscious of a vague dissatisfaction, or latent suspicion, that some fallacy has passed into the train of propositions, although the linking of syllogisms seems perfect. this suspicion will increase in strength as he proceeds, and will at length condense itself into the form of a protest against certain conclusions, notwithstanding their apparently necessary connection with the premises." what higher evidence can we have that that treatise gives a false interpretation of the facts of universal consciousness pertaining to the will, than is here presented? any theory which gives a distinct and true explanation of the facts of consciousness, will be met by the intelligence with the response, "that's true; i have found it." any theory apparently supported by adequate evidence, but which still gives a false interpretation of such facts, will induce the internal conflict above described--a conflict which, as the force of apparent demonstration increases, will, in the very centre of the intelligence, "condense itself into the form of a protest against the conclusions presented, notwithstanding their apparently necessary connection with the premises." the falsity of the doctrine of necessity is a first truth of the universal intelligence. . if this doctrine is true, it is demonstrably evident, that in no instance, real or supposable, have men any power whatever to will or to act differently from what they do. the connection between the determinations of the will, and their consequents, external and internal, is absolutely necessary. constituted as i now am, if i will, for example, a particular motion of my hand or arm, no other movement, in these circumstances, was possible, and this movement could not but take place. the same holds true of all consequents, external and internal, of all acts of will. let us now suppose that these acts themselves are the necessary consequents of the circumstances in which they originate. in what conceivable sense have men, in the circumstances in which providence places them, power either to will or to act differently from what they do? the doctrine of ability to will or to do differently from what we do is, in every sense, false, if the doctrine of necessity is true. men, when they transgress the moral law, always sin, without the possibility of doing right. from this position the necessitarian cannot escape. . on this theory, god only is responsible for all human volitions together with their effects. the relation between all antecedents and their consequents was established by him. if that relation be in all instances a necessary one, his will surely is the sole responsible antecedent of all consequents. . the idea of obligation, of merit and demerit, and of the consequent propriety of reward and punishment, are chimeras. to conceive of a being deserving praise or blame, for volitions or actions which occurred under circumstances in which none others were possible, and in which these could not possibly but happen, is an absolute impossibility. to conceive him under obligation to have given existence, under such circumstances, to different consequents, is equally impossible. it is to suppose an agent under obligation to perform that to which omnipotence is inadequate. for omnipotence cannot perform impossibilities. it cannot reverse the law of necessity. let any individual conceive of creatures placed by divine providence in circumstances in which but one act, or series of acts of will, can arise, and these cannot but arise--let him, then, attempt to conceive of these creatures as under obligation, in these same circumstances, to give existence to different and opposite acts, and as deserving of punishment for not doing so. he will find it as impossible to pass such a judgment as to conceive of the annihilation of space, or of an event without a cause. to conceive of necessity and obligation as fundamental elements of the same act, is an absolute impossibility. the human intelligence is incapable of affirming such contradictions. . as an additional consideration, to show the absolute incompatibility of the idea of moral obligation with the doctrine of necessity, permit me to direct the attention of the reader to this striking fact. while no man, holding the doctrine of liberty as above defined, was ever known to deny moral obligation, such denial has, without exception, in every age and nation, been avowedly based upon the assumption of the truth of the doctrine of necessity. in every age and nation, in every solitary mind in which the idea of obligation has been denied, this doctrine has been the great maelstrom in which this idea has been swallowed up and lost. how can the necessitarian account for such facts in consistency with his theory? . the commands of god addressed to men as sinners and requiring them in all cases of transgression of the moral law, to choose and to act differently from what they do, are, if this doctrine is true, the perfection of tyranny. in all such cases men are required-- ( .) to perform absolute impossibilities; to reverse the law of necessity. ( .) to do that to which omnipotence is inadequate. for omnipotence, as we have seen, cannot reverse the law of necessity. not only so, but-- ( .) men in all such instances are required, as a matter of fact, to resist and overcome omnipotence. to require us to reverse the relation established by omnipotence, between antecedents and consequents, is certainly to require us to resist and overcome omnipotence, and that in the absence of all power, even to attempt the accomplishment of that which we are required to accomplish. . if this doctrine is true, at the final judgment the conscience and intelligence of the universe will and must be on the side of the condemned. suppose that when the conduct of the wicked shall be revealed at that day, another fact shall stand out with equal conspicuousness, to wit, that god himself had placed these beings where but one course of conduct was possible to them, and that course they could not but pursue, to wit, the course which they did pursue, and that for having pursued this course, the only one possible, they are now to be "punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of god and the glory of his power," must not the intelligence of the universe pronounce such a sentence unjust? all this must be true, or the doctrine of necessity is false. who can believe, that the pillars of god's eternal government rest upon such a doctrine? . on this supposition, probation is an infinite absurdity. we might with the same propriety represent the specimens in the laboratory of the chemist, as on probation, as men, if their actions are the necessary result of the circumstances in which omnipotence has placed them. what must intelligent beings think of probation for a state of eternal retribution, probation based on such a principle? . the doctrine of necessity is, in all essential particulars, identical with _fatalism_ in its worst form. all that fatalism ever has maintained, or now maintains, is, that men, by a power which they cannot control nor resist, are placed in circumstances in which they cannot but pursue the course of conduct which they actually are pursuing. this doctrine has never affirmed, that, in the necessitarian sense, men cannot "do as they please." all that it maintains is, that they cannot but please to do as they do. thus this doctrine differs not one "jot or tittle," from necessity. no man can show the want of perfect identity between them. fatalists and necessitarians may differ in regard to the origin of this necessity. in regard to its nature, the only thing material, as far as present inquiries are concerned, they do not differ at all. . in maintaining the necessity of all acts of the will of _man_, we must maintain, that the will of _god_ is subject to the same law. this is universally admitted by necessitarians themselves. now in maintaining the necessity of all acts of the divine will, the following conclusions force themselves upon us: ( .) motives which necessitate the determinations of the divine will, are the sole originating and efficient causes in existence. god is not the first cause of anything. ( .) to motives, which of course exist independently of the divine will, we must ascribe the origin of all created existences. the glory of originating "all things visible and invisible," belongs not to him, but to motives. ( .) in all cases in which creatures are required to act differently from what they do, as in all acts of sin, they are in reality required not only to resist and overcome the omnipotent determinations of the divine will, but also the _motives_ by which the action of god's will is necessitated. we ask necessitarians to look these consequences in the face, and then say, whether they are prepared to deny, or to meet them. . finally, if the doctrine under consideration is true, in all instances of the transgression of the moral law, men are, in reality, required to produce an event which, when it does exist, shall exist without a cause. in circumstances where but one event is possible, and that cannot but arise, if a different event should arise, it would undeniably be an event without a cause. to require such an event under such circumstances, is to require an event without a cause, the most palpable contradiction conceivable. now just such a requirement as this is laid upon men, in all cases of disobedience of the moral law, if the doctrine of necessity is true. in all such cases, according to this doctrine men are placed in circumstances in which but one act is possible, and that must arise, to wit: the act of disobedience which is put forth. if, in these circumstances, an act of obedience should be put forth, it would be an event without a cause, and in opposition also to the action of a necessary cause. in these identical circumstances, the act of obedience is required, that is, an act is required of creatures, which, if it should be put forth, would be an event without a cause. has a god of truth and justice ever laid upon men such a requisition as that? how, i ask, can the doctrine of necessity be extricated from such a difficulty? doctrine of liberty--direct argument. ii. we will now, as a second general argument, consider the position, that the will is subject in its determinations to the relation of liberty, in opposition to that of necessity. here i would remark, that as the phenomena of the will must fall under one or the other of these relations, and as it has been shown, that they cannot fall under that of necessity, but one supposition remains. they must fall under that of liberty, as opposed to necessity. the intrinsic absurdity of supposing that a being, all of whose actions are necessary, is still accountable for such actions, is sufficient to overthrow the doctrine of necessity for ever. a few additional considerations are deemed requisite, in order to present the evidence in favor of the liberty of the will. . the first that i present is this. as soon as the doctrine of liberty, as above defined, is distinctly apprehended, it is spontaneously recognized by every mind, as the true, and only true exposition of the facts of its own consciousness pertaining to the phenomena of the will. this doctrine is simply an announcement of the spontaneous affirmations of the universal intelligence. this is the highest possible evidence of the truth of the doctrine. . the universal conviction of mankind, that their former course of conduct might have been different from what it was. i will venture to affirm, that there is not a person on earth, who has not this conviction resting upon his mind in respect to his own past life. it is important to analyze this conviction, in order to mark distinctly its bearing upon our present inquiries. this conviction is not the belief, that if our circumstances had been different, we might have acted differently from what we did. a man, for example, says to himself--"at such a time, and in such circumstances, i determined upon a particular course of conduct. i might have determined upon a different and opposite course. why did i not?" these affirmations are not based upon the conviction, that, in different circumstances, we might have done differently. in all such affirmations we take into account nothing but the particular circumstances in which our determinations were formed. it is in view of these circumstances exclusively, that we affirm that our determinations might have been different from what they were. let the appeal be made to any individual whatever, whose mind is not at the time under the influence of any particular theory of the will. you say, that at such a time, and under such circumstances, you determined upon a particular course, that you might then have resolved upon a different and opposite course, and that you blame yourself for not having done so. is not this your real meaning? "if my circumstances had been different, i might have resolved upon a different course." no, he would reply. that is not my meaning. i was not thinking at all of a change of circumstances, when i made this affirmation. what i mean is, that in the circumstances in which i was, i might have done differently from what i did. this is the reason why i blame myself for not having done so. the same conviction, to wit: that without any change of circumstances our past course of life might have been different from what it was, rests upon every mind on earth in which the remembrance of the past dwells. now this universal conviction is totally false, if the doctrine of necessity is true. the doctrine of the liberty of the will must be true, or the universal intelligence is a perpetual falsehood. . in favor of the doctrine of liberty, i next appeal to the direct, deliberate, and universal testimony of consciousness. this testimony is given in three ways. ( .) in the general conviction above referred to, that without any change of circumstances, our course of conduct might have been the opposite of what it was. nothing but a universal consciousness of the liberty of the will, can account for this conviction. ( .) whenever any object of choice is submitted to the mind, consciousness affirms, directly and positively, that, under these identical circumstances, either of two or more acts of will is equally possible. every man in such circumstances is as conscious of such power as he is of his own existence. in confirmation of these affirmations, let any one make the appeal to his own consciousness, when about to put forth any act of will. he will be just as conscious that either of two or more different determinations is, in the same circumstances, equally possible, as he is of any mental state whatever. ( .) in reference to all deliberate determinations of will in time past, the remembrance of them is attended with a consciousness the most positive, that, in the same identical circumstances, determinations precisely opposite might have been originated. let any one recall any such determination, and the consciousness of a power to have determined differently will be just as distinctly recalled as the act itself. he cannot be more sure that he acted at all, than he will be, that he might have acted [determined] differently. all these affirmations of consciousness are false, if the doctrine of liberty is not true. . a fundamental distinction which all mankind make between the phenomena of the will, and those of the other faculties, the sensibility for example, is a full confirmation of the doctrine of liberty, as a truth of universal consciousness. a man is taken out of a burning furnace, with his physical system greatly injured by the fire. as a consequence, he subsequently experiences much suffering and inconvenience. for the injury done him by the fire, and for the pain subsequently experienced, he never blames or reproaches himself. with self-reproach he never says, why, instead of being thus injured, did i not come out of the furnace as the three worthies did from that of nebuchadnezzar? why do i not now experience pleasure instead of pain, as a consequence of that injury? suppose, now, that his fall into the furnace was the result of a determination formed for the purpose of self-murder. for that determination, and for not having, in the same circumstances, determined differently, he will ever after reproach himself, as most guilty in the sight of god and man. how shall we account for the absence of self-reproach in the former instance, and for its presence in the latter? if the appeal should be made to the subject, his answer would be ready. in respect to the injury and pain, in the circumstances supposed, they could not but be experienced. such phenomena, therefore, can never be the occasion of self-reproach. in the condition in which the determination referred to was formed, a different and opposite resolution might have been originated. that particular determination, therefore, is the occasion of self-reproach. how shall we account for this distinction, which all mankind agree in making, between the phenomena of the sensibility on the one hand, and of the will on the other? but one supposition accounts for this fact, the universal consciousness, that the former are necessary, and the latter free that in the circumstances of their occurrence the former may not, and the latter may, be different from what they are. . on any other theory than that of liberty, the words, obligation, merit and demerit, &c., are words without meaning. a man is, we will suppose, by divine providence, placed in circumstances in which he cannot possibly but pursue one given course, or, which is the same thing, put forth given determinations. when it is said that, in these identical circumstances, he ought to pursue a different and opposite course, or to put forth different and opposite determinations, what conceivable meaning can we attach to the word _ought_, here? there is nothing, in the circumstances supposed, which the word, _ought_, or obligation, can represent. if we predicate merit or demerit of an individual thus circumstanced, we use words equally without meaning. obligation and moral desert, in such a case, rest upon "airy nothing," without a "local habitation or a name." on the other hand, if we suppose that the right and the wrong are at all times equally possible to an individual; that when he chooses the one, he might, in the same identical circumstances, choose the other; infinite meaning attaches to the words, ought, obligation, merit and demerit, when it is said that an individual thus circumstanced ought to do the right and avoid the wrong, and that he merits reward or punishment, when he does the one, or does not do the other. the ideas of obligation, merit and demerit, reward and punishment, and probation with reference to a state of moral retribution, are all chimeras, on any other supposition than that of the liberty of the will. with this doctrine, they all perfectly harmonize. . all moral government, all laws, human and divine, have their basis in the doctrine of liberty; and are the perfection of tyranny, on any other supposition. to place creatures in circumstances which necessitate a given course of conduct, and render every other course impossible, and then to require of them, under the heaviest sanctions, a different and opposite course--what can be tyranny if this is not? objection in bar of an appeal to consciousness. an objection which is brought by necessitarians, in perpetual bar of an appeal to consciousness, to determine the fact whether the phenomena of the will fall under the relation of liberty or necessity, here demands special attention. consciousness, it is said, simply affirms, that, in given circumstances, we do, in fact, put forth certain acts of will. but whether we can or cannot, in these circumstances, put forth other and opposite determinations, it does not and cannot make any affirmation at all. it does not, therefore, fall within the province of consciousness to determine whether the phenomena of the will are subject to the relation of liberty or necessity; and it is unphilosophical to appeal to that faculty to decide such a question. this objection, if valid, renders null and void much of what has been said upon this subject; and as it constitutes a stronghold of the necessitarian, it becomes us to examine it with great care. in reply, i remark, . that if this objection holds in respect to the phenomena of the will, it must hold equally in respect of those of the other faculties the intelligence, for example. we will, therefore, bring the objection to a test, by applying it to certain intellectual phenomena. we will take, as an example, the universal and necessary affirmation, that "it is impossible for the same thing, at the same time, to be and not to be." every one is conscious, in certain circumstances, of making this and other kindred affirmations. now, if the objection under consideration is valid, all that we should be conscious of is the fact, that, under the circumstances supposed, we do, in reality, make particular affirmations; while, in reference to the question, whether, in the same circumstances, we can or cannot make different and opposite affirmations, we should have no consciousness at all. now, i appeal to every man, whether, when he is conscious of making the affirmation, that it is impossible for the same thing, at the same time, to be and not to be, he is not equally conscious of the fact, that it is impossible for him to make the opposite affirmation whether, when he affirms that three and two make five, he is not conscious that it is impossible for him to affirm that three and two are six? in other words, when we are conscious of making certain intellectual affirmations, are we not equally conscious of an impossibility of making different and opposite affirmations? every man is just as conscious of the fact, that the phenomena of his intelligence fall under the relation of necessity, as he is of making any affirmations at all. if this is not so, we cannot know but that it is possible for us to affirm and believe perceived contradictions. all that we could say is, that, as a matter of fact, we do not do it. but whether we can or cannot do it, we can never know. do we not know, however, as absolutely as we know anything, that we _cannot_ affirm perceived contradictions? in other words, we do and can know absolutely, that our intelligence is subject to the law of necessity. we do know by consciousness, with absolute certainty, that the phenomena of the intelligence, and i may add, of the sensibility too, do fall under the relation of necessity. why may we not know, with equal certainty, whether the phenomena of the will do or do not fall under the relation of liberty? what then becomes of the objection under consideration? . but while we are conscious of the fact, that the intellect is under the law of necessity, we are equally conscious that will is under that of liberty. we make intellectual affirmations; such, for example, as the propositions, things equal to the same things are equal to one another, there can be no event without a cause, &c., with a consciousness of an utter impossibility of making different and opposite affirmations. we put forth acts of will with a consciousness equally distinct and absolute, of a possibility, in the same circumstances, of putting forth different and opposite determinations. even necessitarians admit and affirm the validity of the testimony of consciousness in the former instance. why should we doubt or deny it in the latter? . the question, whether consciousness can or cannot give us not only mental phenomena, but also the fundamental characteristics of such phenomena, cannot be determined by any pre-formed theory, in respect to what consciousness can or cannot affirm. if we wish to know to what a witness is able to testify, we must not first determine what he can or cannot say, and then refuse to hear anything from him, except in conformity to such decisions. we must first give him a full and attentive hearing, and then judge of his capabilities. so in respect to consciousness. if we wish to know what it does or does not, what it can or cannot affirm, we must let it give its full testimony, untrammelled by any pre-formed theories. now, when the appeal is thus made, we find, that, in the circumstances in which we do originate given determinations, it affirms distinctly and absolutely, that, in the same identical circumstances, we might originate different and opposite determinations. from what consciousness does affirm, we ought surely to determine the sphere of its legitimate affirmations. . the universal solicitude of necessitarians to take the question under consideration from the bar of consciousness is, in fact, a most decisive acknowledgment, on their part, that at that tribunal the cause will go against them. let us suppose that all men were as conscious that their will is subject to the law of necessity, as they are that their intelligence is. can we conceive that necessitarians would not be as solicitous to carry the question directly to the tribunal of consciousness, as they now are to take it from that tribunal? when all men are as conscious that their will is under the law of liberty, as they are that their other faculties are under the relation of necessity, no wonder that necessitarians anticipate the ruin of their cause, when the question is to be submitted to the bar of consciousness. no wonder that they so solemnly protest against an appeal to that tribunal. let the reader remember, however, that the moment the validity of the affirmations of consciousness is denied, in respect to any question in mental science, it becomes infinite folly in us to reason at all on the subject; a folly just as great as it would be for a natural philosopher to reason about colors, after denying the validity of all affirmations of the eye, in respect to the phenomena about which he is to reason. doctrine of liberty argued from the existence of the idea of liberty in all minds. iii. i will present a third general argument in favor of the doctrine of liberty; an argument, which, to my mind, is perfectly conclusive, but which differs somewhat from either of the forms of argumentation above presented. i argue the liberty of the will _from the existence of the idea of liberty in the human mind, in the form in which it is there found_. if the will is not free, the idea of liberty is wholly inapplicable to any phenomenon in existence whatever. yet this idea is in the mind. the action of the will in conformity to it is just as conceivable as its action in conformity to the idea of necessity. it remains with the necessitarian to account for the existence of this idea in the human mind, in consistency with his own theory. here the following considerations present themselves demanding special attention. . the idea of liberty, like that of necessity, is a _simple_, and not a _complex_ idea. this all will admit. . it could not have come into the mind from observation or reflection because all phenomena, external and internal, all the objects of observation and reflection, are, according to the doctrine of necessity, not free, but necessary. . it could not have originated, as _necessary_ ideas do, as the logical antecedents of the truths given by observation and reflection. for example, the idea of space, time, substance, and cause, are given in the intelligence, as the logical antecedents of the ideas of body, succession, phenomena, and events, all of which are truths derived from observation or reflection. now the idea of liberty, if the doctrine of necessity is true, cannot have arisen in this way because all the objects of observation and reflection are, according to this doctrine, necessary, and therefore their logical antecedents must be. how shall we account, in consistency with this theory, for the existence of this idea in the mind? it came not from perception external, nor internal, nor as the logical antecedent or consequent of any truth thus perceived. now if we admit the doctrine of liberty as a truth of universal consciousness, we can give a philosophical account of the existence of the idea of liberty in all minds. if we deny this doctrine, and consequently affirm that of necessity, we may safely challenge any theologian or philosopher to give such an account of the existence of that idea in the mind. for all ideas, in the mind, do and must come from observation or reflection, or as the logical antecedents or consequents of ideas thus obtained. we have here an event without a cause, if the doctrine of necessity is true. . all _simple_ ideas, with the exception of that of liberty, have realities within or around us, corresponding to them. if the doctrine of necessity is true, we have one solitary idea of this character, that of liberty, to which no reality corresponds. whence this solitary intruder in the human mind? the existence of this idea in the mind is proof demonstrative, that a reality corresponding to it does and must exist, and as this reality is found nowhere but in the will, there it must be found. almost all necessitarians are, in philosophy, the disciples of locke. with him, they maintain, that all ideas in the mind come from observation and reflection. yet they maintain that there is in the mind one idea, that of liberty, which never could thus have originated; because, according to their theory, no objects corresponding do or can exist, either as realities, or as the objects of observation or reflection. we have again an event without a cause, if the doctrine of liberty is not true. . the relation of the ideas of liberty and necessity to those of obligation, merit and demerit, &c., next demand our attention. if the doctrine of necessity is true, the idea of liberty is, as we have seen, a chimera. with it the idea of obligation can have no connection or alliance; but must rest exclusively upon that of necessity. now, how happens it, that no man holding the doctrine of liberty was ever known to deny that of obligation, or of merit and demerit? how happens it, that the validity of neither of these ideas has ever, in any age or nation, been denied, except on the avowed authority of the doctrine of necessity? sceptics of the class who deny moral obligation, are universally avowed necessitarians. we may safely challenge the world to produce a single exception to this statement. we may challenge the world to produce an individual in ancient or modern times who holds the doctrine of liberty, and denies moral obligation, or an individual who denies moral obligation on any other ground than that of necessity. now, how can this fact be accounted for, that the ideas of obligation, merit and demerit, &c., universally attach themselves to a chimera, the idea of liberty, and stand in such irreconcilable hostility to the only idea by which, as necessitarians will have it, their validity is affirmed? . finally, if the doctrine of necessity is true, the phenomena of the intelligence, sensibility, and the will, are given in consciousness as alike necessary. the idea of liberty, then, if it does exist in the mind, would not be likely to attach itself to either of these classes of phenomena; and if to either, it would be just as likely to attach itself to one class as to another. now, how shall we account for the fact, that this idea always attaches itself to one of these classes of phenomena, those of the will, and never to either of the others? how is it that all men agree in holding, that, in the circumstances of their occurrence, the phenomena of the intelligence and sensibility cannot but be what they are, while those of the will may be otherwise than they are? why, if this chimera, the idea of liberty, attaches itself to either of these classes, does it not sometimes attach itself to the phenomena of the intelligence or sensibility, as well as to those of the will? here, once again, we have an event without a cause, a distinction without a difference, if the doctrine of necessity is true. the facts before us can be accounted for only on the supposition, that the phenomena of the intelligence and sensibility are given in consciousness as necessary, while those of the will are given as free. the doctrine of liberty, the doctrine of the bible. iv. we will now, in the fourth place, raise the inquiry, an inquiry very appropriate in its place, and having an important bearing upon our present investigations, whether the doctrine of the will, above established, is the doctrine pre-supposed in the bible? the following considerations will enable us to give a decisive answer to this inquiry. . if the doctrine of the will here maintained is not, and consequently that of necessity is, the doctrine pre-supposed in the scriptures, then we have two revelations from god, the external and internal, in palpable contradiction to each other. as the _works_ of god (see rom. : , ) are as real a revelation from him as the bible, so are the necessary affirmations of our intelligence. now, in our inner being, in the depths of our intelligence, the fact is perpetually revealed and affirmed--a fact which we cannot disbelieve, if we would--that we are not _necessary_ but _free_ agents. suppose that, in the external revelation, the scriptures, the fact is revealed and affirmed that we are _not free_ but _necessary_ agents. has not god himself affirmed in one revelation what he has denied in another? of what use can the internal revelation be, but to render us necessarily sceptical in respect to the external? has the most high given two such revelations as this? . in the scriptures, man is presented as the subject, and, of course, as possessing those powers which render him the proper subject of command and prohibition, of obligation, of merit and demerit, and consequently of reward and punishment. let us suppose that god has imparted to a being a certain constitution, and then placed him in a condition in which, in consequence of the necessary correlation between his constitution and circumstances, but one series of determinations are possible to him, and that series cannot but result. can we conceive it proper in the most high to prohibit that creature from pursuing the course which god himself has rendered it impossible for him not to pursue, and require him, under the heaviest sanctions, to pursue, under these identical circumstances, a different and opposite course--a course which the creator has rendered it impossible for him to pursue? is this the philosophy pre-supposed in the bible? does the bible imply a system of mental philosophy which renders the terms, obligation, merit and demerit, void of all conceivable meaning, and which lays no other foundation for moral retributions but injustice and tyranny? . let us now contemplate the doings of the great day revealed in the scriptures, in the light of these two opposite theories. let us suppose that, as the righteous and the wicked stand in distinct and separate masses before the eternal one, the most high says to the one class, "you, i myself placed in circumstances in which nothing but obedience was possible, and that you could not but render; and you, i placed in a condition in which nothing but disobedience was possible to you, and that you could not but perpetrate. in consequence of these distinct and opposite courses, each of which i myself rendered unavoidable, _you_ deserve and shall receive my eternal smiles; and _you_ as richly deserve and shall therefore endure my eternal frowns." what would be the response of an assembled universe to a division based upon such a principle? is this the principle on which the decisions of that day are based? it must be so, if the doctrine of liberty is not, and that of necessity is, the doctrine of the bible? . we will now contemplate another class of passages which have a bearing equally decisive upon our present inquiries. i refer to that class in which god expresses the deepest regret at the course which transgressors have pursued, and are still pursuing, and the most decisive unwillingness that they should pursue that course and perish. he takes a solemn oath, that he is not willing that they should take the course of disobedience and death, but that they should pursue a different and opposite course. god expresses no regret that they are in the _circumstances_ in which they are, but that in those circumstances they should take the path of disobedience, and not that of obedience. now, can we suppose, what must be true, if the doctrine of necessity is the doctrine pre-supposed in the bible, that god places his creatures in circumstances in which obedience is to them an impossibility, and in which they cannot but disobey, and then takes a solemn oath that he is not willing that they should disobey and perish, "but that they should turn from their evil way and live?" what is the meaning of the exclamation, "o that thou hadst hearkened to my commandment," if god himself had so conditioned the sinner as to render obedience an impossibility to him? is this the philosophy of the will pre-supposed in the bible? on the other hand, how perfectly in place are all the passages under consideration, on the supposition that the doctrine of liberty is the doctrine therein pre-supposed, and that consequently the obedience which god affirms himself desirous that sinners should render, and his regret that they do not render, is always possible to them! one of the seven pillars of the gospel is this very doctrine. take it from the bible, and we have "another gospel." . one other class of passages claims special attention here. in the scriptures, the most high expresses the greatest _astonishment_ that men should sin under the influences to which he has subjected them. he calls upon heaven and earth to unite with him in astonishment at the conduct of men under those influences. "hear, o heavens, and give ear, o earth," he exclaims, "for the lord hath spoken; i have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against me." now, let us suppose, as the doctrine of necessity affirms, that god has placed sinners under influences under which they cannot but sin. what must we think of his conduct in calling upon the universe to unite with him in astonishment, that under these influences they should sin--that is, take the only course possible to them, the course which they cannot but take? with the same propriety, he might place a mass of water on an inclined plane, and then call upon heaven and earth to unite with him in astonishment at the downward flow of the fluid. is this the philosophy pre-supposed in the bible? sec. . views of necessitarians. we are now prepared for a consideration of certain miscellaneous questions which have an important bearing upon our present inquiries. necessity as held by necessitarians. i. the first inquiry that presents itself is this: do necessitarians hold the doctrine of necessity as defined in this chapter? do they really hold, in respect to every act of will, that, in the circumstances of its occurrence, that one act only is possible, and that cannot but arise? is this, for example, the doctrine of edwards? is it the doctrine really held by those who professedly agree with him? i argue that it is: . because they unanimously repudiate the doctrine of liberty as here defined. they must, therefore, hold that of necessity; inasmuch as no third relation is even conceivable or possible. if they deny that the phenomena of the will fall under either of these relations, and still call themselves necessitarians, they most hold to an inconceivable something, which themselves even do not understand and cannot define, and which has and can have no real existence. . edwards has confounded the phenomena of the will with those of the sensibility which are necessary in the sense here defined. he must, therefore, hold that the characteristics of the latter class belong to those of the former. . edwards represents the relation between motives and acts of will, as being the same in _kind_ as that which exists between _causes_ and _effects_ among external material substances. the former relation he designates by the words _moral necessity_; the latter, by that of natural, or _philosophical_, or _physical necessity_. yet he says himself, that the difference expressed by these words "does not lie so much in the nature of the _connection_ as in the two terms _connected_." the qualifying terms used, then, designate merely the nature of the antecedents and consequents, while the nature of the connection between them is, in all instances, the same, that of naked necessity. . edwards himself represents moral necessity as just as absolute as physical, or natural necessity. "moral necessity may be," he says, "as absolute as natural necessity. that is, the effect may be as perfectly connected with its moral cause as a natural necessary effect is with its natural cause." . necessitarians represent the relation between motives and acts of will as that of _cause_ and _effect_; and for this reason necessary. "if," says edwards, "every act of will is excited by some motive, then that motive is the _cause_ of that act of will." "and if volitions are properly the effects of their motives, then they are _necessarily_ connected with their motives." now as the relation of cause and effect is necessary, in the sense of the term necessity as above defined, edwards must hold, and design to teach, that all acts of will are necessary in this sense. . necessitarians represent the connection between motives and acts of will as being, in all instances, the same in kind as that which exists between volitions and external actions. "as external actions," says president day, "are directed by the will, so the will itself is directed by influence." now all admit, that the connection between volitions and external actions is necessary in this sense, that when we will such action it cannot but take place. no other act is, in the circumstances, possible. in the same sense, according to necessitarians, is every act of will necessarily connected with influence, or motives. we do necessitarians no wrong, therefore, when we impute to them the doctrine of necessity as here defined. in all cases of sin, they hold, that an individual is in circumstances in which none but sinful acts of will are possible, and these he cannot but put forth; and that in these identical circumstances the sinner is under obligation infinite to put forth different and opposite acts. the term, certainty, as used by necessitarians. ii. we are prepared for another important inquiry, to wit: whether the words, _certainty_, _moral certainty_, &c., as used by necessitarians, are identical in their meaning with that of necessity as above defined? the doctrine of necessity would never be received by the public at all, but for the language in which it is clothed, language which prevents the public seeing it as it is. at one time it is called moral, in distinction from natural necessity. at another, it is said to be nothing but certainty, or moral certainty, &c. now the question arises, what is this certainty? is it or is it not, real necessity, and nothing else? that it is, i argue, . from the fact, as shown above, that there can possibly be no certainty, which does not fall either under the relation of liberty or necessity as above defined. the certainty of necessitarians does not, according to their own showing, fall under the former relation: it must, therefore, fall under the latter. it must be naked necessity, and nothing else. . while they have defined the term necessity, and have not that of certainty, they use the latter term as avowedly synonymous with the former. the latter, therefore, must be explained by the former, and not the former by the latter. . the certainty which they hold is a certainty which avowedly excludes the possibility of different and opposite acts of will under the influences, or motives, under which particular acts are put forth. the certainty under consideration, therefore, is not necessity of a particular kind, a necessity consistent with liberty and moral obligation. it is the necessity above defined, in all its naked deformity. iii. we are now prepared for a distinct statement of the doctrine of ability, according to the necessitarian scheme. even the necessitarians, with very few exceptions, admit, that in the absence of all power to do right or wrong, we can be under no obligation to do the one or avoid the other. "a man," says pres. day, "is not responsible for remaining in his place if he has no power to move. he is not culpable for omitting to walk, if he has no strength to walk. he is not under obligation to do anything for which he has not what edwards calls _natural_ power." it is very important for us to understand the _nature_ of this ability, which lies at the foundation of moral obligation; to understand, i repeat, what this ability is, according to the theory under consideration. this ability, according to the doctrine of liberty, has been well stated by cousin, to wit: "the moment we take the resolution to do an action, we take it with a consciousness of being able to take a contrary resolution;" and by dr. dwight, who says of a man's sin, that it is "chosen by him unnecessarily, _while possessed of a power to choose otherwise_." the nature of this ability, according to the necessitarian scheme, has been stated with equal distinctness in the christian spectator. "if we take this term [ability or power] in the absolute sense, as including _all_ the antecedents to a given volition, there is plainly no such thing as power to the contrary; for in this sense of the term," as president day states, "a man never has power to do anything but what he actually performs." "in this comprehensive, though rather unusual sense of the word," says president day, "a man has not power to do anything which he does not do." the meaning of the above extracts cannot be mistaken. nor can any one deny that they contain a true exposition of the doctrine of necessity, to wit: that under the influences under which men do will, and consequently act, it is absolutely impossible for them to will and act differently from what they do. in what sense, then, have they power to will and act differently according to this doctrine? to this question president day has given a correct and definite answer. "the man who wills in a particular way, under the influence of particular feelings, might will differently under a different influence." now, what is the doctrine of ability, according to this scheme? a man, for example, commits an act of sin. he ought, in the stead of that act, to have put forth an act of obedience. without the power to render this obedience, as president day admits, there can be no obligation to do it. when the necessitarian says, that the creature, when he sins, has power to obey, he means, not that under the influence under which the act of sin is committed, the creature has power to obey; but that _under a different influence he might obey_. but mark, it is under the identical influence under which a man does sin, and under which, according to the doctrine of necessity, he cannot but sin, that he is required not to sin. now how can a man's ability, and obligation not to sin under a given influence, grow out of the fact, that, under a different influence, an influence under which he cannot but do right, he might not sin? this is all the ability and ground of obligation as far as ability, natural ability as it is called, is concerned, which the doctrine of necessity admits. a man is, by a power absolutely irresistible, placed in circumstances in which he cannot possibly but sin. in these circumstances, it is said, that he has _natural ability_ not to sin, and consequently ought not to do it. why? because, to his acting differently, no change in his nature or powers is required. these are "perfect and entire, wanting nothing." all that is required is, that his _circumstances_ be changed, and then he might not sin. "in what sense," asks president day, "is it true, that a man has power to will the contrary of what he actually wills? he has such power that, with a _sufficient inducement_, he will make an opposite choice." is not this the strangest idea of natural ability as constituting the foundation of obligation, of which the human mind ever tried to conceive? in illustration, let us suppose that a man, placed in the city of new york, cannot but sin; placed in that of boston, he cannot but be holy, and that the fact whether he is in the one or the other city depends upon the irresistible providence of god. he is placed in new york where he cannot but sin. he is told that he ought not to do it, and that he is highly guilty for not being perfectly holy. it is also asserted that he has all the powers of moral agency, all the ability requisite to lay the foundation for the highest conceivable obligation to be holy. what is the evidence? he asks. is it possible for me, in my present circumstances, to avoid sin? and in my present circumstances, you know, i cannot but be. i acknowledge, the necessitarian says, that under present influences, you cannot but sin, and that you cannot but be subject to these influences. still, i affirm, that you have all the powers of moral agency, all the natural ability requisite to obedience, and to the highest conceivable obligation to obedience. because, in the first place, even in new york, you could obey if you chose. you have, therefore, _natural_, though not _moral_, power to obey. but stop, friend, right here. when you say that i might obey, if i chose, i would ask, if choosing, as in the command, "choose life," is not the very thing required of me? when, therefore, you affirm that i might obey, if i chose, does it not mean, in reality, that i might choose, if i should choose? is not your natural ability this, that i might obey if i did obey?[ ] i cannot deny, the necessitarian replies, that you have correctly stated this doctrine. permit me to proceed in argument, however. in the next place, all that you need in order to be holy as required, is a change, not of your _powers_, but of the _influences_ which control the _action_ of those powers. with no change in your constitution or powers, you need only to be placed in boston instead of new york, and there you cannot but be holy. is it not as clear as light, therefore, that you have now all the powers of moral agency, all the ability requisite to the highest conceivable obligation to be holy instead of sinful? i fully understand you, the sinner replies. but remember, that it is not in boston, where, as you acknowledge, i cannot be, that i am required not to sin; but here, in new york, where i cannot but be, and cannot possibly but sin. it is here, and not somewhere else, that i am required not to sin. how can the fact, that if i were in boston, where i could not but be holy, i might not sin, prove, that here, in new york, i have any ability, either natural or moral--am under any obligation whatever--not to sin? these are the difficulties which press upon me. how do you remove them according to your theory? i can give no other answer, the necessitarian replies, than that already given. if that does not silence for ever every excuse for sin in your mind, it is wholly owing to the perverseness of your heart, to its bitter hostility to the truth. i may safely appeal to the necessitarian himself, whether i have not here given an uncaricatured expose of his theory. sinful inclinations. iv. when pressed with such appalling difficulties as these, the necessitarian falls back, in self-justification, upon the _reason why_ the sinner cannot be holy. the only reason, it is said, why the sinner does not do as he ought is, not the want of power, but the strength of his sinful inclinations. shall he plead these in excuse for sin? by no means. they constitute the very essence of the sinner's guilt. let it be borne in mind, that, according to the doctrine of necessity, such is the connection between the nature, or constitution of the sinner's mind--a nature which god has given him, and the influences under which he is placed by divine providence--that none but these very inclinations are possible to him, and these cannot but exist. from these inclinations, sinful acts of will cannot but arise. how is the matter helped, as far as ability and obligation, on the part of the sinner, are concerned, by throwing the guilt back from acts of will upon inclinations equally necessary? necessarian doctrine of liberty. the real liberty of the will, according to the necessitarian scheme, next demands our attention. all admit that liberty is an essential condition of moral obligation. in what sense, then, is or is not, man free, according to the doctrine of necessity? "the plain and obvious meaning of the words freedom and liberty," says president edwards, "is power, opportunity, or advantage, that any one has to do as he pleases. or, in other words, his being free from hinderance or impediment in the way of doing or conducting in any respect as he wills. and the contrary to liberty, whatever name we please to call that by, is a person's being hindered, or unable to conduct as he will, or being necessitated to do otherwise." "the only idea, indeed, that we can form of free-agency, or of freedom of will," says abercrombie, "is, that it consists in a man's being able to do what he wills, or to abstain from doing what he will not. necessary agency, on the other hand, would consist in a man's being compelled, by a force from without, to do what he will not, or prevented from doing what he wills." with these definitions all necessitarians agree. this is all the liberty known, or conceivable, according to their theory. liberty does not consist in the power to choose in one or the other of two or more different and opposite directions, under the same influence. it is found wholly and exclusively in the connection between the act of will, considered as the antecedent, and the effort, external or internal, considered as the consequent. on this definition i remark, . that it presents the idea of liberty as distinguished from _servitude_, rather than liberty as distinguished from necessity. a man is free, in the first sense of the term, when no external restraints hinder the carrying out of the choice within. this, however, has nothing to do with liberty, as distinguished from necessity. . if this is the only sense in which a man is free, then, in the language of a very distinguished philosopher, "if you cut off a man's little finger, you thereby annihilate so much of his free agency;" because, in that case, you abridge so much his power to do as he chooses. is this liberty, the only liberty of man, a liberty which may be destroyed by chains, bolts, and bars? is this liberty as distinguished from necessity the liberty which lays the foundation of moral obligation? . if this is the only sense in which man is free, then dire necessity reigns throughout the entire domain of human agency. if all acts of will are the necessary consequents of the influences to which the mind is at the time subjected, much more must a like necessity exist between all acts of will and their consequents, external and internal. this has been already shown. the mind, then, with all its acts and states, exists in a chain of antecedents and consequents, causes and effects, linked together in every part and department by a dire necessity. this is all the liberty that this doctrine knows or allows us; a liberty to choose as influences necessitate us to choose, and to have such acts of will followed by certain necessary consequents, external and internal. in this scheme, the idea of liberty, which all admit must have a location somewhere, or obligation, is a chimera; this idea, i say, after "wandering through dry places, seeking rest and finding none," at length is driven to a location where it finds its grave, and not a living habitation. . it is to me a very strange thing, that liberty, as the foundation of moral obligation, should be located here. because that acts of will are followed by certain corresponding necessary consequents external and internal, therefore we are bound to put forth given acts of will, whatever the influences acting upon us may be, and however impossible it may be to put forth those acts under those influences! did ever a greater absurdity dance in the brain of a philosopher or theologian? . the public are entirely deceived by this definition, and because they are deceived as to the theory intended by it, do they admit it as true? suppose any man in the common walks of life were asked what he means, when he says, he can do as he pleases, act as he chooses, &c. does this express your meaning? when you will to walk, rather than sit, for example, no other volition is at the time possible, and this you must put forth, and that when you have put forth this volition, you cannot but walk. is this your idea, when you say, you can do as you please? no, he would say. that is not my idea at all. if that is true, man is not a free agent at all. what men in general really mean when they say, they can do as they please, and are therefore free, is, that when they put forth a given act of will, and for this reason conduct in a given manner, they may in the same circumstances put forth different and opposite determinations, and consequently act in a different and opposite manner from what they do. vi. the argument of necessitarians in respect to the _practical tendencies_ of their doctrine demands a passing notice. all acts of the will, they say, are indeed necessary under the circumstances in which they occur; but then we should learn the practical lesson not to place ourselves in the circumstances where we shall be liable to act wrong. to this i reply: . that on the hypothesis before us, our being in the circumstances which originate a given choice, is as necessary as the choice itself. for i am in those circumstances either by an overruling providence over which i have no control, or by previous acts of the will rendered necessary by such providence. hence the difficulty remains in all its force. . the solution assumes the very principle denied, that is, that our being in circumstances which originate particular acts of choice is not necessary. else why tell an individual he is to blame for being in such circumstances, and not to place himself there again? ground which necessitarians are bound to take in respect to the doctrine of ability. vii. we are now fully prepared to state the ground which necessitarians of every school are bound to take in respect to the doctrine of ability. it is to deny that doctrine wholly, to take the open and broad ground, that, according to any appropriate signification of the words, it is absolutely impossible for men to will, and consequently to act, differently from what they do; that when they do wrong, they always do it, with the absolute impossibility of doing right; and that when they do right, there is always an equal impossibility of their doing wrong. if men have not power to _will_ differently from what they do, it is undeniably evident that they have no power whatever to act differently: because there is an absolutely necessary connection between volitions and their consequents, external actions. the doctrine of necessity takes away wholly all ability from the creature to will differently from what he does. it therefore totally annihilates his ability to _act_ differently. what, then, according to the theory of necessity, becomes of the doctrine of ability? it is annihilated. it is impossible for us to find for it a "local habitation or a name." as honest men, necessitarians are bound to proclaim the fact. they are bound to proclaim the doctrine, that, in requiring men to be holy, under influences under which they do sin, and cannot but sin (as it is true of all sinful acts according to their theory), god requires of them absolute impossibilities, and then dooms them to perdition for not performing such impossibilities. the subterfuge to which necessitarians resort here, will not avail them at all, to wit: that men are to blame for not doing right, because, they might do it if they chose. to will right is the thing, and the only thing really required of them. the above maxim therefore amounts, as we have already seen, to this: men are bound to do, that is, to will, what is right, because if they should will what is right, they would will what is right. doctrine of necessity, as regarded by necessitarians of different schools. viii. two schools divide the advocates of necessity. according to one class, god produces in men all their volitions and acts, both sinful and holy, by the direct exertion of his own omnipotence. without the divine agency, men, they hold, are wholly incapable of all volitions and actions of every kind. with it, none but those which god produces can arise, and these cannot but arise. this is the scheme of divine efficiency, as advocated by dr. emmons and others. according to the other school, god does not, in all instances, produce volitions and actions by his own direct agency, but by creating in creatures a certain nature or constitution, and then subjecting them to influences from which none but particular volitions and acts which they do put forth can result, and these must result. according to a large portion of this school, god, either by his own direct agency, or by sustaining their laws of natural generation, produces in men the peculiar nature which they do possess, and then imputes to them infinite guilt, not only for this nature, but for its necessary results, sinful feelings, volitions, and actions. such are these two schemes. in the two following particulars, they perfectly harmonize. . all acts of will, together with their effects, external and internal, in the circumstances of their occurrence, cannot but be what they are. . the ground of this necessity is the agency of god, in the one instance producing these effects directly and immediately, and in the other producing the same results, mediately, by giving existence to a constitution and influences from which such results cannot but arise. they differ only in respect to the _immediate_ ground of this necessity, the power of god, according to the former, producing the effects directly, and according to the latter, indirectly. according to both, all our actions sustain the same essential relation to the divine will, that of necessity. now while these two theories so perfectly harmonize, in all essential particulars, strange to tell, the advocates of one regard the other as involving the most monstrous absurdities conceivable. for god to produce, through the energies of his own omnipotence, human volitions, and then to impute infinite guilt to men for what he himself has produced in them, what a horrid sentiment that is, exclaims the advocate of constitutional depravity. for god to create in men a sinful nature, and then impute to them infinite guilt for what he has himself created, together with its unavoidable results, what horrid tyranny such a sentiment imputes to the most high, exclaims the advocate of divine efficiency, in his turn. the impartial, uncommitted spectator, on the other hand, perceives most distinctly the same identical absurdities in both these theories. he knows perfectly, that it can make no essential difference, whether god produces a result directly, or by giving existence to a constitution and influences from which it cannot but arise. if one theory involves injustice and tyranny, the other must involve the same. let me here add, that the reprobation with which each of the classes above named regards the sentiments of the other, is a sentence of reprobation passed (unconsciously to be sure) upon the doctrine of necessity itself which is common to both. for if this one element is taken out of either theory, there is nothing left to render it abhorrent to any mind. it is thus that necessitarians themselves, without exception, pass sentence of condemnation upon their own theory, by condemning it, in every system in which they meet with it except their own. there is not a man on earth, that has not in some form or other passed sentence of reprobation upon this system. let any man, whatever, contemplate any theory but the one he has himself adopted, any theory that involves this element, and he will instantly fasten upon this one feature as the characteristic which vitiates the whole theory, and renders it deserving of universal reprobation. it is thus that unsophisticated nature expresses her universal horror at a system which "binding nature fast in fate, enslaves the human will." unsophisticated nature abhors this doctrine infinitely more than she was ever conceived to abhor a vacuum. can a theory which the universal intelligence thus agrees in reprobating, as involving the most horrid absurdity and tyranny conceivable, be the only true one? chapter iv. extent and limits of the liberty of the will. while it is maintained, that, in the sense defined in the preceding chapter, the will is free, it is also affirmed that, in other respects, it is not free at all. it should be borne distinctly in mind, that, in the respects in which the will is subject to the law of liberty, its liberty is absolute. it is in no sense subject to the law of necessity. so far, also, as it is subject to the law of necessity, it is in no sense free. what then are the extent and limits of the liberty of the will? . in the absence of motives, the will cannot act at all. to suppose the opposite would involve a contradiction. it would suppose the action of the will in the direction of some object, in the absence of all objects towards which such action can be directed. . the will is not free in regard to what the motives presented shall be, in view of which its determinations shall be formed. motives exist wholly independent of the will. nor does it depend at all upon the will, what motives shall be presented for its election. it is free only in respect to the particular determinations it shall put forth, in reference to the motives actually presented. . whenever a motive, or object of choice, is presented to the mind, the will is necessitated, by the presentation of the object, to act in some direction. it must yield or refuse to yield to the motive. but such refusal is itself a positive act. so far, therefore, the will is wholly subject to the law of necessity. it is free, not in respect to whether it shall, or shall not, choose at all when a motive is presented; but in respect to _what_ it shall choose. i, for example, offer a merchant a certain sum, for a piece of goods. now while it is equally possible for him to receive or reject the offer, one or the other determination he _must_ form. in the first respect, he is wholly free. in the latter, he is not free in any sense whatever. the same holds true in respect to all objects of choice presented to the mind. motive necessitates the will to act in some direction; while, in all deliberate moral acts at least, it leaves either of two or more different and opposite determinations equally possible to the mind. . certain particular volitions may be rendered necessary by other, and what may be termed _general_, determinations. for example, a determination to pursue a particular course of conduct, may render necessary all particular volitions requisite to carry this general purpose into accomplishment. it renders them necessary in this sense, that if the former does exist, the latter must exist. a man, for example, determines to pass from boston to new york with all possible expedition. this determination remaining unchanged, all the particular volitions requisite to its accomplishment cannot but exist. the general and controlling determination, however, may, at any moment, be suspended. to perpetuate or suspend it, is always in the power of the will. . i will here state a conjecture, viz.: that there are in the primitive developments of mind, as well as in all primary acts of attention, certain necessary spontaneities of the will, as well as of other powers of the mind. is it not in consequence of such actions, that the mind becomes first conscious of the power of volition, and is it not now necessary for us under certain circumstances to give a certain degree of attention to phenomena which appear within and around us? my own convictions are, that such circumstances often do occur. nor is such a supposition inconsistent with the great principle maintained in this treatise. this principle is, that liberty and accountability, in other words, free, and moral agency, are co-extensive. . nor does liberty, as here defined, imply, that the mind, antecedently to all acts of will, shall be in a state of _indifference_, unimpelled by feeling, or the affirmations of the intelligence, more strongly in one direction than another. the will exists in a tri-unity with the intelligence and sensibility. its determinations may be in harmony with the sensibility, in opposition to intelligence, or with the intelligence in opposition to the sensibility. but while it follows either in distinction from the other, under the same identical influences, different and opposite determinations are equally possible. however the will may be influenced, whether its determinations are in the direction of the strongest impulse, or opposed to it, it never, in deliberate moral determination, puts forth particular acts, because, that in these circumstances, no others are possible. in instances comparatively few, can we suppose that the mind, antecedently to acts of will, is in a state of indifference, unimpelled in one direction in distinction from others, or equally impelled in the direction of different and opposite determinations. indifference is in no such sense an essential or material condition of liberty. how ever strongly the will may be impelled in the direction of particular determinations, it is still in the possession of the highest conceivable freedom, if it is not thereby _necessitated_ to act in one direction in distinction from all others. . i now refer to one other fixed law under the influence of which the will is always necessitated to act. it is the law of _habit_. action in any one direction always generates a tendency to subsequent action in the same direction under similar influences. this tendency may be increased, till it becomes so strong as to render action in the same direction in all future time really, although contingently, certain. the certainty thus granted will always be of such a nature as consists fully with the relation of liberty. it can never, while moral agency continues, come under the relation of necessity. still the certainty is real. thus the mind, by a continued course of well or ill doing, may generate such fixed habits, as to render subsequent action in the same direction perfectly certain, during the entire progress of its future being. every man, while conscious of freedom, should be fully aware of the existence of this law, and it should surely lead him to walk thoughtfully along the borders of "the undiscovered country," his location in which he is determining by the habits of thought, feeling, and action, he is now generating. strongest motive--reasoning in a circle. a singular instance of reasoning in a circle on the part of necessitarians, in respect to what they call the _strongest motive_, demands a passing notice here. one of their main arguments in support of their doctrine is based upon the assumption, that the action of the will is always in the direction of the strongest motive. when, however, we ask them, which is the strongest motive, their reply in reality is, that it is the motive in the direction of which the will does act. "the strength of a _motive_," says president day, "is not its prevailing, but the power by which it prevails. yet we may very properly _measure_ this power by the actual result." again, "we may measure the comparative strength of motives of different kinds, from the results to which they lead; just as we learn the power of different causes, from the effects which they produce:" that is, we are not to determine, _a priori_, nor by an appeal to consciousness, which of two or more motives presented is the strongest. we are to wait till the will does act, and then assume that the motive, in the direction of which it acts, is the strongest. from the action of the will in the direction of that particular motive, we are finally to infer the truth of the doctrine of necessity. the strongest motive, according to the above definition, is the motive to which the will does yield. the argument based upon the truism, that the will always acts in the direction of this motive, that is, the motive towards which it does act, the argument, i say, put into a logical form, would stand thus. if the action of the will is always in the direction of the strongest motive, that is, if it always follows the motive it does follow, it is governed by the law of necessity. its action is always in the direction of this motive, that is, it always follows the motive it does follow. the will is therefore governed by the law of necessity. how many philosophers and theologians have become "rooted and grounded" in the belief of this doctrine, under the influence of this sophism, a sophism which, in the first instance, assumes the doctrine as true, and then moves round in a vicious circle to demonstrate its truth. chapter v. the greatest apparent good. section i. we now come to a consideration of one of the great questions bearing upon our personal investigations--the proposition maintained by necessitarians, as a chief pillar of their theory, that "_the will always is as the greatest apparent good_." phrase defined. the first inquiry which naturally arises here is what is the proper meaning of this proposition? in reply, i answer, that it must mean one of these three things. . that the will is always, in all its determinations, conformed to the dictates of the intelligence, choosing those things only which the intelligence affirms to be best. or, . that the determinations of the will are always in conformity to the impulse of the sensibility, that is, that its action is always in the direction of the strongest feeling. or, . in conformity to the dictates of the intelligence, and the impulse of the sensibility combined, that is that the will never acts at all, except when impelled by the intelligence and sensibility both in the same direction. meaning of this phrase according to edwards. the following passage leaves no room for doubt in respect to the meaning which edwards attaches to the phrase, "the greatest apparent good." "i have chosen," he says, "rather to express myself thus, that the will always is as the greatest apparent good, or as what appears most agreeable, than to say, that the will is _determined_ by the greatest apparent good, or by what seems most agreeable; because an appearing most agreeable or pleasing to the mind, and the mind's preferring and choosing, seem hardly to be properly and perfectly distinct." here undeniably, the words, choosing, preferring, "appearing most agreeable or pleasing," and "the greatest apparent good," are defined as identical in their meaning. hence in another place, he adds, "if strict propriety of speech be insisted on, it may more properly be said, that the _voluntary action_ which is the immediate consequence and fruit of the mind's volition and choice, is determined by that which appears most agreeable, than by the preference or choice itself." the reason is obvious. appearing most agreeable or pleasing, and preference or choice, had been defined as synonymous in their meaning. to say, therefore, that preference or choice is determined by "what appears most agreeable or pleasing," would be equivalent to the affirmation, that choice determines choice. "the act of volition itself," he adds, "is always determined by that in or about the mind's view of an object, which causes it to appear most agreeable," or what is by definition the same thing, causes it to be chosen. the phrases, "the greatest apparent good," and "appearing most agreeable or pleasing to the mind," and the words, choosing, preferring, &c., are therefore, according to edwards, identical in their meaning. the proposition, "the will is always as the greatest apparent good," really means nothing more nor less than this, that will always chooses as it chooses. the famous argument based upon this proposition in favor of the doctrine of necessity may be thus expressed. if the will always is as the greatest apparent good, that is, if the will always chooses as it chooses, it is governed by the law of necessity. the will is as the greatest apparent good, that is, it always chooses as it chooses. therefore it is governed by this law. by this very syllogism, multitudes have supposed that the doctrine of necessity has been established with all the distinctness and force of demonstration. the question now returns, is "the will always as the greatest apparent good," in either of the senses of the phrase as above defined? the will not always as the dictates of the intelligence. i. is the will then as the greatest apparent good in this sense, that all its determinations are in conformity to the dictates of the intelligence. does the will never harmonize with the sensibility in opposition to the intelligence? has no intelligent being, whether sinful or holy, ever done that which his intellect affirmed at the time, that he ought not to do, and that it was best for him not to do? i answer, . every man who has ever violated moral obligation knows, that he has followed the impulse of desire, in opposition to the dictates of his intelligence. what individual that has ever perpetrated such deeds has not said, and cannot say with truth, "i know the good, and approve it; yet follow the bad?" take a matter of fact. a spanish nobleman during the early progress of the reformation, became fully convinced, that the faith of the reformers was true, and his own false, and that his salvation depended upon his embracing the one and rejecting the other. yet martyrdom would be the result of such a change. while balancing this question, in the depths of his own mind, he trembled with the greatest agitation. his sovereign who was present, asked the cause. the reply was, "the martyr's crown is before me, and i have not christian fortitude enough to take it." he died a few weeks subsequent, without confessing the truth. did he obey his intelligence, or sensibility there? was not the conflict between the two, and did not the latter prevail? in john : , , we have a fact revealed, in which men were convinced of the truth, and yet, because "they loved the praise of men more than the praise of god," they did not confess, but denied the truth, a case therefore in which they followed the impulse of desire, in opposition to the dictates of the intelligence. the will then is not "always as the greatest apparent good," in this sense, that its action is always in the direction of the dictates of the intelligence. . if this is so, sin, in all instances, is a mere blunder, a necessary result of a necessary misjudgment of the intelligence? is it so? can the intelligence affirm that a state of moral impurity is better than a state of moral rectitude? how easy it would be, in every instance, to "convert a sinner from the error of his way," if all that is requisite is to carry his intellect in favor of truth and righteousness? who does not know, that the great difficulty lies in the enslavement of the will to a depraved sensibility? . if the will of all intelligents is always in harmony with the intellect, then i affirm that there is not, and never has been, any such thing as sin, or ill desert, in the universe. what more can be said of god, or of any being ever so pure, than that he has always done what his intellect affirmed to be best? what if the devil, and all creatures called sinners, had always done the same thing? where is the conceivable ground for the imputation of moral guilt to them? . if all acts of will are always in perfect harmony with the intelligence, and in this sense, "as the greatest apparent good," then, when the intellect affirms absolutely that there can be no ground of preference between two objects, there can be no choice between them. but we are, in fact, putting forth every day just such acts of will, selecting one object in distinction from another, when the intellect affirms their perfect equality, or affirms absolutely, that there is and can be no perceived ground of preference between them. i receive a letter, i will suppose, from a friend, informing me that he has just taken from a bank two notes, perfectly new and of the same value, that one now lies in the east and the other in the west corner of his drawer, that i may have one and only one of them, the one that i shall name by return of mail, and that i must designate one or the other, or have neither. here are present to my intelligence two objects absolutely equal. their location is a matter of indifference, equally absolute. now if as the proposition "the will is _always_ as the greatest apparent good," affirms, i cannot select one object in distinction from another, without a perceived ground for such selection, i could not possibly, in the case supposed, say which bill i would have. yet i make the selection without the least conceivable embarrassment. i might mention numberless cases, of daily occurrence, of a nature precisely similar. every child that ever played at "odd or even," knows perfectly the possibility of selecting between objects which are, to the intelligence, absolutely equal. i will now select a case about which there can possibly be no mistake. space we know perfectly to be absolutely infinite. space in itself is in all parts alike. so must it appear to the mind of god. now when god determined to create the universe, he must have resolved to locate its centre in some one point of space in distinction from all others. at that moment, there was present to the divine intelligence an infinite number of points, all and each absolutely equally eligible. neither point could have been selected, because it was better than any other: for all were equal. so they must have appeared to god. now if the "will is always as the greatest apparent good," in the sense under consideration, god could not in this case make the selection, and consequently could not create the universe. he did make the selection, and did create. the will, therefore, is not, in this sense, "always as the greatest apparent good." the will not always as the strongest desire. ii. is the "will always as the greatest apparent good" in this sense, that it is always as the strongest desire, or as the strongest impulse of the sensibility? does the will never harmonize with the intelligence, in opposition to the sensibility, as well as with the sensibility in opposition to the intelligence? if this is not so, then-- . it would be difficult to define self-denial according to the ordinary acceptation of the term. what is self-denial but placing the will with the intelligence, in opposition to the sensibility? how often in moral reformations do we find almost nothing else but this, an inflexible purpose placed directly before an almost crushing and overwhelming tide of feeling and desire? . when the will is impelled in different directions, by conflicting feelings, it could not for a moment be in a state of indecision, unless we suppose these conflicting feelings to be absolutely equal in strength up to the moment of decision. who believes that? who believes that his feelings are in all instances in a state of perfect equilibrium up to the moment of fixed determination between two distinct and opposite courses? this _must_ be the case, if the action of the will is always as the strongest feeling, and in this sense as the "greatest apparent good." how can necessitarians meet this argument? will they pretend that, in all instances, up to the moment of decisive action, the feelings impelling the will in different directions are always absolutely equal in strength? this must be, if the will is always as the strongest feeling. . when the feelings are in a state of perfect equilibrium, there can possibly, on this supposition, be no choice at all. the feelings often are, and must be, in this state, even when we are necessitated to act in some direction. the case of the bank notes above referred to, presents an example of this kind. as the objects are in the mind's eye absolutely equal, to suppose that the feelings should, in such a case, impel the will more strongly in the direction of the one than the other, is to suppose an event without a cause, inasmuch as the sensibility is governed by the law of necessity. if a and b are to the intelligence, in all respects, absolutely equal, how can the sensibility impel the will towards a instead of b? what is an event without a cause, if this is not? contemplate the case in respect to the location of the universe above supposed. each point of space was equally present to god, and was in itself, and was perceived and affirmed to be, equally eligible with all the others. how could a stronger feeling arise in the direction of one point in distinction from others, unless we suppose that god's sensibility is not subject to the law of necessity, a position which none will assume, or that here was an event without a cause? when, therefore, god did select this one point in distinction from all the others, that determination could not have been either in the direction of what the intelligence affirmed to be best, nor of the strongest feeling. the proposition, therefore, that "the will _always_ is as the greatest apparent good," is in both the senses above defined demonstrably false. . of the truth of this every one is aware when he appeals to his own consciousness. in the amputation of a limb, for example, who does not know that if an individual, at the moment when the operation commences, should yield to the strongest feeling, he would refuse to endure it? he can pass through the scene, only by placing an inflexible purpose directly across the current of feeling. how often do we hear individuals affirm, "if i should follow my _feelings_, i should do this; if i should follow my _judgment_, i should do that." in all such instances, we have the direct testimony of consciousness, that the action of the will is not always in the direction of the strongest feeling: because its action is sometimes consciously in the direction of the intelligence, in opposition to such feelings; and at others, in the conscious presence of such feelings, the will remains, for periods longer or shorter, undecided in respect to the particular course which shall be pursued. the will not always as the intelligence and sensibility combined. iii. is not the will always as the greatest apparent good in this sense, that its determinations are always as the affirmations of the intelligence and the impulse of the sensibility combined? that it is not, i argue for two reasons. . if this was the case, when the intelligence and sensibility are opposed to each other--a fact of very frequent occurrence,--there could be no acts of will in either direction. the will must remain in a state of absolute inaction, till these belligerent powers settle their differences, and unite in impelling the will in some particular direction. but we know that the will can, and often does, act in the direction of the intelligence or sensibility, when the affirmations of one and the impulses of the other are in direct opposition to each other. . when both the intellect and sensibility, as in the cases above cited, are alike indifferent, there can be, on the present hypothesis, no acts of will whatever. under these identical circumstances, however, the will does act. the hypothesis, therefore, falls to the ground. i conclude, then, that the proposition, "the will is always as the greatest apparent good," is either a mere truism, having no bearing at all upon our present inquiries, or that it is false. in the discussion of the above propositions, the doctrine of liberty has received a full and distinct illustration. the action of the will is sometimes in the direction of the intelligence, in opposition to the sensibility, and sometimes in the direction of the sensibility, in opposition to the intelligence, and never in the direction of either, because it must be. sometimes it acts where the sensibility and intelligence both harmonize, or are alike indifferent. when also the will acts in the direction of the intelligence or sensibility, it is not necessitated to follow, in all instances, the highest affirmation, nor the strongest desire. sec. ii--miscllaneous topics. necessitarian argument. i. we are now prepared to appreciate the necessitarian argument, based upon the assumption, that "the will always is as the greatest apparent good." this assumption is the great pillar on which that doctrine rests. yet the whole argument based upon it is a perpetual reasoning in a circle. ask the necessitarian to give the grand argument in favor of his doctrine. his answer is, because "the will _always_ is as the greatest apparent good." cite now such facts as those stated above in contradiction of his assumption, and his answer is ready. there must be, in all such cases, some perceived or felt ground of preference, or there could be no act of will in the case. there must have been, for example, some point in space more eligible than any other for the location of the universe, and this must have been the reason why god selected the one he did. ask him why he makes this declaration? his reply is, because "the will is always as the greatest apparent good." thus this assumption becomes premise or conclusion, just as the exigence of the theory based upon it demands. nothing is so convenient and serviceable as such an assumption, when one has a very difficult and false position to sustain. but who does not see, that it is a most vicious reasoning in a circle? to assume the proposition, "the will always is as the greatest apparent good," in the first instance, as the basis of a universal theory, and then to assume the truth of that proposition as the basis of the explanation of particular facts, which contradict that theory, what is reasoning in a circle if this is not? no one has a right to assume this proposition as true at all, until he has first shown that it is affirmed by all the phenomena of the will. on its authority he has no right to explain a solitary phenomenon. to do it is not only to reason in a circle, but to beg the question at issue. motives cause acts of will, in what sense. ii. we are also prepared to notice another assumption of president edwards, which, if admitted in the sense in which he assumes it as true, necessitates the admission of the necessitarian scheme, to wit: that the determination of the will is always _caused_ by the motive present to the mind for putting forth that determination. "it is that motive," he says, "which, as it stands in the view of the mind, is the strongest which determines the will." again, "that every act of the will has some cause, and consequently (by what has been already proved) has a necessary connection with its cause, and so is necessary by a necessity of connection and consequence, is evident by this, that every act of will, whatsoever, is excited by some motive." "but if every act of the will is excited by some motive, then that motive is the cause of that act of the will." "and if volitions are properly the effects of their motives, then they are necessarily connected with their motives." if we grant the principle here assumed, the conclusion follows of necessity. but let us inquire in what sense motive and volition sustain to each other the relation of cause and effect. _the presence and action of one power causes the action of another, so far, and so far only, as it necessitates such action; and causes its action in a particular direction, so far only as it necessitates its action in that direction, in opposition to every other_. now the action of one power may cause the action of another, in one or both these ways. . it may necessitate its action, and necessitate it in one direction in opposition to any and every other. in this sense, fire causes the sensation of pain. it necessitates the action of the sensibility, and in that one direction. or, . one power may necessitate the _action_ of another power, but not necessitate its action in one direction in opposition to any or all others. we have seen, in a former chapter, that the motive causes the action of the will in this sense only, that it necessitates the will to act in some direction, but not in one direction in distinction from another. now the error of president edwards lies in confounding these two senses of the word _cause_. he assumes that when one power causes the action of another in any sense, it must in every sense. it is readily admitted, that in one sense the motive causes the action of the will. but when we ask for the reason or cause of any one particular choice in distinction from another, we find it, not in the motive, but in the power of willing itself. objection--particular volition, how accounted for. iii. we are also prepared to notice the great objection of necessitarians to the doctrine of liberty as here maintained. how, it is asked, shall we account, on this theory, for _particular_ volitions? the power to will only accounts for acts of will in _some_ direction, but not for one act in distinction from another. this distinction must be accounted for, or we have an event without a cause. to this argument i reply, . it assumes the position in debate, to wit: that there cannot be consequents which are not necessarily connected with particular antecedents, which antecedents necessitate these particular consequents in distinction from all others. . to account for any effect, all that can properly be required is, to assign the existence and operation of a cause adequate to the production of such effects. free-agency itself is such a cause in the case now under consideration. we have here given the existence and operation of a cause which must produce one of two effects, and is equally capable, under the circumstances, of producing either. such a cause accounts for the existence of such an effect, just as much as the assignment of an antecedent necessarily producing certain consequents, accounts for those consequents. . if, as this objection affirms, an act of will, when there is no perceived or felt reason for that act in distinction from every other, is equivalent to an event without a cause; then it would be as impossible for us to _conceive_ of the former as of the latter. we cannot even conceive of an event without a cause. but we can conceive of an act of will when no reason, but the power of willing, exists for that particular act in distinction from others. we cannot conceive of an event without a cause. but we _can_ conceive of the mind's selecting odd, for example, instead of even, without the intellect or sensibility impelling the will to that act in distinction from others. such act, therefore, is not equivalent to an event without a cause. the objection under consideration is consequently wholly baseless. facts like the above wrongly accounted for. iv. the manner in which necessitarians sometimes endeavor to account for acts of will in which a selection is made between objects perceived and felt to be perfectly equal, requires attention. suppose that a and b are before the mind. one or the other is to be selected, or no selection at all is to be made. these objects are present to the mind as perfectly equal. the intelligence and sensibility are in a state of entire equilibrium between them. now when one of these objects is selected in distinction from the other, this act of will is to be accounted for, it is said, by referring back to the determination to make the selection instead of not making it. the will does not choose between a and b, at all. the choice is between choosing and not choosing. but mark: to determine to select a or b is one thing. to select one in distinction from the other, is quite another. the former act does not determine the will towards either in distinction from the other. this last act remains to be accounted for. when we attempt to account for it, we cannot do it, by referring to the intelligence or sensibility for these are in a state of perfect equilibrium between the objects. we can account for it only by falling back upon the power of willing itself, and admitting that the will is free, and not subject to the law of necessity. choosing between objects known to be equal--how treated by necessitarians. v. the manner in which necessitarians treat facts of this kind, to wit, choosing between things perceived and felt to be equal, also demands a passing notice. such facts are of very little importance, one way or the other, they say, in mental science. it is the height of folly to appeal to them to determine questions of such moment as the doctrine of liberty and necessity. i answer: such facts are just as important in mental science, as the fall of a piece of gold and a feather, in an exhausted receiver, is in natural philosophy. the latter reveals with perfect clearness the great law of attraction in the material universe. the former reveals with equal conspicuousness the great law of liberty in the realm of mind. the necessitarian affirms, that no act of will is possible, only in the direction of the dictates of the intelligence, or of the strongest impulse of the sensibility. facts are adduced in which, from the necessity of the case, both faculties must be in a state of perfect equilibrium. neither can impel the will in one direction, in distinction from the other. in such circumstances, if the doctrine of necessity is true, no acts of will are possible. in precisely these circumstances acts of will do arise. the doctrine of necessity therefore is overthrown, and the truth of that liberty is demonstrated. so important are those facts which necessitarians affect to despise. true philosophy, it should be remembered, never looks contemptuously upon facts of any kind. palpable mistake. vi. we are prepared to notice a palpable mistake into which necessitarians have fallen in respect to the use which the advocates of the doctrine of liberty design to make of the fact, that the will can and does select between objects perceived and felt to be equal. "the reason why some metaphysical writers," says president day, "have laid so much stress upon this apparently insignificant point, is probably the _inference_ which they propose to draw from the position which they assume. if it be conceded that the mind decides one way or the other indifferently, when the motives on each side are perfectly equal, they infer that this may be the fact, in all _other_ cases, even though the motives to opposite choices may be ever so unequal. but on what ground is this conclusion warranted? if a man is entirely indifferent which of two barley-corns to take, does it follow that he will be indifferent whether to accept of a guinea or a farthing; whether to possess an estate or a trinket?" the advocates of the doctrine of liberty design to make, and do make, no such use of the facts under consideration, as is here attributed to them. they never argue that, because the will can select between a and b, when they are perceived and felt to be equal, therefore, when the will acts in one direction, in distinction from another, it is always, up to the moment of such action, impelled in different directions by feelings and judgments equally strong. what they do argue from such facts is, that the will is subject to the law of liberty and not to that of necessity. if the will is subject to the latter, then, when impelled in different directions by motives equally strong (as in the cases above cited), it could no more act in the direction of one in distinction from the other, than a heavy body can move east instead of west, when drawn in each direction by forces perfectly equal. if the will is subject to the law of necessity, then, in all instances of selection between objects known and felt to be equal, we have an event without a cause. even the necessitarians, many of them at least, dare not deny that, under these very circumstances, selection does take place. they must, therefore, abandon their theory, or admit the dogma, of events without causes. chapter vi. connection of the doctrine of liberty with the divine prescience. the argument on which necessitarians chiefly rely, against the doctrine of liberty, and in support of that of necessity, is based upon the divine prescience of human conduct. the argument runs thus: all acts of the will, however remote in the distant future, are foreknown to god. this fact necessitates the conclusion, that such acts are in themselves certain, and, consequently, not free, but necessary. either god cannot foreknow acts of will, or they are necessary. the reply to this argument has already been anticipated in the introduction. the divine prescience is not the truth to which the appeal should be made, to determine the philosophy of the will pre-supposed in the bible. this i argue, for the obvious reason, that of the _mode_, _nature_, and _degree_, of the divine prescience of human conduct we are profoundly ignorant. these we must know with perfect clearness, before we can affirm, with any certainty, whether this prescience is or is not consistent with the doctrine of liberty. the divine prescience is a truth of inspiration, and therefore a fact. the doctrine of liberty is, as we have seen, a truth of inspiration, and therefore a fact. it is also a fact, as affirmed by the universal consciousness of man. how do we know that these two facts are not perfectly consistent with each other? how do we know but that, if we understood the _mode_, to say nothing of the nature and degree of the divine prescience, we should not perceive with the utmost clearness, that this truth consists as perfectly with the doctrine of liberty, as with that of necessity. if god foresees events, he foreknows them as they are, and not as they are not. if they are free and not necessary, as free and not necessary he foresees them. having ascertained by consciousness that the acts of the will are free, and having, from reason and revelation, determined, that god foreknows such acts, the great truth stands revealed to our mind, that god does and can foreknow human conduct, and yet man in such conduct be free; and that the mode, nature, and degree, of the former are such as most perfectly to consist with the latter. i know with perfect distinctness, that i am now putting forth certain acts of will. with equal distinctness i know, that such acts are not necessary, but free. my present knowledge is perfectly consistent with present freedom. how do i know but that god's foreknowledge of future acts is equally consistent with the most perfect freedom of such acts. perhaps a better presentation of this whole subject cannot be found than in the following extract from jouffroy's "introduction to ethics." the extract, though somewhat lengthy, will well repay a most attentive perusal. danger in reasoning from the manner in which we foreknow events to that of divine prescience. "to begin, then, with a very simple remark: if we conceive that foreknowledge in the divine being acts as it does in us, we run the risk of forming a most incorrect notion of it, and consequently, of seeing a contradiction between it and liberty, that would disappear altogether had we a truer notion. let us consider that we have not the same faculty for foreseeing the future as we have of reviewing the past; and even in cases where we do anticipate it, it is by an induction from the past. this induction may amount either to certainty, or merely to probability. it will amount to certainty when we are perfectly acquainted with necessary causes, and their law of operation. the effects of such causes in given circumstances having been determined by experience, we can predict the return of similar effects under similar circumstances with entire certainty, so long at least as the present laws of nature remain in force. it is in this way that we foresee, in most cases, the physical occurrences, whose law of operation is known to us; and such foresight would extend much further, were it not for unexpected circumstances which come in to modify the result. this induction can never go beyond probability, however, when we consider the acts of free causes; and for the very reason that they are free, and that the effects which arise from such causes are not of necessary occurrence, and do not invariably follow the same antecedent circumstances. where the question is, then, as to the acts of any free cause, we are never able to foresee it with certainty, and induction is limited to conjectures of probability. such is the operation, and such are the limits of human foresight. our minds foresee the future by induction from the past; this foresight can never attain certainty except in the case of causes and effects connected by necessary dependence; when the effects of free causes are to be anticipated, as all such effects are contingent, our foresight must be merely conjecture." mistake respecting the divine prescience. "if, now, we attempt to attribute to the deity the same mode of foresight of which human beings are capable, it will follow, as a strict consequence, that, as god must know exactly and completely the laws to which all the necessary causes in nature are subject--laws which change only according to his will,--he can foresee with absolute certainty all events which will take place in future. the certain foresight of effects, therefore, which is to us possible only in particular cases, and which, even then, is always liable to the limitation that the actual laws of nature are not modified,--this foresight, which, even when most sure, is limited and contingent, must be complete and absolute certainty in god, supposing his foreknowledge to be of like kind with ours. but it is evident that, according to this hypothesis, the deity cannot foresee with certainty the volitions of free causes any more than we can; for, as his foresight is founded, as ours is, upon the knowledge of the laws which govern causes, and as the law of free causes is precisely this, that their volitions are not necessary, god cannot calculate, any more than a human being can, the influence of motives, which, in any given case, may act upon such causes. even his intelligence can lead no further than to conjectures, more probable, indeed, than ours, but never amounting to certainty. according to this hypothesis, we must, therefore, say either that god can foresee, certainly, the future volitions of men, and that man, therefore, is not a free being, or that man is free, and that god, therefore, cannot, any more than we can, foresee his volitions with certainty; and thus divine prescience and human free-will are brought into direct contradiction. but, gentlemen, why must there be this contradiction? merely because we suppose that god foresees the future in the same way in which we foresee it; that his foreknowledge operates like our own. now, is this, i ask, such an idea as we ought to form of divine prescience, or such an idea as even the partisans of this system, which i am opposing, form? have we any reason for thus imposing upon the deity the limitation of our own feebleness? i think not. unendowed as we are, with any faculty of foreseeing the future, it may be difficult for us to conceive of such a faculty in god. but yet can we not from analogy form such an idea? we have now two faculties of perception--of the past by memory, of the present by observation; can we not imagine a third to exist in god--the faculty of perceiving the future, as we perceive the past? what would be the consequence? this: that god, instead of conjecturing, by induction, the acts of human beings from the laws of the causes operating upon them, would see them simply as the results of the free determinations of the will. such perception of future acts no more implies the necessity of those actions, than the perception of similar acts in the past. to see that effects arise from certain causes is not to force causes to produce them; neither is it to compel these effects to follow. it matters not whether such a perception refers to the past, present, or future; it is merely a perception; and, therefore, far from producing the effect perceived, it even presupposes this effect already produced. i do not pretend that this vision of what is to be is an operation of which our minds easily conceive. it is difficult to form an image of what we have never experienced; but i do assert, that the power of seeing what no longer exists is full as remarkable as that of seeing what has as yet no being, and that the reason of our readily conceiving of the former is only the fact that we are endowed with such a power: to my reason, the mystery is the same. but whatever may or may not be in reality the mode of divine foreknowledge, or however exact may be the image which we attempt to form of it, it always, i say,--and this is the only point i am desirous of proving,--it always remains a matter of uncertainty, which cannot be removed, whether the divine foreknowledge is of a kind like our own, or not; and as, in the one case, there would not be the same contradiction that there is in the other, between our belief in divine foreknowledge and human freedom, it is proved true, i think, that no one has a right to assert the existence of such a contradiction, and the necessity that human reason should choose between them." singular inconsistency of necessitarians. there is no class of men who dwell with more frequency and apparent reverence, upon the truth, that "secret things belong to god," and those and those only, "that are revealed to us;" that "none by searching can find out god;" that "as the heavens are high above the earth, so are his ways above our ways, and his thoughts above our thoughts;" and that it is the height of presumption in us, to pretend to understand god's mode of knowing and acting. none are more ready to talk of mysteries in religion than they. yet, strange as it may appear, it is nevertheless true, that their whole argument, drawn from the divine foreknowledge, against the doctrine of liberty, and in favor of that of necessity, is based entirely upon the assumption that they have found out and fully understand the _mode_ of the divine prescience of human conduct; that they have so measured and determined the "ways and thoughts" of god, that they _know_ that he cannot foresee any but _necessary_ events; that among many events, all in themselves equally possible, and none of them necessary in distinction from others, he cannot foreknow which, in fact, will arise. we may properly ask the necessitarian whence he obtained this knowledge, so vast and deep; whence he has thus "found out the almighty to perfection?" to me, the pretension to such knowledge appears more like presumption than that deep self-distrust and humiliation which becomes the finite in the presence of the infinite. this knowledge has not been obtained from revelation. god has never told us that he can foresee none but necessary events. whether he can or cannot foresee events free as well as necessary, is certainly one of the "secret things" which god has not revealed. if we admit ourselves ignorant of the _mode_ of god's fore-knowledge of future events (and who will dare deny the existence of such ignorance in his own case?), the entire argument of the necessitarian, based upon that fore-knowledge, in favor of his doctrine, falls to the ground at once. necessitarian objection to the above argument. to all that has been said above, the necessitarian brings an objection which he deems perfectly unanswerable. it is this: if actions are free in the sense maintained in this treatise, then in themselves they are uncertain. if they are still certainly known to god, they are both certain and uncertain, at the same time. true, i answer, but not in the same sense. as far as the _powers_ of the agent are concerned, the action may be uncertain, while god at the same time may know certainly how he will exert his powers. in reference merely to the _powers_ of the agent, the event is uncertain. in reference to the mind of god, who knows instinctively how he will exert these powers, the event is certain. chapter vii. bearing of the doctrine of liberty upon the purposes and agency of god, in respect to human conduct. all truth is in harmony with itself. every particular truth is, and must be, in harmony with every other truth. if the doctrine of necessity be assumed as true, we must take one view of the relation of god's purposes and agency in respect to the conduct of moral agents. if, on the other hand, we assume as true the doctrine of liberty, quite another and a different view, in respect to this whole subject, must be taken. in the remarks which i have to make upon this subject, i shall assume the truth of the doctrine of liberty, together with those of the perfect divine omniscience, wisdom, and benevolence. the question now arises, in the light of all these great truths, what relation do the divine purposes and agency sustain to human action? in what sense does god purpose, preordain, and bring to pass, the voluntary conduct of moral agents? to this question but one answer can be given, in the light of the truths before us. god purposes human action in this sense only: he determines himself to act in a given manner, because it is wisest and best for him to act in that manner, and in that manner only. he determines this, knowing how intelligent beings will act under the influence brought to bear upon them by the divine conduct. he purposes and brings about, or causes human action in this sense only, that in the counsels of eternity, he, in the exercise of infinite wisdom and goodness, preordains, and at the time appointed, gives existence to the _motives_ and _influences_ under which moral agents do act, and in the light of which they voluntarily determine their own character and conduct. conclusions from the above. gods purposes consistent with the liberty of creatures. . we perceive the perfect consistency of god's purposes and agency with human liberty. if the motives and influences in view of which men do act, do not destroy their free agency,--a fact which must be true from the nature of the will,--then god's purposes to give existence, and his agency in giving existence, to these motives and influences, cannot in any sense destroy, or interfere with such agency. this is a self-evident truth. senses in which god purposed moral good and evil. . we also perceive the senses in which god purposed the existence of moral good and evil, in the universe. he purposed the existence of the motives, in view of which he knew that a part of his subjects would render themselves holy, and a part would render themselves sinful. but when we contemplate all the holiness and consequent happiness which do exist, we then perceive the reason why god gave existence to these motives. the sin consequent, in the sense above explained, constitutes no part of the reason for their existence, but was always, in the divine mind, a reason against their existence; which reason, however, was overpowered by infinitely more important reasons on the other side. the good which results from creation and providence is the great and exclusive object of creation and providence. the evil, god always regretted, and would have prevented, if possible, i. e. if compatible with the existence of the best possible system. death of the incorrigible preordained but not willed. . we also perceive the perfect consistency of those scriptures which represent god as, on the whole, _purposing_ the death of incorrigible transgressors, and yet as not _willing_ it, but as willing the opposite. the purpose to destroy is based upon the foreseen incorrigibleness of the transgressor,--a purpose demanded by perfect wisdom and benevolence, in view of that foreseen incorrigibleness. the incorrigibleness itself, however, and the perdition consequent, are evils, the existence of which god never willed; but are the opposite of what he willed, are evils which a being of perfect wisdom and goodness never could, and never can will. it is with perfect consistency, therefore, that the scriptures represent god, in view of incorrigibleness foreseen, as purposing the death of the transgressor, and at the same time, in view of the fact that such incorrigibleness is the opposite of what he wills the creature to do, as affirming, that he is not "willing that any should perish, but that all should come to a knowledge of the truth." god not responsible for the death of the incorrigible. . we see, also, how it is, that, while god does that, and eternally purposed to do that, in view of which he eternally knew that certain of his creatures would for ever destroy themselves, none but themselves are in fault for such destruction. the reasons are these: ( .) god never did anything in view of which men ought to act thus, nor which did not lay them under obligations infinite, to act differently, and which was not best adapted to secure that end. ( .) their destruction constituted no part of the _object_ of god in creation and providence, the opposite of this being true. ( .) the great object of god in creation and providence was and is, to produce the greatest possible amount of holiness and consequent happiness, and to prevent, in every possible way consistent with this end, the existence of sin, and consequently of misery.--now if creatures perish under such an influence, they perish by their own fault. sin a mystery. . i have a single remark to make upon those phenomena of the will, in which evil is chosen instead of good, or sin instead of holiness. that all intelligent beings possess the power to make such a choice, is a fact affirmed by universal consciousness. but that any being, under any circumstances, should make such a choice, and that he should for ever refuse to return to the paths of virtue, notwithstanding his experience of the consequences of sin, is an abuse of human liberty, which must for ever remain an inexplicable mystery. when a being assigns the real reason in view of which right is chosen, we are always satisfied with such reason. but we are never satisfied with the reason for the opposite course. conclusion from the above. one conclusion forces itself upon us, from that view of the divine government which consists with the doctrine of liberty. the aspect of that government which results from this view of the subject commends itself to the reason and conscience of the intelligent universe. _mysteries_ we do and must find in it; but _absurdities_ and _contradictions_, never. under such a government, no being is condemned for what he cannot avoid, nor rewarded for what he could but do. while "god sits on no precarious throne, nor borrows leave to be," the destiny of the creature turns upon his own deserts, his own choice of good or evil. the elucidation of the principles of such a government "commends itself to every man's conscience in the sight of god." chapter viii. obligation predicable only of the will. section i. the will, as i have already said, exists in a trinity with the intelligence and sensibility. in respect to the operations of the different departments of our mental being, i lay down the two following propositions: . obligation, moral desert, &c., are directly predicable only of the action of the will. . for the operations of the other faculties we are accountable so far forth only as the existence and character of such operations depend upon the will. in other words, it is for voluntary acts and states only that we are accountable. this i argue because, . obligation, as we have seen, consists only with liberty. all the phenomena of the intelligence and sensibility, in the circumstances of their occurrence, are not free, but necessary. accountability, therefore, cannot be predicated of such phenomena. we may be, and are, accountable for such phenomena, so far forth as their existence and character depend upon the will: in other words, so far forth as they are voluntary, and not involuntary, states of mind. . the truth of the above proposition, and of that only, really corresponds with the universal conviction of the race. this conviction is expressed in two ways. ( .) when blame is affirmed of the operations of the intelligence or sensibility, it is invariably thus affirmed: "you have no right to _entertain_ such thoughts or sentiments. you have no right _indulge_ such feeling's." in other words, praise or blame is never directly predicated of these operations themselves, but of the action of the will relatively to them. ( .) all men agree, that the moral character of all actions, of all states of mind whatever; depends upon _intention_. in no point is there a more universal harmony among moral philosophers than in respect to this. but intention is undeniably a phenomenon of the will, and of that exclusively. we must therefore admit, that moral obligation is predicable of the will only, or deny the fundamental convictions of the race. . the truth of the above propositions is intuitively evident, the moment the mind apprehends their real import. a man, as he steps out of a warm room, amid the external frosts of winter, feels an involuntary chill over his whole system. we might with the same propriety attribute blame to him for such feelings, as for any other feelings, thoughts, or perceptions which exist alike independent of his will, and especially in opposition to its determinations. . if we suppose all the voluntary acts and states of a moral agent to be, and always to have been, in perfect conformity to moral rectitude, it is impossible for us to impute moral guilt to him for any feelings or thoughts which may have risen in his mind independently of his will. we can no more conceive him to have incurred ill desert, than we can conceive of the annihilation of space. we may safely put it to the consciousness of every man whether this is not the case. this renders demonstrably evident the truth, that moral obligation is predicable only of the will. . with the above perfectly harmonize the positive teachings of inspiration. for example. "lust, when it is _conceived_, bringeth forth sin." the involuntary feeling does not constitute the sin, but the action of the will in harmony with that feeling. . a single supposition will place this whole subject in a light perfectly conspicuous before the mind. we can readily conceive that the will, or voluntary states of the mind, are in perfect harmony with the moral law, while the sensibility, or involuntary states, are opposed to it. we can also with equal readiness make the opposite supposition, to wit, that the sensibility, or involuntary states, are in harmony with the law, while the determinations of the will are all opposed to it. what shall we think of these two states? let us suppose a case of no unfrequent occurrence, that the feelings, or involuntary state of the mind, are in perfect harmony with the law, while the action of this will, or the voluntary states, are in determined opposition to the law, the individual being inflexibly determined to quench such feelings, and act in opposition to them. is there any virtue at all in such a state of mind? who would dare to say that there is? is not the guilt of the individual aggravated in proportion to the depth and intensity of the feeling which he is endeavoring to suppress? now if, as all will admit, there is no virtue at all, when the states of the sensibility are in harmony with the law, and the determinations of the will, or voluntary states of the mind, are opposed to it, how can there be guilt when the will, or voluntary states, are in perfect harmony with the law, and the sensibility or involuntary states, opposed to it? this renders it demonstrably evident that obligation and moral desert of praise or blame are predicable only of the will, or voluntary states of mind. . we will make another supposition; one, if possible, still more to the point. the tiger, we well know, has received from his maker, either directly or through the laws of natural generation sustained by the most high, a ferocious nature. why do we not blame the animal for this nature? the answer, perhaps, would be, that he is not a rational being, and is therefore not responsible for anything. let us suppose, then, that with this nature, god had associated intelligence and free-will, such as man possesses. why should the animal now be held responsible for the bare existence of this nature, any more than in the first instance, when the effect, in both instances, exists, alike independent of his knowledge, choice, and agency? a greater absurdity than this never lay upon the brain of a theologian, that the mere existence of rationality renders the subject properly responsible for what god himself produces in connection with that rationality, and produces wholly independent of the knowledge, choice, and agency of that subject. let us suppose, further, that the animal under consideration, as soon as he becomes aware of the existence and tendencies of this nature, holds all its impulses in perfect subjection to the law of love, and never suffers them, in a single instance, to induce a voluntary act contrary to that law. is it in the power of the intelligence to affirm guilt of that creature? do we not necessarily affirm his virtue to be great in proportion to the strength of the propensity thus perfectly subjected to the moral law? the above illustration renders two conclusions demonstrably evident: . for the mere _existence_ of any constitutional propensity whatever, the creature is not and cannot be responsible. . when all the actions of the will, or voluntary power, are in perfect harmony with the moral law, and all the propensities are held in full subjection to that law, the creature stands perfect and complete in the discharge of his duty to god and man. for the involuntary and necessary actings of those propensities, he cannot be responsible. it is no part of my object to prove that men have not derived from their progenitors, propensities which impel and induce them to sin; but that, for the mere _existence_ of these propensities, together with their necessary involuntary action, they are not guilty. sec. ii. dogmas in theology. certain dogmas in theology connected with the subject above illustrated here claim our attention. men not responsible for the sin of their progenitors. i. the first that i notice is the position, that creatures are now held responsible, even as "deserving god's wrath and curse, not only in this life, but in that which is to come," not merely for their own voluntary acts of disobedience, nor for their involuntary exercises, but for the act of a progenitor, performed when they had no existence. if god holds creatures responsible for such an act, we may safely affirm that it is absolutely impossible for them to conceive of the justice of such a principle; and that god has so constituted them, as to render it impossible for them to form such a conception. can a being who is not a _moral_ agent sin? is not _existence_ necessary to moral agency? how then can creatures "sin _in_ and _through_ another" six thousand years before their own existence commenced? we cannot conceive of creatures as guilty for the involuntary and necessary exercises of their own minds. how can we conceive of them as guilty for the act of another being,--an act of which they had, and could have, no knowledge, choice, or agency whatever? how can intelligent beings hold such a dogma, and hold it as a revelation from him who has declared with an oath, that the "son shall not bear the iniquity of the father," but that "every man shall die for his own sins?" constitutional ill-desert. ii. the next dogma deserving attention is the position, that mankind derive from our first progenitor a corrupt nature, which renders obedience to the commands of god impossible, and disobedience necessary, and that for the mere _existence_ of this nature, men "deserve god's wrath and curse, not only in this world, but in that which is to come." if the above dogma is true, it is demonstrably evident, that this corrupt nature comes into existence without the knowledge, choice, or agency of the creature, who, for its existence, is pronounced deserving of, and "bound over to the wrath of god." equally evident is it, that this corrupt nature exists as the result of the direct agency of god. he proclaims himself the maker of "every soul of man." as its maker, he must have imparted to that soul the constitution or nature which it actually possesses. it does not help the matter at all, to say, that this nature is derived from our progenitor: for the laws of generation, by which this corrupt nature is derived from that progenitor, are sustained and continued by god himself. it is a truth of reason as well as of revelation, that, even in respect to plants, derived "by ordinary generation" from the seed of those previously existing, it is god who "giveth them a body as it hath pleased him, and to every seed its own body." if this is true of plants, much more must it be so of the soul of man. if, then, the above dogma is true, man, in the first place, is held as deserving of eternal punishment for that which exists wholly independent of his knowledge, choice, or agency, in any sense, direct or indirect. he is also held responsible for the result, not of his own agency, but for that which results from the agency of god. on this dogma, i remark, . it is impossible for the intelligence to affirm, or even to conceive it to be true, that a creature deserves eternal punishment for that which exists wholly independent of his knowledge, choice, or agency; for that which results, not from his own agency, but from that of another. the intelligence can no more affirm the truth of such propositions, than it can conceive of an event without a cause. . this dogma is opposed to the intuitive convictions of the race. present the proposition to any mind, that, under the divine government, the creature is held responsible for his own voluntary acts and states of minds only, and such a principle "commends itself to every man's conscience in the sight of god." present the dogma, on the other hand, that for a nature which renders actual obedience impossible, a nature which exists as the exclusive result of the agency of god himself, independently of the knowledge, choice, or agency of the creature, such creature is justly "bound over to the wrath of god, and curse of the law, and so made subject to death, with all miseries, spiritual, temporal, and eternal," and there is not a conscience in the universe which will not reprobate with perfect horror such a principle. the intuitive convictions of the race are irreconcilably opposed to it. . if mankind, as this dogma affirms, have a nature from which voluntary acts of a given character necessarily result, to talk of real _growth_ or _confirmation_ in holiness or sin, is to use words without meaning. all that influence, or voluntary acts, can do in such a case, is to develope the nature already in existence. they can do nothing to confirm the soul in its tendencies, one way or the other. what should we think of the proposition, that a certain tree had formed and confirmed the habit of bearing particular kinds of fruits, when it commenced bearing, with the necessity of bearing this kind only, and with the absolute impossibility of bearing any other? so the soul, according to this dogma, commences action with the absolute impossibility of any but sinful acts, and with the equal necessity of putting forth sinful ones. now, necessity and impossibility know and can know no degrees. how then can a mind, thus constituted, generate and confirm the habit of sinning? what, on this supposition, is the meaning of the declaration, "how can ye, who are _accustomed_ to do evil, learn to do well?" all such declarations are without meaning, if this dogma is true. . if god imputes guilt to the creature, for the existence of the nature under consideration, he must have required the creature to prevent its existence. for it is a positive truth of reason and inspiration both, that as "sin is a transgression of the law;" that "where there is no law, there is no transgression;" and that "sin is not imputed where there is no law," that is, where nothing is required, no obligation does or can exist, and consequently no guilt is imputed. the existence of the nature under consideration, then, is not and cannot be sin to the creature, unless it is a transgression of the law; and it cannot be a transgression of the law, unless the law required the creature to prevent its existence, and prevent it when that existence was the exclusive result of god's agency, and when the creature could have no knowledge, choice, or agency, in respect to what god was to produce. can we conceive of a greater absurdity than that? god is about to produce a certain nature by his own creative act, or by sustaining the laws of natural generation. he imputes infinite guilt to the creature for not preventing the result of that act, and inducing a result precisely opposite, and that in the absence of all knowledge of what was required of him, and of the possibility of any agency in respect to it. is this a true exposition of the government of god? present impossibilities required. iii. the last dogma that i notice is the position, that the moral law demands of us, as sinners, not what is now possible to us on the ground of natural powers and proffered grace, but what would be possible, had we never sinned. it is admitted by all, that we have not now a capacity for that degree of virtue which would be possible to us, had we always developed our moral powers in harmony with the divine law. still it is maintained, that this degree of virtue, notwithstanding our present total incapacity to exercise it, is demanded of us. for not rendering it, we are justly bound over to the wrath and curse of god. in reply, i remark: . that this dogma, which is professedly founded on the express teachings of inspiration, has not even the shadow of a foundation in any direct or implied affirmation of the bible. i may safely challenge the world to adduce a single passage of holy writ, that either directly or indirectly asserts any such thing. . this dogma is opposed not only to the _spirit_, but to the _letter_ of the _law_. the law, addressing men, enfeebled as their powers now are, in consequence of sin previously committed, requires them to love god with all their "mind and strength," that is, not with the power they would have possessed, had they never sinned, but with the power they now actually possess. on what authority does any theologian affirm, when the law expressly makes one demand upon men, that it, in reality, makes another, and different demand? in such an assertion, is he not wise, not only _above_, but _against_ what is written? . this dogma is opposed to the express and positive teachings of inspiration. the scriptures expressly affirm, rom. xiii. , that every one that exercises love, "hath fulfilled the law," hath done all that the law requires of him. this would not be true, did the law require a degree of love not now practicable to the creature. again, in deut. x. , it is positively affirmed, that god requires nothing of his creatures but to "love him with all the heart and with all the soul," that is, with all the powers they actually possess. this could not be true, if the dogma under consideration is true. . if we conceive an individual to yield a voluntary conformity to moral obligations of every kind, to the full extent of his present capacities, it is impossible for us to conceive that he is not now doing all that he really ought to do. no person would ever think of exhorting him to do more, nor of charging him with guilt for not doing it. we may properly blame him for the past, but as far as the present is concerned, he stands guiltless in the eye of reason and revelation both. . let us suppose that an individual continues for fifty years in sin. he is then truly converted, and immediately after dies. all admit that he enters heaven in a state of perfect holiness. yet no one supposes that he now exercises, or has the capacity to exercise, as high a degree of holiness, as he would, had he spent those fifty years in obedience, instead of disobedience to god. this shows that even those who theoretically hold the dogma under consideration do not practically believe it themselves. the conclusion to which our inquiries lead us is this: holiness is a voluntary conformity to all perceivable obligation. sin is a similar violation of such obligation. nothing else is or can be holiness. nothing else is or can be sin. chapter ix. the standard by which the moral character of voluntary states of mind, or acts of will, should be determined. in the remarks which i have to make in elucidation of this subject, i shall, on the authority of evidence already presented, take two positions for granted: . moral obligation and moral desert are predicable only of acts of will. . it is only of those acts of will denominated _intentions_, and of course ultimate intentions, that obligation, merit and demerit, are predicable. in this last position, as i have already said, there is a universal agreement among moral philosophers. we may also safely assume the same as a first truth of the universal intelligence. the child, the philosopher, the peasant, men of all classes, ages, and conditions, agree in predicating obligation and moral desert of intention, and of ultimate intention only. by ultimate intention, i, of course, refer to those acts, choices, or determinations of the will, to which all other mental determinations are subordinate, and by which they are controlled. thus, when an individual chooses, on the one hand, the divine glory, and the highest good of universal being, as the end of his existence; or, on the other, his own personal gratification; and subordinates to one or the other of these acts of choice all the law of his being, here we find his ultimate intention. in this exclusively all mankind agree in finding the moral character of all mental acts and states. now an important question arises, by what _standard_ shall we judge of the moral character of intentions? of course, they are to be placed in the light of the two great precepts of the moral law by which we are required to love god with all our powers, and our neighbor as ourselves. but two distinct and opposite explanations have been given of the above precepts, presenting entirely different standards of moral judgment. according to one, the precept requiring us to love god with _all our heart and strength_, requires a certain degree of _intensity_ of intention and feeling. on no other condition, it is said, do we love god with _all_ the heart. according to the other explanation, the precept requiring us to love god with _all_ the heart, &c., means, that we devote our entire powers and interests to the glory of god and the good of his creatures, with the sincere intention to employ these powers and interests for the accomplishment of these objects in the _best possible manner_. when all our powers are under the exclusive control of such an intention as this, we then, it is affirmed, love god according to the letter and spirit of the above precept, "with all our heart, and with all our strength." sincerity, and not intensity, the true standard. my object now is to show, that this last is the right exposition, and presents the only true standard by which to judge of all moral acts and states of mind. this i argue from the following considerations. . if _intensity_ be fixed upon as the standard, no one can define it, so as to tell us what he means. the command requiring us to love with _all_ the heart, if understood as requiring a certain degree of intensity of intention, may mean the highest degree of tension of which our nature is susceptible. or it may mean the highest possible degree, consistent with our existence in this body; or the highest degree consistent with the most perfect health; or some inconceivable indefinable degree, nobody knows what. it cannot include all, and may and must mean some one of the above-named dogmas. yet no one would dare to tell us which. has god given, or does our own reason give us, a standard of moral judgment of which no one can form a conception, or give us a definition? . no one could practically apply this standard, if he could define it, as a test of moral action. the reason is obvious. no one, but omniscience, can possibly know what degree of tensity our nature is capable of; nor precisely what degree is compatible with life, or with the most perfect health. if intensity, then, is the standard by which we are required to determine definitely the character of moral actions, we are in reality required to fix definitely the value of an unknown quantity, to wit: moral action, by a standard of which we are, and of necessity must be, most profoundly ignorant. we are required to find the definite by means of the indefinite; the plain by means of the "palpable obscure." has god, or our own reason, placed us in such a predicament as this, in respect to the most momentous of all questions, the determination of our true moral character and deserts? . while the standard under consideration is, and must be, unknown to us, it is perpetually varying, and never fixed. the degree of intensity of mental effort of which we are capable at one moment, differs from that which is possible to us at another. the same holds equally of that which is compatible with life and health. can we believe that "the judge of all the earth" requires us to conform, and holds us responsible for not conforming to a standard located we cannot possibly know where, and which is always movable, and never for a moment remaining fixed? . the absurdity of attempting to act in conformity to this principle, in reference to particular duties, will show clearly that it cannot be the standard of moral obligations in any instance. suppose an individual becomes convinced that it is his duty, that is, that god requires him to walk or travel a given distance, or for a time to compose himself for the purpose of sleeping. now he must will with all his heart to perform the duty before him. what if he should judge himself bound to will to sleep, for example, and to will it with all possible intensity, or with as great an intensity as consists with his health? how long would it take him to compose himself to sleep in this manner? what if he should with all possible intensity will to walk? what if, when with all sincerity, he had intended to perform, in the best manner, the duty devolved upon him, he should inquire whether the intention possessed the requisite intensity? it would be just as rational to apply this standard in the instances under consideration, as in any other. . that _sincerity_, and not intensity of intention, presents the true standard of moral judgment, is evident from the fact, that the former commends itself to every man's conscience as perfectly intelligible, of ready definition in itself, and of consequently ready application, in determining the character and moral desert of all moral actions. we can readily conceive what it is to yield all our powers and interests to the will of god, and to do it with the sincere intention of employing them in the wisest and best manner for the accomplishment of the highest good. we can conceive, too, what it is to employ our powers and interests under the control of such an intention. we can also perceive with perfect distinctness our obligation to live and act under the supreme control of such an intention. if we are bound to yield to god at all, we are bound to yield our entire being to his supreme control. if we are bound to will and employ our powers and resources to produce any good at all, we are bound to will and aim to produce the highest good. this principle also is equally applicable in, determining the character and deserts of all moral actions. every honest mind can readily determine the fact, whether it is or is not acting under the supreme control of the intention under consideration. if we adopt this principle, as expressing the meaning of the command requiring us to love with _all_ the heart, perfect sunlight rests upon the divine law. if we adopt any other standard, perfect midnight hangs over that law. . if we conceive a moral agent really to live and act in full harmony with the intention under consideration, it is impossible for us to conceive, or affirm, that he has not done his entire duty. what more ought a moral agent to intend than the highest good he can accomplish? should it be said, that he ought to intend this with a certain degree of intensity, the reply is, that sincerity implies an intention to will and act, at all times, with that degree of intensity best adapted to the end to be accomplished. what more can properly or wisely be demanded? is not this loving with all the heart? . on this principle, a much greater degree of intensity, and consequent energy of action, will be secured, than on the other principle. nothing tends more effectually to palsy the energies of the mind, than the attempt always to act with the greatest intensity. it is precisely like the attempt of some orators, to speak, on all subjects alike, with the greatest possible pathos and sublimity. on the other hand, let an individual throw his whole being under the control of the grand principle of doing all the good he can, and his powers will energize with the greatest freedom, intensity, and effect. if, therefore, the standard of moral obligation and moral desert has been wisely fixed, sincerity, and nothing else, is that standard. . i remark, once more, that sincerity is the standard fixed in the scriptures of truth. in jer. iii. , the jews are accused of not "turning to the lord with _the whole heart_, but feignedly," that is, with insincerity. if they had turned sincerely, they would, according to this passage, have done it with the _whole heart_. the whole heart, then, according to the express teachings of the bible, is synonymous with sincerity and sincerity according to the above definition of the term. this is the true standard, according to revelation as well as reason. i have other arguments, equally conclusive as the above, to present, but these are sufficient. the importance of the subject, together with its decisive bearing upon the momentous question to be discussed in the next chapter, is my apology for dwelling thus long upon it. chapter x. intuitions, or moral acts, never of a mixed character; that is, partly right and partly wrong. we are now prepared to consider the question, whether each moral act, or exercise, is not always of a character purely unmixed? in other words, whether every such act, or intention, is not always perfectly right or perfectly wrong i would here be understood to speak of single acts, or intuitions, in distinction from a series, which continues through some definite period, as an hour or a day. such series of acts may, of course, be of a mixed character; that is, it may be made up of individual acts, some of which are right and some wrong. but the question is, can distinct, opposite, and contradictory elements, such as sin and holiness, right and wrong, selfishness and benevolence, enter into one and the same act no one will pretend that an individual is virtuous at all, unless he _intends_ obedience to the moral law. the question is, can an individual intend to obey and to disobey the law, in one and the same act? on this question i remark, . that the principle established in the last chapter really settles the question. no one, to my knowledge, pretends, that, as far as sincerity is concerned, the same moral act can be of a mixed character. very few, if any, will be guilty of the folly of maintaining, that an individual can sincerely intend to obey and to disobey the law at one and the same time. when such act is contemplated in this point of light, it is almost universally admitted that it cannot be of a mixed character. but then another test is applied--that of intensity. it is conceivable, at least, it is said, that the intention might possess a higher degree of intensity than it does possess. it is, therefore, pronounced defective. on the same supposition, every moral act in existence might be pronounced defective. for we can, at least, conceive, that it might possess a higher degree of intensity. it has been abundantly established in the last chapter, however, that there is no such test of moral actions as this, a test authorized either by reason or revelation. sincerity is the only standard by which to determine the character and deserts of all moral acts and states. in the light of this standard, it is intuitively evident, that no one act can combine such contradictory and opposite elements as sin and holiness, right and wrong, an intention to obey and to disobey the moral law. . the opinions and reasonings of distinguished philosophers and theologians on the subject may be adduced in confirmation of the doctrine under consideration. let it be borne in mind, that if the same act embraces such contradictory and opposite elements as sin and holiness, it must be, in reality, opposed to itself, one element constituting the act, being in harmony with the law, and in opposition to the other element which is opposed to the law. now the remark of edwards upon this subject demands our special attention. "it is absurd," he says, "to suppose the same individual will to oppose itself in its present act; or the present choice to be opposite to and resisting present choice; as absurd as it is to talk of two contrary motions in the same moving body at the same time." does not the common sense of the race affirm the truth of this statement sin and holiness cannot enter into the same act, unless it embraces a serious intention to obey and not to obey the moral law at the same time. is not this, in the language of edwards, as "absurd as it is to talk of two contrary motions in the same moving body at the same time." equally conclusive is the argument of kant upon the same subject. having shown that mankind are divided into two classes, the morally good and the morally evil; that the distinguishing characteristic of the former is, that they have adopted the moral law as their maxim, that is, that it is their serious intention to comply with all the claims of the law; and of the latter, that they have not adopted the law as their maxim; he adds, "the sentiment of mankind is, therefore, never indifferent relatively to the law, and he never can be neither good nor evil." then follows the paragraph to which special attention is invited. "in like manner, mankind cannot be, in some points of character, morally good, while he is, at the same time, in others evil; for, is he in any point good, then the moral law is his maxim (that is, it is his serious intention to obey the law in the length and breadth of its claims); but is he likewise, at the same time, in some points bad, then quoad [as to] these, the moral law is not his maxim, (that is, in these particulars, it is his intention not to obey the law). but since the law is one and universal, and as it commands in one act of life, so in all, then the maxim referring to it would be, at the same time universal and particular, which is a contradiction;" (that is, it would be his intention to obey the law universally, and at the same time, not to obey it in certain particulars, one of the most palpable contradictions conceivable.) to my mind the above argument has all the force of demonstration. let it be borne in mind, that no man is morally good at all, unless it is his intention to obey the moral law universally. this being his intention, the law has no higher claims upon him. its full demands are, and must be, met in that intention. for what can the law require more, than that the voluntary powers shall be in full harmony with its demands, which is always true, when there is a sincere intention to obey the law universally. now, with this intention, there can be nothing in the individual morally evil; unless there is, at the same time, an intention not to obey the law in certain particulars; that is, not to obey it universally. a mixed moral act, or intention, therefore, is possible, only on this condition, that it shall embrace these two contradictory elements--a serious determination to obey the law universally, and a determination equally decisive, at the same time, to disobey it in certain particulars; that is, not to obey it universally. i leave it with the advocates of the doctrine of mixed moral action to dispose of this difficulty as they can. . if we could conceive of a moral act of a mixed character, the moral law could not recognize it as holy at all. it presents but one scale by which to determine the character of moral acts, the command requiring us to love with all the heart. it knows such acts only as conformed, or not conformed, to this command. the mixed action, if it could exist, would, in the light of the moral law, be placed among the not-conformed, just as much as those which are exclusively sinful. the moral law does not present two scales, according to one of which actions are classed as conformed or not-conformed, and according to the other, as partly conformed and partly not-conformed. such a scale as this last is unknown in the circle of revealed truth. the moral law presents us but one scale. those acts which are in full conformity to its demands, it puts down as holy. those not thus conformed, it puts down as sinful; as holy or sinful is the only light in which actions stand according to the law. . mixed actions, if they could exist, are as positively prohibited by the law, and must therefore be placed under the category of total disobedience, just as much as those which are in themselves entirely sinful. while the law requires us to love with _all_ the heart, it positively prohibits everything short of this. the individual, therefore, who puts forth an act of a mixed character, puts forth an act as totally and positively prohibited as the man who puts forth a totally sinful one. both alike must be placed under the category of total disobedience. a father requires his two sons to go to the distance of ten rods, and positively prohibits their stopping short of the distance required. one determines to go nine rods, and there to stop. the other determines not to move at all. one has put forth an act of total disobedience just as much as the other. so of all moral acts which stop short of loving with all the heart. . a moral act of a mixed character cannot possibly proceed from that regard to moral obligation which is an essential condition of the existence of any degree of virtue at all. virtue, in no degree, can exist, except from a sacred regard to moral obligation. the individual who thus regards moral obligation in one degree, will regard it equally in all degrees. the individual, therefore, who, from such regard, yields to the claims of the law at all, will and must conform to the full measure of its demands. he cannot be in voluntary opposition to any one demand of that law. a mixed moral act, then, cannot possibly proceed from that regard to moral obligation which is the essential condition of holiness in any degree. this leads me to remark, . that a moral act of a mixed character, if it could exist, could arise from none other than the most purely selfish and wicked intention conceivable. three positions, we will suppose, are before the mind--a state of perfect conformity to the law, a state of total disobedience, and a third state combining the elements of obedience and disobedience. by a voluntary act of moral election, an individual places himself in the last state, in distinction from each of the others. what must have been his intention in so doing? he cannot have acted from a regard to moral rectitude. in that case, he would have elected the state of total obedience. his intention must have been to secure, at the same time, the reward of holiness and the "pleasures of sin"--a most selfish and wicked state surely. the supposition of a moral act, that is, intention combining the elements of holiness and sin--is as great an absurdity as the supposition, that a circle has become a square, without losing any of its properties as a circle. . i remark again that the doctrine of mixed moral action is contradicted by the express teachings of inspiration. "whosoever cometh after me," says christ, "and forsaketh not _all_ that he hath, he cannot be my disciple." the bible knows men only as the disciples, or not disciples, of christ. all who really comply with the condition above named are his disciples. all others, however near their compliance, are not his disciples, any more than those who have not conformed in any degree. if an individual has really conformed to this condition, he has surely done his entire duty. he has loved with all his heart. what other meaning can we attach to the phrase, "forsaketh all that he hath?" all persons who have not complied with this principle are declared to be wholly without the circle of discipleship. what is this, but a positive assertion, that a moral action of a mixed character is an impossibility? again. "no man can serve two masters." "ye cannot serve god and mammon." let us suppose that we can put forth intentions of a mixed character--intentions partly sinful and partly holy. so far as they are in harmony with the law, we serve god. so far as they are not in harmony with the law, we serve mammon. now, if all our moral exercises can be of a mixed character, then it is true that, at every period of our lives, we can serve god and mammon. the service which we can render also to each, may be in every conceivable degree. we may render, for example, ninety-nine degrees of service to god and one to mammon, or ninety-nine to mammon and one to god. or our service may be equally divided between the two. can we conceive of a greater absurdity than this? what also is the meaning of such declarations as this, "no fountain can send forth both sweet water and bitter," if the heart of man may exercise intentions combining such elements as sin and holiness? declarations of a similar kind abound in the bible. they are surely without meaning, if the doctrine of mixed moral actions is true. . finally. it may be questioned whether the whole range of error presents a dogma of more pernicious tendency than the doctrine of mixed moral actions. it teaches moral agents that they may be selfish in all their moral exercises, and yet have enough of moral purity mingled with them to secure acceptance with the "judge of all the earth." a man who has adopted such a principle will almost never, whatever his course of life may be, seem to himself to be destitute of real virtue. he will always seem to himself to possess enough of it, to render his acceptance with god certain. the kind of virtue which can mingle itself with selfishness and sin in individual intentions or moral acts, may be possessed, in different degrees, by the worst men on earth. if this be assumed as real holiness--that holiness which will stand the ordeal of eternity, who will, who should conceive himself destitute of a title to heaven? here is the fatal rock on which myriads of minds are wrecked for ever. let it ever be borne in mind, that the same fountain cannot, at the same time and place, "send forth both sweet water and bitter." "ye cannot serve god and mammon." objections. two or three objections to the doctrine above established demand a passing notice here. an act of will may result from a variety of motives. . it is said that the mind may act under the influence of a great variety of motives at one and the same time. the same intention, therefore, may be the result of different and opposite motives, and as a consequence, combine the elements of good and evil. in reply, i remark, that when the will is in harmony with the moral law, it respects the good and rejects the bad, alike in _all_ the motives presented. the opposite is true when it is not in harmony with the law. the same regard or disregard for moral obligation which will induce an individual to reject the evil and choose the good, or to make an opposite choice, in respect to one motive, will induce the same in respect to all other motives present at the same time. a mixed moral act can no more result from a combination of motives, than different and opposite motions can result in the same body at the same time, from forces acting upon it from different directions. loving with greater intensity at one time than another. . it is said that we are conscious of loving our friends, and serving god, with greater strength and intensity at one time than at another. yet our love, in all such instances, is real. love, therefore, may be real, and yet be greatly defective--that is, it may be real, and embrace elements morally wrong. it is true, that love may exist in different degrees, as far as the action of the sensibility is concerned. it is not so, however, with love in the form of intention--intention in harmony with moral obligation, the only form of love demanded by the moral law. such intention, in view of the same degrees of light, and under the same identical influences, cannot possess different degrees of intensity. the will always yields, when it really does yield at all to moral obligation, with all the intensity it is, for the time being, capable of, or the nature of the case demands. momentary revolutions of character. . on this theory, it is said, an individual may become perfectly good and perfectly bad, for any indefinite number of instances, in any definite period of time. this consequence, to say nothing of what is likely to take place in fact, does, as far as possibility is concerned, follow from this theory. but let us contemplate it, for a moment, in the light of an example or two. an individual, from regard to moral obligation, maintains perfect integrity of character, up to a given period of time. then, under the influence of temptation, he tells a deliberate falsehood. did his previous integrity so fuse itself into that lie, as to make it partly good and partly bad?--as to make it anything else than a _total_ falsehood? did the prior goodness of david make his acts of adultery and murder partly good and partly bad? let the advocate of mixed moral action extract the elements of moral goodness from these acts if he can. he can just as well find these elements here, as in any other acts of disobedience to the moral law. "the righteousness of the righteous cannot save him" from total sinfulness, any more than from condemnation "in the day of his transgression." chapter xi. relation of the will to the intelligence and sensibility, in all acts or states, morally right or wrong. the will, sustaining the relation it does to the intelligence and sensibility, must yield itself to the control of one or the other of these departments of our nature. in all acts and states morally right, the will is in harmony with the intelligence, from respect to moral obligation or duty; and all the desires and propensities, all the impulses of the sensibility, are held in strict subordination. in all acts morally wrong, the will is controlled by the sensibility, irrespective of the dictates of the intelligence. impulse, and not a regard to the just, the right, the true and the good, is the law of its action. in all such cases, as the impulses which control the will are various, the external forms through which the internal acts, or intentions, will manifest themselves, will be equally diversified. yet the _spring_ of action is in all instances one and the same, impulse instead of a regard to duty. virtue does not consist in being controlled by _amiable_, instead of _dissocial_ and _malign_ impulses, and in a consequent exterior of a corresponding beauty and loveliness. it consists in a voluntary harmony of intention with the just, the right, the true and the good from a sacred respect to moral obligation, instead of being controlled by mere impulse of any kind whatever. on the principle above illustrated, i remark: those who are or are not truly virtuous, how distinguished. . that the real distinction between those who are truly virtuous, and those who are not, now becomes apparent. it does not consist, in all instances, in the mere exterior _form_ of action, but in the _spring_ or _intention_ from which all such action proceeds. in most persons, and in all, at different periods, the amiable and social propensities predominate over the dissocial and malign. hence much of the exterior will be characterized by much that is truly beautiful and lovely. in many, also, the impulsive power of conscience--that department of the sensibility which is correlated to the idea of right and wrong, and impels to obedience to the moral law--is strongly developed, and may consequently take its turn in controlling the will. in all such instances, there will be the external forms of real virtue. it is one thing, however, to put on the exterior of virtue from mere impulse, and quite another, to do the same thing from an internal respect and sacred regard for duty. how many individuals, who may be now wearing the fairest forms of virtue, will find within them, as soon as present impulses are supplanted by the strong action of others, in opposition to rectitude, no maxims of will, in harmony with the law of goodness, to resist and subject such impulses. their conduct is in conformity to the requirements of virtue, not from any internal intention to be in universal harmony with moral obligation, but simply because, for the time being, the strongest impulse happens to be in that direction. no individual, it should ever be kept in mind, makes any approach to real virtue, whatever impulses he may be controlled by, till, by a sealing act of moral election, the will is placed in harmony with the universal law of duty, and all external action of a moral character proceeds from this internal, all-controlling intention. here we find the broad and fundamental distinction between those who are truly virtuous, and those who are not. selfishness and benevolence. . we are also prepared to explain the real difference between _selfishness_ and _benevolence_. the latter expresses and comprehends all the forms of real virtue of every kind and degree. the former comprehends and expresses the forms of vice or sin. benevolence consists in the full harmony of the will or intention with the just, the right, the true, and the good, from a regard to moral obligation. selfishness consists in voluntary subjection to _impulse_, irrespective of such obligation. whenever self-gratification is the law of action, there is pure selfishness, whatever the character or direction of the impulse may be. selfishness has sometimes been very incorrectly defined, as a supreme regard to our own interest or happiness. if this is a correct definition, the drunkard is not selfish at all; for he sacrifices his present and future happiness, to gratify a beastly appetite, and destroys present peace in the act of self-gratification. if selfishness, however, consists in mere subjection to impulse, how supreme his selfishness at once appears! a mother who does not act from moral obligation, when under the strong influence of maternal affection, appears most distinguished in her assiduous care of her offspring. now let this affection be crossed by some plain question of duty, so that she must violate the latter, or subject the former, and how soon will selfishness manifest itself, in the triumph of impulse over duty! a gift is not more effectual in blinding the eyes, than natural affection uncontrolled by a regard to moral obligation. men are just as selfish, that is, as perfectly subject to the law of self-gratification, when under the influence of the social and amiable propensities, as when under that of the dissocial and malign, when, in both instances alike, impulse is the law of action. moral agents were made, and are required to be, social and amiable, from higher principles than mere impulse. common mistake. . i notice a mistake of fundamental importance into which many appear to have fallen, in judging of the moral character of individuals. as we have seen, when the will is wholly controlled by the sensibility irrespective of moral obligation, the impulsive department of conscience takes its turn, among the other propensities, in controlling the action of the voluntary power. now because, in all such instances, there are the exterior forms of virtue, together with an apparently sincere internal regard for the same, the presence of real virtue is consequently inferred. now before such a conclusion can be authorized, one question needs to be determined, the _spring_ from which such apparent virtues originate. they may arise from that regard to moral obligation which constitutes real virtue. or they may be the result purely of excited sensibility, which, in such instances happens to be in the direction of the forms of virtue. defective forms of virtue. . another very frequent mistake bearing upon moral character deserves a passing notice here. men sometimes manifest, and doubtless with a consciousness of inward sincerity, a very high regard for some one or more particular principles of virtue, while they manifest an equal disregard of all other principles. every real reform, for example, has its basis in some great principle of morality. men often advocate, with great zeal, such reforms, together with the principle on which they rest. they talk of virtue, when called to defend that principle, of a regard to moral obligation, together with the necessity of self-sacrifice at the shrine of duty, as if respect for universal rectitude commanded the entire powers of their being. yet but a slight observation will most clearly evince, that their regard for the right, the true, and the good, is wholly circumscribed by this one principle. still, such persons are very likely to regard themselves as virtuous in a very high degree. in reality, however, they have not made the first approach to real virtue. their respect for this one principle, together with its specific applications, has its spring in some other department of their nature, than a regard for what is right in itself. otherwise their respect for what is right, would be co-extensive with the entire range of moral obligation. sec. ii. test of conformity to moral principle. in preceding chapters, the great truth has been fully established, that the moral law addresses its commands and prohibitions to the will only, and that moral obligation is predicable only of the action of the voluntary power, other states being required, only as their existence and character are conditioned on the right exercise of that power. from this, it undeniably follows, that the moral law, in all the length and breadth of its requirements, finds its entire fulfilment within the sphere of the will. a question of great importance here presents itself: by what test shall we determine whether the will is, or is not, in full harmony with the law? in the investigation of this question, we may perhaps be thought to be intruding somewhat into the domain of moral philosophy. reasons of great importance, in the judgment of the writer, however, demand its introduction here. the moral law is presented to us through two comprehensive precepts. yet, a moment's reflection will convince us that both these precepts have their basis in one common principle, and are, in reality, the enunciation of that one principle. the identical reason why we are bound to love god with all the heart, requires us to love our neighbors as ourselves. so the subject is presented by our saviour himself. after speaking of the first and great commandment, he adds, "the second is like unto it," that is, it rests upon the same principle as the first. now the question is, what is this great principle, obedience to which implies a full discharge of all obligation, actual and conceivable; the principle which comprehends all other principles of the moral law, and of which each particular precept is only the enunciation of this one common principle in its endlessly diversified applications? this principle has been announced in forms somewhat different, by different philosophers. i will present two or three of these forms. the first that i notice is this. _it shall be the serious intention of all moral agents to esteem and treat all persons, interests, and objects according to their perceived intrinsic and relative importance, and out of respect for their intrinsic worth, or in obedience to the idea of duty, or moral obligation._ every one will readily apprehend, that the above is a correct enunciation of the principle under consideration. it expresses the fundamental reason why obedience to each and every moral principle is binding upon us. the reason and only reason why we are bound to love god with _all the heart_, is the intrinsic and relative importance of the object presented to the mind in the contemplation of the infinite and perfect. the reason why we are bound to love our neighbor as ourselves, is the fact, that his rights and interests are apprehended, as of the same value and sacredness as our own. in the intention under consideration, all obligation, actual and conceivable, is really met. god will occupy his appropriate place in the heart, and the creature his. no real right or interest will be dis-esteemed, and each will intentionally command that attention and regard which its intrinsic and relative importance demands. every moral agent is under obligation infinite ever to be under the supreme control of such an intention, and no such agent can be under obligation to be or to do anything more than this. the same principle has been announced in a form somewhat different by kant, to wit: "so act that thy maxim of will (intention) might become law in a system of universal moral obligation"--that is, let your controlling intention be always such, that all intelligents may properly be required ever to be under the supreme control of the same intention. by cousin, the same principle is thus announced: "the moral principle being universal, the sign, the external type by which a resolution may be recognized as conformed to this principle, is the impossibility of not erecting the immediate motive (intention) of the particular act or resolution, into a maxim of universal legislation"--that is, we cannot but affirm that every moral agent in existence is bound to act from the same motive or intention. it will readily be perceived, that each of these forms is really identical with that above announced and illustrated. it is only when we are conscious of the supreme control of the intention, to esteem and treat all persons and interests according to their intrinsic and relative importance, from respect to the idea of duty, that, in conformity with the principle as announced by kant, our maxim of will might become law in a system of universal legislation. when we are conscious of the control of such an intention, it is impossible for us not to affirm, according to the principle, as announced by cousin, that all intelligents are bound always to be under the control of the same intention. two or three suggestions will close what i have to say on this point. common mistake. . we notice the fundamental mistake of many philosophers and divines in treating of moral exercises, or states of mind. such exercises are very commonly represented as consisting wholly in excited states of the sensibility. thus dr. brown represents all moral exercises and states as consisting in emotions of a given character. one of the most distinguished professors of theology in this country laid down this proposition, as the basis of a course of lectures on moral philosophy, that "everything right or wrong in a moral agent, consists exclusively of right or wrong _feelings_"--feelings as distinguished from volitions as phenomena of will. now precisely the reverse of the above proposition is true, to wit: that _nothing_ right or wrong, in a moral agent, consists in any states of the sensibility irrespective of the action of the will. who would dare to say, when he has particular emotions, desires, or involuntary feelings, that the moral law has no further claim upon him, that all its demands are fully met in those feelings? who would dare to affirm, when he has any particular emotions, that all moral agents in existence are bound to have those identical feelings? if the demands of the moral law are fully met in any states of the sensibility--which would be true, if everything right or wrong, in moral agents, consists of right or wrong feelings--then all moral agents, at all times, and under all circumstances, are bound to have these same feelings. for what the law demands, at one time, it demands at all times. all the foundations of moral obligation are swept away by the theory under consideration. love as required by the moral law. . we are now prepared to state distinctly the _nature_ of that _love_ which is the "fulfilling of the law." it does not, as all admit, consist in the mere external act. nor does it consist, for reasons equally obvious and universally admitted, in any mere _convictions_ of the intelligence. for reasons above assigned, it does not consist in any states of the sensibility. no man, when he is conscious of such feelings, can affirm that all intelligents are bound, under all circumstances, to have the same feelings that he now has. this would be true, if the love under consideration consists of such feelings. but when, from, a regard to the idea of duty, the whole being is voluntarily consecrated to the promotion, in the highest degree, of universal good and when, in the pursuit of this end, there is a serious intention to esteem and treat all beings and interests according to their intrinsic and relative importance; _here_ is the love which is the fulfilling of the law. here is the intention by which all intelligents, in reference to all interests and objects, are, at all times, bound to be controlled, and which must be imposed, as universal law, upon such intelligents in every system of righteous moral legislation. here is the intention, in the exercise of which all obligation is fully met. here, consequently, is that love which is the fulfilling of the law. in a subsequent chapter, my design is to show that this is the view of the subject presented in the scriptures of truth. i now present it merely as a necessary truth of the universal intelligence. identity of character among all beings morally virtuous. . we now perceive clearly in what consists the real identity of moral character, in all intelligents of true moral rectitude. their occupations, forms of external deportment, and their internal convictions and feelings, may be endlessly diversified. yet one omnipresent, all-controlling intention, an intention which is ever one and identical, directs all their moral movements. it is the intention, in the promotion of the highest good of universal being, to esteem and treat all persons and interests according to their intrinsic and relative importance, from regard to moral obligation. thus moral virtue, in all intelligents possessed of it, is perfectly one and identical. in this sense only are all moral agents capable of perfect identity of character. they cannot all have, at all times, or perhaps at any time, precisely the same thoughts and feelings. but they can all have, at all times, one and the same intention. the omnipresent influence and control of the intention above illustrated, constitutes a perfect identity of character in god and all beings morally pure in existence. for this reason, the supreme control of this intention implies, in all moral agents alike, a perfect fulfilment of the law, a full discharge of all obligation of every kind. chapter xii. the element of the will in complex phenomena. section i. every perception, every judgment, every thought, which appears within the entire sphere of the intelligence; every sensation, every emotion, every desire, all the states of the sensibility, present objects for the action of the will in one direction or another. the sphere of the will's activity, therefore, is as extensive as the vast and almost boundless range of the intelligence and sensibility both. now while all the phenomena of these two last named faculties are, in themselves, wholly destitute of moral character, the action of the will, in the direction of such phenomena, constitutes _complex_ states of mind, which have a positive moral character. in all instances, the _moral_ and _voluntary_ elements are one and identical. as the distinction under consideration has been overlooked by the great mass of philosophers and theologians, and as very great errors have thereby arisen, not only in philosophy, but in theology and morals both, i will dwell at more length upon the subject than i otherwise should have done. my remarks will be confined to the action of the will in the direction of the _natural propensities_ and _religious affections_. action of the will in the direction of the natural propensities.--emotion, desire, and wish defined. . in respect to the action of the will in the direction of the natural propensities, such as the appetites, the love of esteem, of power, &c., i would remark, that the complex states thence resulting, are commonly explained as simple feelings or states of the sensibility. in presenting this subject in a proper light, the following explanations are deemed necessary. when any physical power operates upon any of the organs of sense, or when any thought is present in the intelligence, the state of the sensibility immediately and necessarily resulting is called a _sensation_ or _emotion_. when any feeling arises impelling the will to seek or avoid the object of that sensation or emotion, this impulsive state of the sensibility is called a _desire_. when the will concurs with the desire, a complex state of mind results, called a _wish_. wish is distinguished from desire in this, that in the former, the desire is cherished and perpetuated by the concurrence of the will with the desire. when the desire impels the will towards a prohibited object, the action of the will, in concurrence with the desire, constitutes a wish morally wrong. when the desire impels the will in a required direction, and the will, from a respect to the idea of duty, concurs with the desire, a wish arises which is morally virtuous. this principle holds true in regard to the action of all the propensities. the excitement of the propensity, as a state of the sensibility, constitutes desire--a feeling in itself destitute of all moral qualities. the action of the will in concurrence with, or opposition to, this feeling, constitutes a complex state of mind morally right or wrong. anger, pride, ambition, &c. anger, for example, as prohibited by the moral law, is not a mere _feeling_ of displeasure awakened by some injury, real or supposed, perpetrated by another. this state, on the other hand, consists in the surrendering of the will to the control of that feeling, and thus acting from malign impulse. pride also is not the mere _desire_ of esteem. it consists in voluntary subjection to that propensity, seeking esteem and admiration as the great end of existence. ambition, too, is not mere desire of power, but the voluntary surrendering of our being to the control of that propensity. the same, i repeat, holds true in respect to all the propensities. no mere excitement of the sensibility, irrespective of the action of the will, has any moral character. in the action of the will in respect to such states--action which must arise in some direction under such circumstances--moral guilt, or praiseworthiness, arises. i might here adduce other cases in illustration of the same principle; as, for example, the fact that intemperance in food and drink does not consist, as a moral act or state, in the mere strength of the appetite--that is, in the degree in which it is excited in the presence of its appropriate objects. nor does it consist in mere excess in the quantity partaken of--excess considered as an external act. it consists, on the other hand, in the surrendering of the voluntary power to the control of the appetite. the excess referred to is the _consequent_ and _index_ of such voluntary subjection. the above examples, however, are abundantly sufficient to illustrate the principle. religious affections. . we will now contemplate the element of the will in those complex phenomena denominated _religious affections_. the position which i here assume is this, that whatever in such affections is morally right and praiseworthy, that which is directly referred to, where such affections are required of us, is the voluntary element to be found in them. the voluntary element is directly required. other elements are required only on the ground that their existence is conditioned upon, and necessarily results from, that of the voluntary element. this must be admitted, or we must deny the position established in the last chapter, to wit: that all the requirements of the moral law are fully met in the right action of the will. scripture testimony. my object now is to show, that this is the light in which the subject is really presented in the scriptures. i will cite, as examples, the three cardinal virtues of christianity, repentance, love, and faith. the question is, are these virtues or affections, presented in the bible as mere convictions of the intelligence, or states of the sensibility? are they not, on the other hand, presented as voluntary states of mind, or as acts of will? are not the commands requiring them fully met in such acts? repentance. in regard to repentance, i would remark, that the term is scarcely used at all in the old testament. other terms and phrases are there employed to express the same thing; as for example, "turn ye;" "let the wicked forsake his way;" "let him turn unto the lord;" "he that confesseth and forsaketh his sins shall find mercy," &c. in all such passages repentance is most clearly presented as consisting exclusively of voluntary acts or intentions. the commands requiring it are, therefore, fully met in such acts. in the new testament this virtue is distinguished from godly sorrow, the state of the sensibility which accompanies its exercise. as distinguished from the action of the sensibility, what can it be, but a voluntary state, as presented in the old testament? when the mind places itself in voluntary harmony with those convictions and feelings which attend a consciousness of sin as committed against god and man, this is the repentance recognized and required as such in the bible. it does not consist in the mere _conviction_ of sin; for then the worst of men, and even devils, would be truly repentant. nor does it consist in the states of the sensibility which attend such convictions; else repentance would be godly sorrow, from which the bible, as stated above, definitely distinguishes it. it must consist in a voluntary act, in which, in accordance with those convictions and feelings, the mind turns from sin to holiness, from selfishness to benevolence, from the paths of disobedience to the service of god. love. a single passage will distinctly set before us the nature of _love_ as required in the bible--that love which comprehends all other virtues, and the exercise of which is the "fulfilling of the law." "hereby," says the sacred writer, "we perceive the love of god." the phrase "_of god_" is not found in the original. the passage, as it there stands, reads thus: "by this we know _love;_" that is, we know the nature of the love which the scriptures require, when they affirm, that "love is the fulfilling of the law." what is that in which, according to the express teaching of inspiration, we learn the nature of this love? "because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." in the act of "laying down his life for us," we are here told, that the love required of us is embodied and revealed. what is the nature of this love? i answer, . it is not a conviction of the intelligence, nor any excited state of the sensibility. no such thing is here referred to. . it does and must consist exclusively in a voluntary act, or intention. "he laid down his life for us." what is this but a voluntary act? yet this is love, the "love which is the fulfilling of the law." . as an act of will, love must consist exclusively in a voluntary devotion of our entire powers to one end, the highest good of universal being, from a regard to the idea of duty. "he laid down his life for us." "we _ought_ to lay down our lives for the brethren." in each particular here presented, a universal principle is expressed and revealed. christ "laid down his life for us," because he was in a state of voluntary consecration to the good of universal being. the particular act was put forth, as a means to this end. in a voluntary consecration to the same end, and as a means to this end, it is declared, that "we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." when, therefore, the scriptures require love of us, they do not demand the existence of particular convictions of the intelligence, nor certain states of the sensibility. they require the voluntary consecration of our entire being and interests to the great end of universal good. in this act of consecration, and in the employment of all our powers and interests, under the control of this one intention, we fulfil the law. we fully discharge all obligations, actual and conceivable, that are devolved upon us. the exercise of love, like that of repentance, is attended with particular convictions and feelings. these feelings are indirectly required in the precepts demanding love, and required, because when the latter does exist, the former will of course exist. of faith. but little need be said in explanation of the nature of faith. it is everywhere presented in the bible, as synonymous with _trust_, reposing confidence, committing our interests to god as to a "faithful creator." now trust is undeniably a voluntary state of mind. "i know," says paul, "in whom i have believed," that is, exercised faith, "that he is able to keep that which i have _committed_ to him against that day." here the act of committing to the care of another, which can be nothing else than an act of will, is presented as synonymous with faith. faith, then, does not consist in conviction, nor in any excited feelings. it is a voluntary act, _entrusting_ our interests to god as to a faithful creator. the principle above established must apply to all religious affections of every kind. sec. ii. general topics suggested by the truth illustrated in the preceding section. few truths are of greater practical moment than that illustrated in the preceding section. my object, now, is to apply it to the elucidation of certain important questions which require elucidation. convictions, feelings and external actions--why required, or prohibited. . we see why it is, that, while no mere external action, no state of the intelligence or sensibility, has any moral character in itself, irrespective of the action of the will, still such acts and states are specifically and formally required or prohibited in the bible. in such precepts the _effect_ is put for the _cause_. these acts and states are required, or prohibited, as the natural and necessary results of right or wrong intentions. the thing really referred to, in such commands and prohibitions, is not the acts or states specified, but the _cause_ of such acts and states, to wit: the right or wrong action of the will. suppose, that a certain loathsome disease of the body would necessarily result from certain intentions, or acts of will. now god might prohibit the intention which causes that disease, in either of two ways. he might specify the intention and directly prohibit that; or he might prohibit the same thing, in such a form as this: thou shalt not have this disease. every one will perceive that, in both prohibitions, the same thing, precisely, would be referred to and intended, to wit: the intention which sustains to the evil designed to be prevented, the relation of a cause. the same principle, precisely, holds true in respect to all external actions and states of the intelligence and sensibility, which are specifically required or prohibited. our responsibility in respect to such phenomena. . we also distinctly perceive the ground of our responsibility for the existence of external actions, and internal convictions and feelings. whatever effects, external or internal, necessarily result, and are or may be known to result, from the right or wrong action of the will, we may properly be held responsible for. now, all external actions and internal convictions and feelings which are required of or prohibited to us, sustain precisely this relation to the right or wrong action of the will. the intention being given, the effect follows as a consequence. for this reason we are held responsible for the effect. feelings how controlled by the will. . we now notice the _power of control_ which the will has over the feelings. ( .) in one respect its control is unlimited. it may yield itself to the control of the feelings, or wholly withhold its concurrence. ( .) in respect to all feelings, especially those which impel to violent or unlawful action, the will may exert a direct influence which will either greatly modify, or totally suppress the feeling. for example, when there is an inflexible purpose of will not to yield to angry feelings, if they should arise, and to suppress them, as soon as they appear, feelings of a violent character will not result to any great extent, whatever provocations the mind may be subject to. the same holds true of almost all feelings of every kind. whenever they appear, if they are directly and strongly willed down, they will either be greatly modified, or totally disappear. ( .) over the action and states of the sensibility the will may exert an indirect influence which is all-powerful. if, for example, the will is in full harmony with the infinite, the eternal, the just, the right, the true and the good, the intelligence will, of course, be occupied with "whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely and of good report," and the sensibility, continually acted upon by such objects, will mirror forth, in pure emotions and desires, the pure thoughts of the intelligence, and the hallowed purposes of the will. the sensibility will be wholly isolated from all feelings gross and sensual. on the other hand, let the will be yielded to the control of impure and sensual impulse, and how gross and impure the thoughts and feelings will become. in yielding, or refusing to yield, to the supreme control of the law of goodness, the will really, though indirectly, determines the action of the intelligence and sensibility both. ( .) to present the whole subject in a proper light, a fixed law of the _affections_ demands special attention. a husband, for example, has pledged to his wife, not only kind intentions, but the exclusive control of those peculiar affections which constitute the basis of the marriage union. let him cherish a proper regard for the sacredness of that pledge, and the wife will so completely and exclusively fill and command her appropriate sphere in the affections, that, under no circumstances whatever, will there be a tendency towards any other individual. the same holds true of every department of the affections, not only in respect to those which connect us with the creature, but also with the creator. the affections the will may control by a fixed and changeless law. such being the relation of the will to the sensibility, while it is true that there is nothing right or wrong in any feelings, irrespective of the action of the will, still the presence of feelings impure and sensual, may be a certain indication of the wrong action of the voluntary power. in such a light their presence should always be regarded. relation of faith to other exercises morally right. . in the preceding section it has been fully shown, that love, repentance, faith, and all other religious exercises, are, in their fundamental and characteristic elements, phenomena of the will. we will now, for a few moments, contemplate the relations of these different exercises to one another, especially the relation of _faith_ to other exercises of a kindred character. while it is true, as has been demonstrated in a preceding chapter, that the will cannot at the same time put forth intentions of a contradictory character, such as sin and holiness, it is equally true, that it may simultaneously put forth acts of a homogeneous character. in view of our obligations to yield implicit obedience to god, we may purpose such obedience. in view of the fact, that, in the gospel, grace is proffered to perfect us in our obedience, at the same time that we purpose obedience with all the heart, we may exercise implicit trust, or faith for "grace whereby we may serve god acceptably with reverence and godly fear." now, such is our condition as sinners, that without a revelation of this grace, we should never purpose obedience in the first instance. without the continued influence of that grace, this purpose would not subsequently be perfected and perpetuated. the purpose is first formed in reliance upon divine grace; and but for this grace and consequent reliance, would never have been formed. in consequence of the influence of this grace relied upon, and received by faith, this same purpose is afterwards perfected and perpetuated. thus, we see, that the purpose of obedience is really conditioned for its existence and perpetuity upon the act of reliance upon divine grace. the same holds true of the relation of faith to all acts or intentions morally right or holy. one act of will, in itself perfectly pure, is really conditioned upon another in itself equally pure. this is the doctrine of moral purification, or sanctification by faith, a doctrine which is no less true, as a fact in philosophy, than as a revealed truth of inspiration. chapter xiii. influence of the will in intellectual judgments. men often voluntary in their opinions. it is an old maxim, that the will governs the understanding. it becomes a very important inquiry with us, to what extent, and in what sense, is this maxim true? it is undeniable, that, in many important respects, mankind are voluntary in their opinions and judgments, and therefore, responsible for them. we often hear the declaration, "you ought, or ought not, to entertain such and such opinions, to form such and such judgments." "you are bound to admit, or have no right to admit, such and such things as true." men often speak, also, of _pre-judging_ particular cases, and thus incurring guilt. a question may very properly be asked here, what are these opinions, judgments, admissions, pre-judgments, &c.? are they real affirmations of the intelligence, or are they exclusively phenomena of the will? error not from the intelligence, but the will. the proposition which i lay down is this, _that the intelligence, in its appropriate exercise, can seldom if ever, make wrong affirmations; that wrong opinions, admissions, pre-judgments, &c., are in most, if not all instances, nothing else than phenomena, or assumptions of will_. if the intelligence can make wrong affirmations, it is important to determine in what department of its action such affirmations may be found. primary faculties cannot err. let us first contemplate the action of the _primary_ intellectual faculties--sense, or the faculty of _external_ perception; consciousness, the faculty of _internal_ observation; and reason, the faculty which gives us _necessary_ and _universal truths_. the two former faculties give us phenomena external and internal. the latter gives us the logical antecedents of phenomena, thus perceived and affirmed, to wit: the ideas of substance, cause, space, time, &c. in the action of these faculties, surely, real error is impossible. so of the secondary faculties. let us now contemplate the action of the secondary faculties, the understanding and judgment. the former unites the elements given by the three primary faculties into _notions_ of particular objects. the latter classifies these notions according to qualities perceived. here, also, we find no place for wrong affirmations. the understanding can only combine the elements actually given by the primary faculties. the judgment can classify only according to qualities actually perceived. thus i might go over the entire range of the intelligence, and show, that seldom, if ever, in its appropriate action, it can make wrong affirmations. error, where found.--assumption. where then is the place for error, for wrong opinions, and pre-judgments? let us suppose, that a number of individuals are observing some object at a distance from them. no qualities are given but those common to a variety of objects, such as a man, horse, ox, &c. the perceptive faculty has deceived no one in this case. it has given nothing but real qualities. the understanding can only form a notion of it, as an object possessing these particular qualities. the judgment can only affirm, that the qualities perceived are common to different classes of objects, and consequently, that no affirmations can be made as to what class the object perceived does belong. the intelligence, therefore, makes no false affirmations. still the inquiry goes round. "what is it?" one answers, "it is a man." that is my opinion. another: "it is a horse." that is my judgment. another still says, "i differ from you all. it is an ox." that is my notion. now, what are these opinions, judgments, and notions? are they real affirmations of the intelligence? by no means. the intelligence cannot affirm at all, under such circumstances. they are nothing in reality, but mere _assumptions_ of the will. a vast majority of the so called opinions, beliefs, judgments, and notions among men, and all where _error_ is found, are nothing but assumptions of the will. assumptions are sometimes based upon real affirmations of the intelligence, and sometimes not. suppose the individuals above referred to approach the object, till qualities are given which are peculiar to the horse. the judgment at once classifies the object accordingly. as soon as this takes place, they all exclaim, "well, it is a horse." here are assumptions again, but assumptions based upon real affirmations of the intelligence. in the former instance we had assumptions based upon no such affirmations. false assumptions do not always imply moral guilt. much of the necessary business of life has no other basis than prudent or imprudent _guessing_. when the farmer, for example, casts any particular seed into the ground, it is only by balance of probabilities that he often determines, as far as he does or can determine, what is best; and not unfrequently is he necessitated to assume and act, when all probabilities are so perfectly balanced, that he can find no reasons at all for taking one course in distinction from another. yet no moral guilt is incurred when one is necessitated to act in some direction, and when all available light has been sought and employed to determine the direction which is best. as false assumptions, however, often involve very great moral guilt, it may be important to develope some of the distinguishing characteristics of assumptions of this class. . all assumptions involve moral guilt, which are in opposition to the real and positive affirmations of the intelligence. as the will may assume in the absence of such affirmations, and in the direction of them, so it may in opposition to them. when you have carried a man's intellect in favor of a given proposition, it is by no means certain that you have gained his assent to its truth. he may still assume, that all the evidence presented is inadequate, and consequently refuse to admit its truth. when the will thus divorces itself from the intelligence, guilt of no ordinary character is incurred. men often express their convictions of the guilt thus incurred, by saying to individuals, "you are bound to admit that fact or proposition as true. you are already convinced. what excuse have you for not yielding to that conviction?" yet individuals will often do fatal violence to their intellectual and moral nature, by holding on to assumptions, in reality known to be false. . assumptions involve moral guilt which are formed without availing ourselves of all the light within our reach as the basis of our assumptions. for us to assume any proposition, or statement, to be true or false, in the absence of affirmations of the intelligence, as the basis of such assumptions, when adequate light is available, involves the same criminality, as assumptions in opposition to the intelligence. hence we often have the expression in common life, "you had no right to form a judgment under such circumstances. you were bound, before doing it, to avail yourself of all the light within your reach." . _positive_ assumptions, without intellectual affirmations as their basis, equally positive, involve moral guilt of no ordinary character. as remarked above, we are often placed in circumstances in which we are necessitated to act in some direction, and to select some particular course without any perceived reasons in favor of that one course in distinction from another. now while _action_ is proper in such a condition, it is not proper to make a positive assumption that the course selected is the best. suppose, that all the facts before my mind bearing upon the character of a neighbor, are equally consistent with the possession, on his part, of a character either good or bad. i do violence to my intellectual and moral nature, if, under such circumstances, i make the assumption that his character is either the one or the other, and especially, that it is the latter instead of the former. how often do flagrant transgressions of moral rectitude occur in such instances! pre-judgments. a few remarks are deemed requisite on this topic. a pre-judgment is an assumption, that a proposition or statement is true or false, before the facts, bearing upon the case, have been heard. such assumptions are generally classed under the term prejudice. thus it is said of individuals, that they are prejudiced in favor or against certain persons, sentiments, or causes. the real meaning of such statements is, that individuals have made assumptions in one direction or another, prior to a hearing of the facts of the case, and irrespective of such facts. intellect not deceived in pre-judgments. it is commonly said, that such prejudices, or pre-judgments, blind the mind to facts of one class, and render it quick to discern those of the other, and thus lead to a real mis-direction of the intelligence. this i think is not a correct statement of the case. pre-judgments may, and often do, prevent all proper investigation of a subject. in this case, the intelligence is not deceived at all. in the absence of real data, it can make no positive affirmations whatever. so far also as pre-judgments direct attention from facts bearing upon one side of a question, and to those bearing upon the other, the intelligence is not thereby deceived. all that it can affirm is the true bearing of the facts actually presented. in respect to those not presented, and consequently in respect to the real merits of the whole case, it makes no affirmations. if an individual forms an opinion from a partial hearing, that opinion is a mere assumption of will, and nothing else. the mind how influenced by pre-judgments. but the manner in which pre-judgments chiefly affect the mind in the hearing of a cause, still remains to be stated. in such pre-judgments, or assumptions, an assumption of this kind is almost invariably included, to wit: that all facts of whatever character bearing upon one side of the question, are wholly indecisive, while all others bearing upon the other side are equally decisive. in pre-judging, individuals do not merely pre-judge the real merits of the case, but the character of all the facts bearing upon it. they enter upon the investigation of a given subject, with an inflexible determination to treat all the facts and arguments they shall meet with, according to previous assumptions. let the clearest light poured upon one side of the question, and the reply is, "after all, i am not convinced," while the most trivial circumstances conceivable bearing upon the other side, will be seized upon as perfectly decisive. in all this, we do not meet with the operations of a deceived intelligence, but of a "deceived heart," that is, of a depraved will, stubbornly bent upon verifying its own unauthorized, pre-formed assumptions. such assumptions can withstand any degree of evidence whatever. the intelligence did not give them existence, and it cannot annihilate them. they are exclusively creatures of will, and by an act of will, they must be dissolved, or they will remain proof against all the evidence which the tide of time can roll against them. influences which induce false assumptions. the influences which induce false and unauthorized assumptions, are found in the strong action of the sensibility, in the direction of the appetites, natural affections, and the different propensities, as the love of gain, ambition, party spirit, pride of character, of opinion, &c. when the will has long been habituated to act in the direction of a particular propensity, how difficult it is to induce the admission, or assumption, that action in that direction is wrong! the difficulty, in such cases, does not, in most instances, lie in convincing the intelligence, but in inducing the will to admit as true what the intelligence really affirms. cases in which we are apparently, though not really, misled by the intelligence. as there are cases of this kind, it is important to mark some of their characteristics. among these i cite the following: . the qualities of a particular object, actually perceived, as in the case above cited, may be common to a variety of classes which we know, and also to others which we do not know. on the perception of such qualities, the intelligence will suggest those classes only which we know, while the particular object perceived may belong to a class unknown. if, in such circumstances, a positive assumption, as to what class it does belong, is made, a wrong assumption must of necessity be made. the _intelligence_ in this case is not deceived. it places the will, however, in such a relation to the object, that if a positive assumption is made, it must necessarily be a wrong one. in this manner, multitudes of wrong assumptions arise. . when facts are before the mind, an _explanation_ of them is often desired. in such circumstances, the intelligence may suggest, in explanation, a number of hypotheses, which hypotheses may be all alike false. if a positive assumption is made in such a case, it must of necessity be a false one; because it must be in the direction of some one hypothesis before the mind at the time. here, also, the intelligence necessitates a wrong assumption, if any is made. yet it is not itself deceived; because it gives no positive affirmations as the basis of positive assumptions. in such circumstances, error very frequently arises. . _experience_ often occasions wrong assumptions, which are attributed incorrectly to real affirmations of the intelligence. a friend, for example, saw an object which presented the external appearance of the apple. he had never before seen those qualities, except in connection with that class of objects. he assumed, at once, that it was a real apple; but subsequently found that it was an artificial, and not a real one. was the intelligence deceived in this instance? by no means. that faculty had never affirmed, that those qualities which the apple presents to the eye, never exist in connection with any other object, and consequently, that the apple must have been present in the instance given. _experience_, and not a positive affirmation of the intelligence, led to the wrong assumption in this instance. the same principle holds true, in respect to a vast number of instances that might be named. . finally, the intelligence may not only make positive affirmations in the presence of qualities perceived, but it may affirm _hypothetically_, that is, when a given proposition is _assumed_ as true, the intelligence may and will present the logical _antecedents_ and _consequents_ of that assumption. if the assumption is false, such will be the character of the antecedents and consequents following from it. an individual, in tracing out these antecedents and consequents, however, may mistake the hypothetical, for the real, affirmations of the intelligence. one wrong assumption in theology or philosophy, for example, may give an entire system, all of the leading principles of which are likewise false. in tracing out, and perfecting that system, how natural the assumption, that one is following the _real_, and not the _hypothetical_, affirmations of the intelligence! from this one source an infinity of error exists among men. in an enlarged treatise on mental science, the subject of the present chapter should receive a much more extensive elucidation than could be given to it in this connection. few subjects would throw more clear light over the domains of truth and error than this, if fully and distinctly elucidated. in conclusion, i would simply remark, that one of the highest attainments in virtue which we can conceive an intelligent being to make, consists in a continued and vigorous employment of the intelligence in search of the right, the just, the true, and the good, in all departments of human investigation; and in a rigid discipline of the will, to receive and treat, as true and sacred, whatever the intelligence may present, as possessed of such characteristics, to the full subjection of all impulses in the direction of unauthorized assumptions. chapter xiv. liberty and servitude. liberty of will as opposed to moral servitude. there are, among others, two senses of the term liberty, which ought to be carefully distinguished from each other. in the first sense, it stands opposed to necessity; in the second, to what is called moral servitude. it is in the last sense that i propose to consider the subject in the present chapter. what, then, is liberty as opposed to moral servitude? _it is that state in which the action of will is in harmony with the moral law, with the idea of the right, the just, the true, and the good, while all the propensities are held in perfect subordination--a state in which the mind may purpose obedience to the law of right with the rational hope of carrying that determination into accomplishment_. this state all mankind agree in calling a state of moral freedom. the individual who has attained to it, is not in servitude to any propensity whatever. he "rules his own spirit." he is the master of himself. he purposes the good, and performs it. he resolves against the evil, and avoids it. "greater," says the maxim of ancient wisdom, "is such a man than he that taketh a city." moral servitude, on the other hand, is _a state in which the will is so ensnared by the sensibility, so habituated to subjection to the propensities, that it has so lost the prerogative of self-control, that it cannot resolve upon action in the direction of the law of right, with any rational expectation of keeping that resolution_. the individual in this condition "knows the good, and approves of it, yet follows the bad." "the good that he would (purposes to do), he does not, but the evil that he would not (purposes not to do), that he does." all men agree in denominating this a state of moral servitude. whenever an individual is manifestly governed by appetite, or any other propensity, by common consent, he is said to be a slave in respect to his propensities. the reason why the former state is denominated liberty, and the latter servitude, is obvious. liberty, as opposed to servitude, is universally regarded as a good in itself. as such, it is desired and chosen. servitude, on the other hand, may be submitted to, as the least of two evils. yet it can never be desired and chosen, as a good in itself. every man who is in a state of servitude, is there, in an important sense, against his will. the _state_ in which he is, is regarded as in itself the greatest of evils, excepting those which would arise from a vain attempt at a vindication of personal freedom. the same principle holds true in respect to moral liberty and servitude. when any individual contemplates the idea of the voluntary power rising to full dominion over impulse of every kind, and acting in sublime harmony with the pure and perfect law of rectitude, as revealed in the intelligence, every one regards this as a state, of all others, the most to be desired and chosen as a good in itself. to enter upon this state, and to continue in it, is therefore regarded as a realization of the idea of liberty in the highest and best sense of the term. subjection to impulse, in opposition to the pure dictates of the intelligence, to the loss of the high prerogative of "ruling our own spirits," on the other hand, is regarded by all men as in itself a state the most abject, and least to be desired conceivable. the individual that is there, cannot but despise his own image. he, of necessity, loathes and abhors himself. yet he submits to self-degradation rather than endure the pain and effort of self-emancipation. no term but servitude, together with others of a kindred import, expresses the true conception of this state. no man is in a state of moral servitude from choice--that is, from choice of the state as a good in itself. the _state_ he regards as an evil in itself. yet, in the exercise of free choice, he is there, because he submits to self-degradation rather than vindicate his right to freedom. remarks. mistake of german metaphysicians. . we notice a prominent and important mistake common to metaphysicians, especially of the german school, in their treatises on the will. liberty of will with them is liberty as distinguished from moral servitude, and not as distinguished from necessity. hence, in all their works, very little light is thrown upon the great idea of liberty, which lies at the foundation of moral obligation, to wit: liberty as distinguished from necessity. "a free will," says kant, "and a will subjected to the moral law, are one and identical." a more capital error in philosophy is not often met with than this. moral servitude of the race. . in the state of moral servitude above described, the bible affirms all men to be, until they are emancipated by the influence of the remedial system therein revealed--a truth affirmed by what every man experiences in himself, and by the entire mass of facts which the history of the race presents. where is the individual that, unaided by an influence out of himself, has ever attained to a dominion over his own spirit? where is the individual that, without such an influence, can resolve upon acting in harmony with the law of pure benevolence, with any rational hope of success? to meet this great want of human nature; to provide an influence adequate to its redemption, from what the scriptures, with great propriety, call the "bondage of corruption," is a fundamental design of the remedial system. chapter xv. liberty and dependence. common impression. a very common impression exists,--an impression universal among those who hold the doctrine of necessity,--that the doctrine of liberty, as maintained in this treatise, renders man, really, in most important respects, independent of his creator, and therefore, tends to induce in the mind, that spirit of haughty independence which is totally opposite and antagonistic to that spirit of humility and dependence which lies at the basis of all true piety and virtue. if this is the real tendency of this doctrine, it certainly constitutes an important objection against it. if, on the other hand, we find in the nature of this doctrine, essential elements totally destructive of the spirit of pride and self-confidence, and tending most strongly to induce the opposite spirit,--a spirit of humility and dependence upon the grace proffered in the remedial system; if we find, also, that the doctrine of necessity, in many fundamental particulars, lacks these benign tendencies, we have, in such a case, the strongest evidence in favor of the former doctrine, and against the latter. the object of the present chapter, therefore, is to _elucidate the tendency of the doctrine of liberty to destroy the spirit of pride, haughtiness, and self-dependence, and to induce the spirit of humility and dependence upon divine grace_. spirit of dependence defined. before proceeding directly to argue this question, we need to settle definitely the meaning of the phrase _spirit of dependence_. the _conviction_ of our dependence is one thing. the _spirit_ of dependence is quite another. what is this spirit? in its exercise, the mind _rests in voluntary dependence upon the grace of god_. the heart is fully set upon doing the right, and avoiding the wrong, while the mind is in the voluntary exercise of _trust_ in god for "grace whereby we may serve him acceptably." the _spirit_ of dependence, then, implies obedience actually commenced. the question is, does the belief of the doctrine of liberty tend intrinsically to induce the exercise of this spirit? in this respect, has it altogether a superiority over the doctrine of necessity? doctrine of necessity tends not to induce the spirit of dependence. . in accomplishing my object, i will first consider the tendency, in this one respect, of the doctrine of necessity. an individual, we will suppose, finds himself under influences which induce him to sin, and which consequently, if this doctrine is true, render it impossible for him, without the interposition of divine power, not to sin. a consideration of his condition tends to _convince_ him, that is, to induce the intellectual conviction, of his entire dependence upon divine grace. but the intellectual _conviction_ of our dependence, as above shown, is one thing. the _spirit_ of dependence, which, as there stated, consists in actually trusting the most high for grace to do what he requires, and implies actual obedience already commenced, is quite another thing. now the doctrine of necessity has a tendency to produce this _conviction_, but none to induce the _spirit_ of dependence: inasmuch as with this conviction, it produces another equally strong, to wit: that the creature, without a divine interposition, will not, and cannot, exercise the _spirit_ of dependence. in thus producing the conviction, that, under present influences, the subject does not, and cannot exercise that spirit, this doctrine tends exclusively to the annihilation of that spirit. when an individual is in a state of actual obedience, the tendency of this doctrine upon him is no better; since it produces the conviction, that while a divine influence, independently of ourselves, produces in us a spirit of dependence, we shall and must exercise it; and that while it does not produce that spirit, we do not and cannot exercise it. where is the tendency to induce a spirit of dependence, in such a conviction? according to the doctrine of necessity, nothing but the actual interposition of divine grace has any tendency to induce a spirit of dependence. the _belief_ of this doctrine has no such tendency whatever. the grand mistake of the necessitarian here, consists in the assumption, that, because his _doctrine has a manifest tendency to produce the_ conviction _of dependence, it has a tendency equally manifest to induce the_ spirit _of dependence;_ when, in fact, it has no such tendency whatever. . we will now contemplate the intrinsic tendencies of the doctrine of liberty to induce the spirit of humility and dependence. every one will see, at once, that the consciousness of liberty cannot itself be a ground of dependence, in respect to action, in favor of the right and in opposition to the wrong: for the possession of such liberty, as far as the power itself is concerned, leaves us, at all times, equally liable to do the one as the other. how can an equal liability to two distinct and opposite courses, be a ground of assurance, that we shall choose the one, and avoid the other? thus the consciousness of liberty tends directly and intrinsically to a total annihilation of the spirit of self-dependence. let us now contemplate our relation to the most high. he knows perfectly in what direction we shall, in our self-determination, exert our powers under any influence and system of influences brought to bear upon us. it is also in his power to subject us to any system of influences he pleases. he has revealed to us the great truth, that if, in the exercise of the spirit of dependence, we will trust him for grace to do the good and avoid the evil which he requires us to do and avoid, he will subject us to a divine influence, which shall for ever secure us in the one, and against the other. the conviction, therefore, rises with full and perfect distinctness in the mind, that, in the exercise of the spirit of dependence, action in all future time, in the direction of purity and bliss, is secure; and that, in the absence of this spirit, action, in the opposite direction, is equally certain. in the belief of the doctrine of liberty, another truth becomes an omnipresent reality to our minds, that the _exercise_ of this spirit, thus rendering our "calling and election sure," is, at all times, practicable to us. what then is the exclusive tendency of this doctrine? to destroy the spirit of self-dependence, on the one hand, and to induce the exercise of the opposite spirit, on the other. the doctrine of necessity reveals the _fact_ of dependence, but destroys the _spirit_, by the production of the annihilating conviction, that we neither shall nor can exercise that spirit, till god, in his sovereign dispensations, shall subject us to an influence which renders it impossible for us not to exercise it. the doctrine of liberty reveals, with equal distinctness, the _fact_ of dependence; and then, while it produces the hallowed conviction of the perfect practicability of the exercise of the _spirit_ of dependence, presents motives infinitely strong, not only to induce its exercise, but to empty the mind wholly of everything opposed to it. god controls all influences under which creatures do act. . while the existence and continuance of our powers of moral agency depend wholly upon the divine will, and while the most high knows, with entire certainty, in what direction we shall exert our powers, under all influences, and systems of influences, brought to bear upon us, all these influences are entirely at his disposal. what tendency have such convictions, together with the consciousness of liberty, and ability to exercise, or not to exercise, the spirit of dependence, but to induce us, in the exercise of that spirit, to throw our whole being into the petition, "lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil?" if god knows perfectly under what influences action in us shall be in the direction of the right, or the wrong, and holds all such influences at his own control, what attitude becomes us in the presence of the "high and lofty one," but dependence and prayer? dependence on account of the moral servitude of the will. . finally, a consciousness of a state of moral servitude, together with the conviction, that in the exercise of the spirit of dependence, we can rise to the "glorious liberty of the sons of god;" that in the absence of this spirit, our moral servitude is perfectly certain; all these, together with the conviction which the belief of the doctrine of liberty induces (to wit: that the exercise of the spirit of dependence is always practicable to us), tends only to one result, to induce the exercise of that spirit, and to the total annihilation of the opposite spirit. while, therefore, the doctrine of liberty sanctifies, in the mind, the feeling of obligation to do the right and avoid the wrong, a feeling which the doctrine of necessity tends to annihilate, the former (an effect which the latter cannot produce) tends only to the annihilation of the spirit of pride and self-confidence, and to induce that spirit of filial dependence which cries "abba, father!" chapter xvi. formation of character. element of will in formation of character. character commonly how accounted for. in accounting for the existence and formation of peculiarities of character, individual, social, and national, two elements only are commonly taken into consideration, the _natural propensities_, and the _circumstances and influences_ under which those propensities are developed and controlled. the doctrine of necessity permits us to take nothing else into the account. undoubtedly, these elements have very great efficacy in determining character. in many instances, little else need to be taken into consideration, in accounting for peculiarities of character, as they exist around us, in individuals, communities, and nations. the voluntary element to be taken into the account. in a vast majority of cases, however, another, and altogether a different element, that of the will, or voluntary element, must be taken into the reckoning, or we shall find ourselves wholly unable to account for peculiarities of mental and moral development, everywhere visible around us. it is an old maxim, that "every man is the arbiter of his own destiny." as character determines destiny, so the will determines character; and man is the arbiter of his own destiny, only as he is the arbiter of his own character. the element of free will, therefore, must be taken into the reckoning, if we would adequately account for the peculiarities of character which the individual, social, and national history of the race presents. even where mental and moral developments are as the propensities and external influences, still the voluntary element must be reckoned in, if we would account for facts as they exist. in a majority of instances, however, if the two elements under consideration, and these only, are taken into the account, we shall find our conclusions very wide from the truth. an example in illustration. i will take, in illustration of the above remarks, a single example--a case with which i became so familiarly acquainted, that i feel perfectly safe in vouching for the truth of the statements which i am about to make. i knew a boy who, up to the age of ten or twelve years, was under the influence of a most ungovernable temper--a temper easily and quickly excited, and which, when excited, rendered him perfectly desperate. seldom, if ever, was he known to yield in a conflict, however superior in strength his antagonist might be. death was always deliberately preferred to submission. during this period, he often reflected upon his condition, and frequently wished that it was otherwise. still, with melancholy deliberation, he as often said to himself, i never can and never shall subdue this temper. at the close of this period, as he was reflecting upon the subject again, he made up his mind, with perfect fixedness of purpose, that, to the control of that temper, he would never more yield. the will rose up in the majesty of its power, and assumed the reins of self-government, in the respect under consideration. from that moment, that temper almost never, even under the highest provocations, obtained the control of the child. a total revolution of mental developments resulted. he afterwards became as distinguished for natural amiability and self-control, in respect to his temper, as before he had been for the opposite spirit. this total revolution took place from mere prudential considerations, without any respect whatever to moral obligation. now suppose we attempt to account for these distinct and opposite developments of character--developments exhibited by the same individual, in these two periods--by an exclusive reference to natural propensities and external influences. what a totally inadequate and false account should we give of the facts presented! that individual is just as conscious, that it was the element of free will that produced this revolution, and that when he formed the determination which resulted in that revolution, he might have determined differently, as he is, or ever has been, of any mental states whatever. all the facts, also, as they lie out before us, clearly indicate, that if we leave out of the account the voluntary element, those facts must remain wholly unexplained, or a totally wrong explanation of them must be given. the same principle holds true in all other instances. though natural propensities and external influences greatly _modify_ mental developments, still, the _distinguishing_ peculiarities of character, in all instances, receive their form and coloring from the action of the voluntary power. this is true, of the peculiarities of character exhibited, not only by individuals, but communities and nations. we can never account for facts as they are, until we contemplate man, not only as possessed of intelligence and sensibility, but also of free will. all the powers and susceptibilities must be taken into the account, if men would know man as he is. diversities of character. a few important definitions will close this chapter. a _decisive_ character exists, where the will acts in harmony with propensities strongly developed. when a number of propensities of this kind exist, action, and consequently character, may be changeable, and yet decisive. _unity_ and _decision_ of character result, when the will steadily acts in harmony with some one over-shadowing propensity. character is _fluctuating_ and _changeable_, when the will surrenders itself to the control of different propensities, each easily and highly excited in the presence of its appropriate objects, and yet the excitement but temporary. thus, different propensities, in rapid succession, take their turn in controlling the will. _indecision_ and _feebleness_ of character result, when the will uniformly acts under the influence of the principle of _fear_ and _caution_. to such a mind, in all important enterprises especially, there is always "a lion in the way." such a mind, therefore, is continually in a state of distressing indecision when energetic action is necessary to success. chapter xvii. concluding reflections. a few reflections of a general nature will conclude this treatise. objection. the will has its laws. . an objection, often adduced, to the entire view of the subject presented in this treatise, demands a passing notice here. all things in existence, it is said, and the will among the rest, are governed by _laws_. it is readily admitted, that all things have their laws, and that the will is not without law. it is jumping a very long distance to a conclusion, however, to infer from such a fact, that necessity is the only law throughout the entire domain of existence, physical and mental. what if, from the fact, that the will has its law, it should be assumed that liberty is that law? this assumption would be just as legitimate as the one under consideration. objection. god dethroned from his supremacy, if the doctrine of liberty is true. . another objection of a general nature, is the assumption, that the doctrine of liberty destroys the divine supremacy in the realm of mind. "if man," says dr. chalmers, "is not a necessary agent, god is a degraded sovereign." a sentiment more dishonorable to god, more fraught with fatal error, more revolting to a virtuous mind, when unperverted by a false theory, could scarcely be uttered. let us, for a moment, contemplate the question, whether the doctrine of liberty admits a divine government in the realm of mind. the existence and perpetuity, as stated in a former chapter, of free and moral agency in creatures, depend wholly upon the divine will. with a perfect knowledge of the direction in which they will exert their powers, under every kind and degree of influence to which they may be subjected, he holds all these influences at his sovereign disposal. with such knowledge and resources, can god exercise no government, but that of a degraded sovereignty in the realm of mind? can he not exercise the very sovereignty which infinite wisdom and love desire? who would dare affirm the contrary? if the doctrine of liberty is true, god certainly does not sit upon the throne of iron destiny, swaying the sceptre of stern fate over myriads of subjects, miscalled moral agents; subjects, all of whom are commanded, under infinite sanctions, to do the right and avoid the wrong, while subjected to influences by the most high himself, which render obedience in some, and disobedience in others, absolute impossibilities. still, in the light of this doctrine, god has a government in the domain of mind, a government wisely adapted to the nature of moral agents--agents capable of incurring the desert of praise or blame; a government which all approve, and under the benign influence of which, all who have not forfeited its protection by crime, may find "quietness and assurance for ever." objection. great and good men have held the doctrine of necessity. . in reply to what has been said in respect to the _tendencies_ of the doctrine of necessity, the fact will doubtless be adduced, that the greatest and best of men have held this doctrine, without a development of these tendencies in their experience. my answer is, that the goodness of such men, their sense of moral obligation, &c., did not result from their theory, but existed in spite of its intrinsic tendencies. they held this doctrine in theory, and yet, from a _consciousness_ of liberty, they practically adopted the opposite doctrine. here, we have the source of the deep feeling of obligation in their minds, while the intrinsic and exclusive tendency of their _theory_, even in them, was to weaken and annihilate this hallowed feeling. the difference between such men and sceptics is this: the piety of the former prevents their carrying out their theory to its legitimate results; while the impiety of the latter leads them to march boldly up to those results--a fearless denial of moral obligation in every form. last resort. . the final resort of certain necessitarians, who may feel themselves wholly unable to meet the arguments adduced against their own and in favor of the opposite theory, and are determined to remain fixed in their opinions, may be readily anticipated. it is an assumption which may be expressed in language somewhat like the following: "after all, the immortal work of edwards still lives, and will live, when those of his opponents will be lost in oblivion. that work still remains unanswered." a sweeping assumption is a very easy and summary way of disposing of a difficulty, which we might not otherwise know what to do with. let us for a moment contemplate some of the facts which have been undeniably established in reference to this immortal work. ( .) at the outset, edwards stands convicted of a fundamental error in philosophy, an error which gives form and character to his whole work--the confounding of the will with the sensibility, and thus confounding the characteristics of the phenomena of the former faculty with those of the phenomena of the latter. ( .) his whole work is constructed without an appeal to consciousness, the only proper and authoritative tribunal of appeal in the case. thus his reasonings have only an accidental bearing upon his subject. ( .) all his fundamental conclusions have been shown to stand in direct contradiction to the plainest and most positive testimony of universal consciousness. ( .) his main arguments have been shown to be nothing else but reasoning in a circle. he defines, for example, the phrase "greatest apparent good," as synonymous with _choosing_, and then argues, from the fact that the "will always is as the greatest apparent good," that is, that it always chooses as it chooses, that it is subject to the law of necessity. so in respect to the argument from the strongest motive, which, by definition, is fixed upon as the motive in the direction of which the will, in each particular instance, acts. from the fact that the action of the will is always in the direction of this motive, that is, in the direction of the motive towards which it does act, the conclusion is gravely drawn, that the will is and must be subject, in all its determinations, to the law of necessity. i find my mind acted upon by two opposite motives. i cannot tell which is the strongest, from a contemplation of what is intrinsic in the motives themselves, nor from their effects upon my intelligence or sensibility. i must wait till my will has acted. from the fact of its action in the direction of one motive, in distinction from the other, i must then draw two important conclusions. . the motive, in the direction of which my will did act, is the strongest. the evidence is, the _fact_ of its action in that direction. . the will must be subject to the law of necessity. the proof is, the action of the will in the direction of the strongest motive, that is, the motive in the direction of which it did act. sage argument to be regarded by philosophers and theologians of the th century, as possessing the elements of immortality! ( .) his argument from the divine fore-knowledge has been shown to be wholly based upon an _assumption_ unauthorized by reason, or revelation either, to wit: that he understands the _mode_ of that fore-knowledge,-- an assumption which cannot be made except through ignorance, as was true in his case, without the greatest impiety and presumption. ( .) the theory which edwards opposes has been shown to render sacred, in all minds that hold it, the great idea of _duty_, of moral obligation; while the validity of that idea has never, in any age or nation, been denied, excepting on the avowed authority of his theory. ( .) all the arguments in proof of the doctrine of necessity, with the single exception of that from the divine fore-knowledge--an argument resting, as we have seen, upon an assumption equally baseless,--involve a begging of the question at issue. take any argument we please, with this one exception, and it will be seen at once that it has no force at all, unless the truth of the doctrine designed to be established by it, be assumed as the basis of that argument. shall we pretend that a theory, that has been fully demonstrated to involve, fundamentally, the errors, absurdities, and contradictions above named, has not been answered? willing, and aiming to perform impossibilities. . we are now prepared to answer a question about which philosophers have been somewhat divided in opinion--the question, whether the will can act in the direction of perceived and affirmed impossibilities? the true answer to this question, doubtless is, that the mind may _will_ the occurrence of a known impossibility, but it can never _aim_ to produce such an occurrence. the mind, for example, while it regards the non-existence of god as that which cannot possibly occur, may come into such a relation to the most high, that the _desire_ shall arise that god were not. with this desire, the will may concur, in the _wish_, that there were no god. here the mind wills a known impossibility. in a similar manner, the mind may will its own non-existence, while it regards its occurrence, on account of its relation to the divine will, as impossible. but while the mind may thus _will_ the occurrence of an impossibility, it never can, nor will aim, that is, intend, to produce what it regards as an impossibility. a creature may will the non-existence of god; but even a fallen spirit, regarding the occurrence as an absolute impossibility, never did, nor will aim to annihilate the most high. to suppose the will to set itself to produce an occurrence regarded as impossible, involves a contradiction. for the same reason, the will will never set itself upon the accomplishment of that which it is perfectly assured it never shall accomplish, however sincere its efforts towards the result may be. all such results are, to the mind, _practical_ impossibilities. extinguish totally in the mind the _hope_ of obtaining the divine favor, and the divine favor will never be sought. produce in the mind the conviction, that should it aim at the attainment of a certain end, there is an infallible certainty that it will not attain it, and the subject of that conviction will no more aim to attain that end, than he will aim to cause the same thing, at the same time, to be and not to be. in reply, it is sometimes said, that men often aim at what they regard even as an impossible attainment. the painter, for example, aims to produce a _perfect_ picture, while he knows well that he cannot produce one. i answer, the painter is really aiming at no such thing. he is not aiming to produce a perfect picture, which he knows he cannot, and will not produce, but to produce one as _nearly_ perfect as he can. this is what he is really aiming at. question the individual critically, and he will confirm what is here affirmed. remind him of the fact, that he cannot produce a perfect picture. i know that, he replies. i am determined, however, to produce one as _nearly_ perfect as possible. here his real aim stands revealed. the same principle holds true in all other instances. thought at parting. . in taking leave of the reader, i would simply say, that if he has distinctly apprehended the great doctrine designed to be established in this work, and has happily come to an agreement with the author in respect to it, the following hallowed impression has been left very distinctly upon his mind. while he finds himself in a state of profound and most pleasing dependence upon the author of his being, in the holy of holies of the inner sanctuary of his mind, one idea, the great over-shadowing idea of the human intelligence, has been fully sanctified--the idea of _duty_, of _moral obligation_. with the consciousness of liberty, that idea must be to the mind an omnipresent reality. from it we can never escape and in all states, and in all worlds, it must and will be to us, as a guardian angel, or an avenging fiend. but one thing remains, and that is, through the grace proffered in the remedial system, to "live and move, and have our being," in harmony with that idea, thus securing everlasting "quietness and assurance" in the sanctuary of our minds, and ever enduring peace and protection under, the over-shadowing perfections of the author of our existence, and amid all the arrangements and movements of his eternal government. footnotes [ ] see upham on the will, pp. - . [ ] the above is a perfectly correct statement of the famous distinction between natural and moral ability made by necessitarians. the sinner is under obligation to do right, they say, because he might do what is required of him, if he chose to do it. he has, therefore, _natural_ but not _moral_ power to obedience. but the choice which the sinner wants, the absence of which constitutes his moral inability, is the very thing required of him. when, therefore, the necessitarian says, that the sinner is under obligation to obey, because he might obey if he chose to do it, the real meaning is, that the sinner is under obligation to obedience, because if he should choose to obey he would choose to obey. in other words he is under obligation to obedience, because, if he did obey, he would obey. determinism or free-will? printed and published by the pioneer press (g. w. foote & co., ltd.), farringdon street, london, e.c. . determinism or free-will? by chapman cohen. new edition. revised and enlarged. london: the pioneer press, farringdon street, e.c. . . contents. chapter page i.--the question stated ii.--"freedom" and "will" iii.--consciousness, deliberation, and choice iv.--some alleged consequences of determinism v.--professor james on the "dilemma of determinism" vi.--the nature and implications of responsibility vii.--determinism and character viii.--a problem in determinism ix.--environment preface to new edition. the demand for a new edition of _determinism or free-will_ is gratifying as affording evidence of the existence of a public, apart from the class catered for by more expensive publications, interested in philosophic questions[ ]. it was, indeed, in the conviction that such a public existed that the book was written. capacity, in spite of a popular impression to the contrary, has no very close relation to cash, nor is interest in philosophic questions indicated solely by the ability to spend a half-guinea or guinea on a work that might well have been published at three or four shillings. there exists a fairly large public of sufficient capacity and education intelligently to discuss the deeper aspects of life, but which has neither time nor patience to give to the study of bulky works that so often leave a subject more obscure at the end than it was at the beginning. [ ] when the mss. of this work was submitted to a well-known firm of publishers, the reply came in the form of an offer to publish the work provided it could be expanded so as to admit of its publication at / . it would have been quite easy to have done this; the difficulty is to compress, and the less a subject is understood the easier it is to write at length on it. but the offer, though financially tempting, would have defeated the purpose for which the work was written, and so was declined. nor does there appear any adequate reason why it should be otherwise. a sane philosophy must base itself on the common things of life, and must deal with the common experience of all men. the man who cannot find material for philosophic study by reflecting on those which are near at hand is not likely to achieve success by travelling all over the globe. he will only succeed in presenting to his readers a more elaborately acquired and a more expensively gained confusion. nor is there any reason why philosophy should be discussed only in the jargon of the schools, except to keep it, like the religious mysteries, the property of the initiated few. we all talk philosophy, as we all talk prose, and doubtless many are as surprised as was m. jourdain, when the fact is pointed out to them. so whatever merit this little work has is chiefly due to the avoidance, so far as possible, of a stereotyped phraseology, and to the elimination of irrelevant matter that has gathered round the subject. the present writer has long had the conviction that the great need in the discussion of ethical and psychological questions is their restatement in the simplest possible terms. the most difficult thing that faces the newcomer to these questions is to find out what they are really all about. writer follows writer, each apparently more concerned to discuss what others have said than to deal with a straightforward discussion of the subject itself. imposing as this method may be, it is fatal to enlightenment. for the longer the discussion continues the farther away from the original question it seems to get. one has heard of "the religion of philosophy," and its acquisition of obscurity in thought and prolixity in language seems to have gone some distance towards earning the title. being neither anxious to parade the extent of my reading, nor greatly overawed by the large number of eminent men who have written on the subject, i decided that what was needed was a plain statement of the problem itself. my concern, therefore, has been to keep out all that has not a direct bearing on the essential question, and only to deal with other writers so far as a discussion of what they say may help to make plain the point at issue. if the result does not carry conviction it at least makes clear the ground of disagreement. and that is certainly something gained. moreover, there is a real need for a clearing away of all the verbal lumber that has been allowed to gather round subjects concerning which intelligent men and women will think even though they may be unable to reach reliable or satisfactory conclusions. and i have good grounds for believing that so far this little work has achieved the purpose for which it was written. if i may say it without being accused of conceit, it has made the subject clear to many who before found it incomprehensible. and, really, philosophy would not be so very obscure, if it were not for the philosophers. we may not always be able to find answers to our questions, but we ought always to understand what the questions are about. that it is not always the case is largely due to those who mistake obscurity for profundity, and in their haste to rise from the ground lose altogether their touch with the earth. c. c. determinism or free-will? i. the question stated. at the tail end of a lengthy series of writers, from augustine to martineau, and from spinoza to william james, one might well be excused the assumption that nothing new remains to be said on so well-worn a topic as that of free-will. against this, however, lies the feeling that in the case of any subject which continuously absorbs attention some service to the cause of truth is rendered by a re-statement of the problem in contemporary language, with such modifications in terminology as may be necessary, and with such illustrations from current positive knowledge as may serve to make the issue clear to a new generation. in the course of time new words are created, while old ones change their meanings and implications. this results not only in the terminology of a few generations back taking on the character of a dead language to the average contemporary reader, but may occasion the not unusual spectacle of disputants using words with such widely different meanings that even a clear comprehension of the question at issue becomes impossible. so much may be assumed without directly controverting or endorsing professor paulsen's opinion that the "free-will problem is one which arose under certain conditions and has disappeared with the disappearance of those conditions;" or the opposite opinion of professor william james that there is no other subject on which an inventive genius has a better chance of breaking new ground. if mankind--even educated mankind--were composed of individuals whose brains functioned with the accuracy of the most approved text-books of logic, professor paulsen's opinion would be self-evidently true. granting that the conditions which gave rise to the belief in free-will have disappeared, the belief itself should have disappeared likewise. professor paulsen's own case proves that he is either wrong in thinking that these conditions have disappeared, or in assuming that, this being the case, the belief has also died out. the truth is that beliefs do not always, or even usually, die with the conditions that gave them birth. society always has on hand a plentiful stock of beliefs that are, like so many intellectual vagrants, without visible means of support. human history would not present the clash and conflict of opinion it does were it otherwise. indeed, if a belief is in possession its ejection is the most difficult of all operations. possession is here not merely nine points of the law, it is often all the law that is acknowledged. beliefs once established acquire an independent vitality of their own, and may defy all destructive efforts for generations. one may, therefore, agree with the first half of professor paulsen's statement without endorsing the concluding portion. the problem has not, so far as the generality of civilized mankind is concerned, disappeared. the originating conditions have gone, but the belief remains, and its real nature and value can only be rightly estimated by a mental reconstruction of the conditions that gave it birth. as spencer has reminded us, the pedigree of a belief is as important as is the pedigree of a horse. we cannot be really certain whether a belief is with us because of its social value, or because of sheer unreasoning conservatism, until we know something of its history. in any case we understand better both it and the human nature that gives it hospitality by knowing its ancestry. and of this truth no subject could better offer an illustration than the one under discussion. reserving this point for a moment, let us ask, "what is the essential issue between the believers in free-will and the upholders of the doctrine of determinism?" one may put the deterministic position in a few words. essentially it is a thorough-going application of the principle of causation to human nature. what copernicus and kepler did for the world of astronomy, determinism aims at doing for the world of psychological phenomena. human nature, it asserts, is part and parcel of nature as a whole, and bears to it the same relation that a part does to the whole. when the determinist refers to the "order of nature" he includes all, and asserts that an accurate analysis of human nature will be found to exemplify the same principle of causation that is seen to obtain elsewhere. true, mental phenomena have laws of their own, as chemistry and biology have their own peculiar laws, but these are additional, not contradictory to other natural laws. any exception to this is apparent, not real. man's nature, physical, biological, psychological, and sociological, is to be studied as we study other natural phenomena, and the closer our study the clearer the recognition that its manifestations are dependent upon processes with which no one dreams of associating the conception of "freedom." determinism asserts that if we knew the quality and inclination of all the forces bearing upon human nature, in the same way that we know the forces determining the motions of a planet, then the forecasting of conduct would become a mere problem in moral mathematics. that we cannot do this, nor may ever be able to do it, is due to the enormous and ever-changing complexity of the forces that determine conduct. but this ought not to blind us to the general truth of the principle involved. to some extent we do forecast human conduct; that we cannot always do so, or cannot do so completely, only proves weakness or ignorance. the determinist claims, therefore, that his view of human nature is thoroughly scientific, and that he is only applying here principles that have borne such excellent fruit elsewhere; and, finally, that unless this view of human nature be accepted the scientific cultivation of character becomes an impossibility. so far the determinist. the believer in free-will--for the future it will be briefer and more convenient to use the term "volitionist" or "indeterminist"--does not on his part deny the influence on the human organism of those forces on which the determinist lays stress. what he denies is that any of them singly, or all of them collectively, can ever furnish an adequate and exhaustive account of human action. he affirms that after analysis has done its utmost there remains an unexplained residuum beyond the reach of the instruments or the methods of positive science. he denies that conduct--even theoretically--admits of explanation and prediction in the same way that explanation and prediction apply to natural phenomena as a whole. it is admitted that circumstances may influence conduct, but only in the way that a cheque for five pounds enables one to become possessed of a certain quantity of bullion--provided the cheque is honoured by the bank. so the "will" may honour or respond to certain circumstances or it may not. in other words, the deterministic influence of circumstances is contingent, not necessary. circumstances determine conduct only when a "free" volition assents to their operation. so against the proposition that conduct is ultimately the conditioned expression of one aspect of the cosmic order, there is the counter-proposition that intentional action is the unconditioned expression of absolutely free beings, and is what it is because of the selective action of an undetermined will. further, against all deterministic analysis the volitionist stubbornly opposes the testimony of consciousness, and the necessity for the belief in free-will as a moral postulate. thus, even when the deterministic analysis of an action--from its source in some external stimuli, to the final neural discharge that secures its performance is complete, it is still urged that no possible analysis can override man's conviction of "freedom." the existence of this conviction is, of course, indisputable, and it forms the bed-rock of all forms of anti-determinism. but the scientific or logical value of a conviction, as such, is surely open to question. equally strong convictions were once held concerning the flatness of the earth's surface, the existence of witches, and a hundred and one other matters. besides, a belief or a conviction is not a basal fact in human nature, it is the last stage of a process, and can therefore prove nothing save the fact of its own existence. human nature at any stage of its existence is an evolution from past human nature, and many prevalent beliefs are as reminiscent in their character as our rudimentary tails are reminiscent of a simian ancestry. i hope later to make it clear that the much talked of testimony of consciousness is quite irrelevant to the question at issue; and also that the assumed necessity for the conception of "freedom" as a moral postulate is really due to a misconception of both the nature of morality and of voluntary action. ultimately the question, as already indicated, resolves itself into one of how far we are justified in applying the principle of causation. the determinist denies any limit to its theoretical application. the volitionist insists on placing man in a distinct and unique category. but this conception of causation is in itself of the nature of a growth, and a study of its development may well throw light on the present question. a conception of causation in some form or other could hardly have been altogether absent from the most primitive races of mankind. some experiences are so uniform, so persistent, and so universal that they would inevitably be connected in terms of cause and effect. nevertheless, the primitive mind was so dominated by volitional conception of nature that a sense of necessary connection between events could only have been of a weak character. experience may have shown that certain physical phenomena succeeded each other in a certain order, but the belief that these phenomena embodied the action of supernormal conscious forces would break in upon that sense of inevitability which is the very essence of scientific causation. modern thought fixes its attention upon a given series of events and declines to go further. with us the order is inevitable. with primitive man the order, even when perceived, is conditional upon the non-interference of assumed supernormal intelligences. each phenomenon, or each group of phenomena, thus possesses to the primitive mind precisely that quality of "freedom" which is now claimed for the human will. how difficult is the task of establishing causal connections between physical phenomena the whole history of science bears witness. to establish causal connections between external conditions and subjective states, where the forces are more numerous and immensely more complex in their combinations, is a task of infinitely greater difficulty. amongst savages it would never be attempted. feelings arise without any traceable connection with surrounding conditions, nor does a recurrence of the same external circumstances produce exactly the same result. a circumstance that produces anger one day may give rise to laughter on another occasion. something that produces a striking effect on one person leaves another quite unaffected. numerous feelings arise in consciousness that have all the superficial signs of being self-generated. the phenomena are too diverse in character, and the connections too complex and obscure, for uninstructed man to reach a deterministic conclusion. the conclusion is inevitable; man himself is the absolute cause of his own actions; he is veritably master of his own fate, subject only to the malign and magical influence of other extra-human personalities. primitive thinking about man is thus quite in line with primitive thinking about other things. in a way man's earliest philosophy of things is more coherent and more rigorously logical than that of modern times. the same principle is applied all round. all force is conceived as vital force; "souls" or "wills" govern all. the division between animate and inanimate things is of the vaguest possible character; that between man and animals can hardly be said to exist. only very gradually do the distinctions between animate and inanimate, voluntary and involuntary actions, which are taken for granted by the modern mind, arise. and it is easy to conceive that in the growth of these distinctions, modes of thinking characteristic of primitive man, would linger longest in the always obscure field of psychology. broadly, however, the growth of knowledge has consisted, as huxley pointed out, in the substitution of a mechanical for a volitional interpretation of things. in one department after another purposeful action yields to inevitable causation. in physics, chemistry, geology, astronomy, and kindred sciences this process is now complete. the volitional interpretation still betrays a feeble vitality in biology; but even here the signs of an early demise are unmistakable. its last stronghold is in psychology, and this because it is at once the newest of the sciences to be placed upon a positive basis, and also the most obscure in its ramifications. yet there can be no reasonable doubt that the same principle which has been found to hold good in other directions will sooner or later be shown to obtain here also. science is by its very nature progressive; and its progress is manifested by the degree to which phenomena hitherto unrelated are brought under constantly enlarging and more comprehensive generalisations. men were once satisfied to explain the "wetness" of water as due to a spirit of "aquosity," the movement of the blood as due to a "certain spirit" dwelling in the veins and arteries. these were not statements of knowledge, but verbose confessions of ignorance. to this same class of belief belongs the "free-will" of the anti-determinist. it is the living representative of that immense family of souls and spirits with which early animistic thought peopled the universe. the surviving member of a once numerous family, it carries with it the promise of the same fate that has already overtaken its predecessors. the origin of the belief in free-will once understood, the reasons for its perpetuation are not difficult to discover. first comes the obscurity of the processes underlying human action. this alone would secure a certain vitality for a belief that has always made the impossibility of explaining the origin, sequence, and relation of mental states its principal defence. beyond offering as evidence the questionable affirmation of consciousness volitionists have been unanimous in resting their case upon their adversary's want of knowledge. and it is further characteristic that while holding to a theory on behalf of which not a single shred of positive evidence has ever been produced, they yet demand the most rigorous and the most complete demonstration of determinism before they will accept it as true; this despite the presumptive evidence in its favour arising from the fact of its harmony with our knowledge in other directions. secondly, the human mind does not at any time commence its philosophic speculations _de novo_. it necessarily builds upon the materials accumulated by previous generations; and usually retains the form in which previous thinking has been cast, even when the contents undergo marked modifications. thus the ghost-soul of the savage, a veritable material copy of the body, by centuries of philosophizing gets refined into the distinct "spiritual" substance of the metaphysician. and this, not because the notion of a "soul" was derived from current knowledge or thinking, but because it was one of the inherited forms of thought to which philosophy had to accommodate itself. the result of this pressure of the past upon contemporary thinking is that a large proportion of mental activity is in each generation devoted to reconciling past theories of things with current knowledge. in our own time the number of volumes written to reconcile the theory of evolution with already existing religious views is a striking example of this phenomenon. and beyond the philosophic few there lies the mass of the people with whom an established opinion of any kind takes on something of a sacred character. unfortunately, too, many writers work with an eye to the prejudices of this class, which prejudices are in turn strengthened by the tacit support of men of ability, or at least by their not openly controverting them. it is, however, of the greatest significance that since the opening of the modern scientific period, wherever qualified thinkers have deliberately based their conclusions upon contemporary knowledge the theory of determinism has been generally upheld. a third cause of the persistence of the belief in "free-will" is its association with theology. for at least four centuries, whenever the discussion of the subject has assumed an acute form, it has been due to theological requirements rather than to ethical or psychological considerations. true, many other reasons have been advanced, but these have been little more than cloaks for the theological interest. apart from theology there does not seem any valid reason why the principle of determinism should rouse more opposition in connection with human character than it does in connection with the course of physical nature. or if it be pointed out that the establishment of the principle of universal causation, as applied to nature at large, was not established without opposition, then the reply is that here again it was the religious interest that dictated the opposition. it was felt that the reduction of all physical phenomena to a mechanical sequence was derogatory to the majesty of god, excluded the deity from his own universe, and generally weakened the force of religious beliefs. and, as a mere matter of historic fact, the establishment of the scientific conception of nature did have, with the bulk of mankind, precisely the consequences predicted. and when in the course of events theological considerations were banished from one department of science after another, it was only natural that theologians should fight with the greater tenacity to maintain a footing in the region of human nature. although the subject is in origin pre-christian, it was in connection with christian theology that it assumed an important place in european thinking. the development of monotheism gave the problem a sharper point and a deeper meaning. the issue here was a simple one. given the belief in god as sole creator and governor of the world, and he may conceivably be related to mankind in one of two ways. either he induces man to carry out his will by an appeal to human reason and emotion, or he has so arranged matters that certain events will inevitably come to pass at a certain time, human effort being one of the contributory agencies to that end. the first supposition leaves man "free"--at least in his relation to deity. the second leads straight to the christian doctrine of predestination. either supposition has, from the theological point of view, its disadvantages. the first leaves man free as against god, but it limits the power of deity by creating an autonomous force that may act contrary to the divine will. the second opens up the question of the divine wisdom and goodness, and by making god responsible for evil conflicts with the demands of the moral sense. evil and goodness are made parts of the divine plan, and as man must fit in with the general pre-arranged scheme, personal merit and demerit disappear. these considerations explain why in the course of the free-will controversy official christianity has ranged itself now on one side and now on the other. it has championed determinism or indeterminism as the occasion served its interest. to-day, owing to easily discoverable reasons, christian writers are, in the main, markedly anti-deterministic. the first clear statement of the christian position, if we omit the pauline teaching that we are all as clay in the hands of the potter, appears in the writings of augustine. in opposition to the pelagians, augustine maintained a doctrine of absolute predestination. no room was allowed for human self-determination to anyone but the first man. adam was created and endowed with free-will, and chose evil--a curious verification of voltaire's definition of free-will as a capacity by means of which man gets himself damned. and as in adam there were contained, potentially, all future generations, all are pre-destined to eternal damnation except such as are saved through the free gift of divine grace. this theory of augustine's, carried to the point of asserting the damnation of infants, was modified in several respects by that great medieval christian teacher, thomas aquinas, who held that while the will might be "free" from external restraint, it was determined by our reason, but was reinstated in full force by john calvin. he denied that the goodness or badness of man had anything whatever to do with the bestowal or withholding of grace. god dooms men either to heaven or hell, for no other reason than that he chooses to do so. most of the leading protestants of the early reformation period were strongly opposed to "free-will." for instance, zwingli asserted that god was the "author, mover, and impeller to sin." still more emphatic was luther. the will of man he compared to a horse, "if mounted by god it wills and wends whithersoever god may will; if mounted by satan it wills and wends whithersoever satan may will; neither hath it any liberty of choice to which of the riders it shall run, or which it shall choose; but the riders themselves contend for its acquisition and possession." among the most powerful essays ever written in defence of determinism was jonathan edwards's, the famous protestant divine, "inquiry into the modern prevailing notions respecting that freedom of will which is supposed to be essential to moral agency, virtue and vice, reward and punishment, praise and blame," and to which i shall have occasion to refer later. finally, the explicit declarations of the westminster confession of faith and the articles of the church of england, that man's will,--in the absence of grace,--cannot accomplish good works, throw a curious light on the theological opponents of determinism who denounce it as anti-christian and immoral. ii. "freedom" and "will." to david hume the dispute between the advocates of "free-will" and the advocates of "necessity" was almost entirely a matter of words. the essence of the question, he thought, both sides were agreed on, and consequently expressed the opinion that "a few intelligible definitions would immediately have put an end to the whole controversy." that hume was over sanguine is shown by the controversy being still with us. yet his recommendation as to intelligible definitions, while pertinent to all controversy, is specially so with regard to such a subject as that of "free-will." for much of the anti-determinist case actually rests upon giving a misleading significance to certain phrases, while applying others in a direction where they have no legitimate application. consider, for instance, the controversial significance of such a phrase as "liberty _versus_ necessity"--the older name for determinism. we all love liberty, we all resent compulsion, and, as mill pointed out, he who announces himself as a champion of liberty has gained the sympathies of his hearers before he has commenced to argue his case. such words play the same part that "catchy" election cries do in securing votes. such phrases as "power of choice," "sense of responsibility," "testimony of consciousness," "consciousness of freedom," are all expressions that, while helpful and legitimate when used with due care and understanding, as usually employed serve only to confuse the issue and prevent comprehension. not that the dispute between the volitionist and the determinist is a merely verbal one. the controversy carries with it a significance of the deepest kind. fundamentally the issue expresses the antagonism of two culture stages, an antagonism which finds expression in many other directions. we are in fact concerned with what tylor well calls the deepest of all distinctions in human thought, the distinction that separates animism from materialism. much as philosophic ingenuity may do in the way of inventing defences against the application of the principle of causation to human action, the deeper our analysis of the controversy, the more clearly is it seen that we are dealing with an attenuated form of that primitive animism which once characterised all human thinking. the persistence of types is a phenomenon that occurs as frequently in the world of mind as it does in the world of biology. or just as when a country is overrun by a superior civilisation, primitive customs are found lingering in remote districts, so unscientific modes of thinking linger in relation to the more obscure mental processes in spite of the conquests of science in other directions. it is well to bear these considerations in mind, even while admitting that a great deal of the dispute does turn upon the fitness of the language employed, and the accuracy with which it is used. and if intelligible definition may not, as hume hoped, end the controversy, it will at least have the merit of making the issue plain. what is it that people have in their minds when they speak of the "freedom of the will"? curiously enough, the advocates of "free-will" seldom condescend to favour us with anything so commonplace as a definition, or if they do it tells us little. we are consequently compelled to dig out the meanings of their cardinal terms from the arguments used. now the whole of the argument for "free-will" makes the word "free" or "freedom" the equivalent to _an absence of determining conditions_; either this, or the case for "free-will" is surrendered. for if a man's decisions are in any way influenced--"influenced" is here only another word for "determined"--determinism is admitted. i need not argue whether decisions are wholly or partly determined, the real and only question being whether they are determined at all. what is called by some a limited free-will is really only another name for unlimited nonsense. "freedom," as used by the volitionist, being an equivalent for "absence of determining conditions," let us ask next what this means. here i am brought to a dead halt. i do not know what it means. i cannot even conceive it as meaning anything at all. at any rate, i am quite certain that it is outside the region of scientific thought and nomenclature. scientifically, atoms of matter are not _free_ to move in any direction, the planets are not _free_ to move in any shaped orbit, the blood is not _free_ to circulate, the muscles are not _free_ to contract, the brain is not _free_ to function. in all these cases what takes place is the result of all converging circumstances and conditions. given these and the result follows. scientifically, the thing that occurs is the only thing possible. if the word "free" is used in science, it is as a figure of speech, as when one speaks of a free gas, or of the blood not being free to circulate owing to the existence of a constricted artery. but in either case all that is meant is that a change in the nature of the conditions gives rise to a corresponding change of result. the determination of the gas or the blood to behave in a definite way is as great in any case. from the point of view of science, then, to speak of an absence of determining conditions is the most complete nonsense. all science is a search for the conditions that determine phenomena. save as a metaphor, "freedom" has no place whatever in positive science. are we then to discard the use of such a word as "freedom" altogether? by no means. properly applied, the word is intelligible and useful enough. when, for instance, we speak of a free man, a free state, a free country, or free trade, we are using the word "free" in a legitimate manner, and can give to it a precise significance. a free state is one in which the people composing it pursue their way uncoerced by other states. a free man is one who is at liberty to exert bodily action or express his opinions. we do not mean that in the first instance the people are not governed by laws, or that physical conditions are without influence on them; nor do we mean, in the second instance, that the actions and opinions of the free man are not the result of heredity, bodily structure, education, social position, etc. the obvious meaning of "freedom" in each of these cases is an absence of external and non-essential coercion. it does not touch the question of why we act as we do, or of why we please to act in this or that manner. as jonathan edwards puts it: "the plain, obvious meaning of the words 'freedom' and 'liberty' is power and opportunity, or advantage that any one has to do as he pleases." or as hume put it more elaborately:-- "what is meant by liberty when applied to voluntary actions? we cannot surely mean that actions have so little connection with motives, inclinations, and circumstances that one does not follow with a certain degree of uniformity from the other. for these are plain and acknowledged matters of fact. by liberty, then, we can only mean a power of acting or not acting, according to the determination of the will--that is, if we choose to remain at rest we may; and if we choose to move, we also may." the ultimate significance of "liberty" or "freedom" is thus sociological. here it expresses a fact; in positive science it is a mere metaphor, and, as experience shows, a misleading one. its use in philosophy dates from the time of the greeks, and when they spoke of a free man they were borrowing an illustration from their social life. there were slaves and there were free men, and in speaking of a free man people were not so likely as they were at a later date to be misled by a metaphor. unfortunately, its use in philosophy has continued, while its limitations have been ignored. to ask if a man is free is an intelligible question. to ask whether actions are free from the determining associations of organization and environment admits of but one intelligible reply. personally, i agree with professor bain that the term "is brought in by main force, into a phenomenon to which it is altogether incommensurable," and it would be well if it could be excluded altogether from serious discussion[ ]. [ ] "the subjective sense of freedom, sometimes alleged against determinism, has no bearing on the question whatever. the view that it has a bearing rests upon the belief that causes compel their effects, or that nature enforces obedience to its laws as governments do. these are mere anthropomorphic superstitions, due to assimilation of causes with volitions, and of natural laws with human edicts. we feel that our will is not compelled, but that only means that it is not other than we choose it to be. it is one of the demerits of the traditional theory of causality that it has created an artificial opposition between determinism and the freedom of which we are introspectively conscious." (bertrand russell, _mysticism and logic_, p. .) so also wundt: "freedom and constraint are reciprocal concepts; they are both necessarily connected with consciousness; outside of consciousness they are both imaginary concepts, which only a mythologising imagination could relate to things." (_human and animal psychology_, p. .) now let us take that equally confusing word "will." unfortunately, few of those who champion the freedom of the will think it worth while to trouble their readers with a clear definition of what they mean by it. the orthodox definition of the will as "a faculty of the soul" tells us nothing. it is explaining something the existence of which is questioned by reference to something else the existence of which is unknown. or the definition is volunteered, "will is the power to decide," a description which only tells us that to will is to will. professor james tells us that "desire, wish, will, are states of mind which every one knows, and which no definition can make plainer." this may be true of desire and wish; it certainly is not true of "will." there is no question as to "will" being a state of mind, but as to every one knowing its character, and above all possessing the knowledge enabling him to discriminate between "will" and "desire" and "wish," this is highly questionable. one may also be permitted the opinion that if advocates of "free-will" were to seriously set themselves the task of discovering what they do mean by "will," and also in what way it may be differentiated from other mental states, the number of the champions of that curious doctrine would rapidly diminish. what is it that constitutes an act of volition, or supplies us with the fact of will? the larger part of our bodily movements do not come under the heading of volition at all. the primary bodily movements are reflex, instinctive, emotional, the action following without any interposition of consciousness. of course, an action that is performed quite automatically at one time may be voluntarily performed at another time. i may close my eyelid deliberately, or it may be because of the approach of some foreign object. or an action, if it be performed frequently, tends to become automatic. to come within the category of a voluntary action, it must be performed consciously, and there is also present some consciousness of an end to be realized. every voluntary action is thus really dependent upon memory. a newly-born child has no volitions, only reflexes. it is only when experience has supplied us with an idea of what _may_ be done that we _will_ it shall be done. this consideration alone is enough to shatter the case for the supposed freedom of the will.[ ] [ ] the essential issue is again confused by the language employed. if all volitional action is action performed with the view to an end, a quite correct and completely adequate word would be "intentional"! if we were to speak of an "intentional" action instead of a voluntary one, the nature of the act would be clear, the factors of experience, memory, consciousness of an end, would be indicated, and the misleading associations of "willing" avoided. it is difficult, however, to introduce a new terminology, and so i must beg the reader, in the interests of clarity, to bear in mind that whenever "voluntary action" is referred to, it is "intentional" action that is connoted by the phrase. if we analyze any simple act of volition what has just been said will be made quite clear. i am sitting in a room and _will_ to open a window; it may be to get fresh air, to look out, or for some other reason. assume that the first is the correct reason, the room being close and "stuffy." first of all, then, i become aware of a more or less unpleasant feeling; my experience tells me this is because the air in the room needs purifying. experience also tells me that by opening a window the desired result will be obtained. finally, i open the window and experience a feeling of relief and satisfaction. now had the room been without a window, and the door bolted from the outside, or had the window been too heavy for me to raise, no "volition" would have arisen. i should still have had the desire for fresh air, but not seeing any means by which this could be obtained, i should have had no _motive_ for action, and should have remained perfectly passive. in order that my desire may operate as a motive there must be not only a consciousness of a need, but also a mental representation of the means by which that need is to be gratified. i _will_ to do a thing, when allied to the desire for that thing there is a conception of _how_ it is to be done, of the means to be employed. without this i have no motive, only a desire; without a consciousness of the nature of the desire, there is nothing but pure feeling. "willing terminates with the prevalence of the idea...." "attention with effort is all that any case of volition implies." (prof. w. james, _princip. of psychology_, ii. - .) the stages of the process are, feeling rising into consciousness as desire, the perception of the means to realize an end which raises the desire from the statical to the dynamic stage of motive, and finally a voluntary or intentional action. now at no stage of this process is there room for the intervention of any power or faculty not expressed in a strictly sequential process. of course, the action i have taken as an example is an exceedingly simple one, but the more complex actions only offer greater difficulties of analysis without leading to any different result. this will be seen more clearly when we come to deal with "choice" and "deliberation." from the moment that a certain stimulus creates a desire in an organism, to the time that desire expresses itself in action, there is no gap in the chain through which a "free-will" may manifest its being. the physiologist points out that at the basis of all our feelings and ideas there lie certain neural processes. the psychologist takes up the story and from the dawn of desire to action finds no break--or at least none that future knowledge may not reasonably hope to make good. want of knowledge may at present prevent our tracing all the details of the process, but this is surely a very inadequate ground on which to affirm the existence of a power at variance with our knowledge of nature in other directions.[ ] [ ] whether we work backward or forward the result is the same. strip off from the mind all feelings, desires, all consciousness of ends and means to ends, and what there is left is not a "will" ready to throw the weight of its preference in this or that direction, but a complete blank. now in thus tracing the course of a voluntary action are we doing any more than observing the action of desire in consciousness? if, yes, the writer is quite unaware of the fact. if i remove all feeling, all desire, all motive, "the will" disappears. excite feeling, generate desire, and there is the occasion for a voluntary action. multiply the number of desires and the operation of "will" becomes evident. thus when a writer like professor hyslop says, "if two motives offer different attractions to the will," the reply is that the "will" is not one thing, and motives other things, but two aspects of one fact. the "will" is not something that decides or chooses between motives; the "will" is nothing more than the name given to that motive or cluster of motives which is sufficiently strong to overcome resistance and to express itself in action. i emphasize the expression "overcome resistance" because without competing motives and a sense of resistance we have no clear consciousness of volition. where only one desire is present in consciousness, or where it is of overwhelming strength, feeling is succeeded by action without any recognizable hiatus. it is the sense of conflict, the break, that is essential to creating a lively sense of volition, and also, as shall see later, to the sense of choice and deliberation. but in speaking of an action as the expression of motives, or as an expression of "will," both statements are identical so far as the fact is concerned. we have not desires, motives, and "will," there is simply a desire or desires that assume the quality of a motive by being strong enough to result in action. as spencer has put it, "will is no more an existence apart from the predominant feeling than a king is an existence apart from the man occupying the throne." all that is to be found in any act of "will" is a desire accompanied by the consciousness of an end. to put the same thing in another way, we have a desire, the consciousness of an end and the means of realizing it, and, finally, action. to the physiological and psychological processes that culminate in action we give the name of motive. properly speaking a motive that does not issue in action--or inhibition--is not a motive at all, it is a mere desire. and apart from the presence of desire, or of desires, "will" does not exist. it is a pure abstraction, valuable enough as an abstraction, but having no more real existence apart from particular motives, than "tree" is a real existence apart from particular trees. physiologically, says dr. maudsley:-- "we cannot choose but reject _the_ will.... as physiologists we have to deal with volition as a function of the supreme centres, following reflection, varying in quantity and quality as its cause varies, strengthened by education and exercise, enfeebled by disuse, decaying with decay of structure.... we have to deal with will not as a single undecomposable faculty unaffected by bodily conditions, but as a result of organic changes in the supreme centres, affected as certainly and as seriously by disorders of them as our motor faculties are by disorders of their centres." and, says professor sully, referring to _the_ will:-- "modern scientific psychology knows nothing of such an entity. as a science of phenomena and their laws, it confines itself to a consideration of the processes of volition, and wholly discards the hypothesis of a substantial will as unnecessary and unscientific." neither physiology nor psychology, neither a sane science nor a sound philosophy, knows anything of, or can find use for, an autonomous "will." "will" as the final term of a discoverable series may be admitted; "will" as a self-directing force, deciding whether particular desires shall or shall not prevail, answers to nothing conformable to our knowledge of man, and is plainly but the ghost of the wills and souls of our savage ancestors. if instead of speaking of the freedom of the will, we spoke of uncaused volitions, the position of the volitionist would be clear, and its indefensible character plain to all. but by giving the abstraction "will" a concrete existence, and by taking from sociology a word such as "freedom" and using it in a sphere in which it has no legitimate application, the issue is confused, and a scientifically absurd theory given an air of plausibility. the dispute between the determinist and the indeterminist is certainly not one of words only, but it is one in which the cardinal terms employed need the most careful examination if we are to clear away from the subject the verbal fog created by theologians and metaphysicians. iii. consciousness, deliberation, and choice. the one argument used by the indeterminist against the deterministic position with some degree of universality is that of the testimony of consciousness. it is the one to which practically all have appealed, and which all have flattered themselves was simple in nature and convincing in character. professor sidgwick, although he admitted that this testimony might be illusory, yet asserted "there is but one opposing argument of real force, namely, the immediate affirmation of consciousness in the moment of deliberate action." and by the testimony of consciousness must be meant, not, of course, a consciousness of acting, but that at the moment of acting we could, _under identical conditions_, have selected and acted upon an alternative that has been rejected. i emphasize the phrase "under identical conditions," because otherwise nothing is in dispute, and because, as we shall see, this important consideration has not been always or even frequently borne in mind. the question is, what does consciousness really tell us, and how far is its testimony valid? in some directions it must be admitted that the testimony of consciousness is absolute. in others it cannot, without verification, claim any authority whatever. when i say that i have a feeling of heat or coldness, of pleasure or pain, there is here a direct deliverance of consciousness against which there is no appeal. but consciousness does not and cannot tell me why i feel hot or cold, or what is the cause of a pain i am experiencing. in this last case the testimony of consciousness may be distinctly misleading. as it tells us nothing of the existence of a brain, a nervous system, viscera, etc., its testimony as to the cause of pain is obviously of no value. we are conscious of states of mind, and that is all. a man seized with sudden paralysis may be conscious of his power to move a limb, only to discover by experience his impotence. in short, consciousness cannot, indeed does not, tell us the causes of our states of mind. for this information we are thrown back upon observation, experiment, and experience. we must, then, make quite sure when we interrogate consciousness, exactly what it is that consciousness says, and whether what it says is on a subject that comes within its province. what is, then, the testimony of consciousness? when it is said that we are conscious of our ability to have selected one alternative at the time that another is chosen, i think this may be fairly met with the retort that consciousness is unable to inform us as to our actual ability to _do_ anything at all. i may be quite conscious of a desire to jump a six foot fence, or lift a weight of half a ton, but whether i am actually able to do so or not, only experience can decide. what i am really conscious of is a desire to vault a given height or lift a given weight, and it is surely an inexcusable confusion to speak of a desire to do a particular thing as the equivalent of an ability to do it. if a consciousness of desire equalled the ability to perform failure would be but little known among men. all that consciousness really tells us is of the existence of passing states of mind. it can tell us nothing of their origin, their value, or their consequences. in the particular instance under consideration consciousness informs us of the fact of choice, and this no determinist has ever dreamed of denying. he does assert that choice, as the indeterminist persists in using the term, is a delusion, but otherwise, as will be shown later, he claims that it is only on deterministic lines that choice can have any meaning or ethical significance. in any voluntary action i am conscious of the possibility of choice and of having chosen, and that is really all. what is the nature of that possibility, and why i choose one thing rather than another--on these points consciousness can give us no information whatever. one might as reasonably argue that a consciousness of hunger gives us a knowledge of the process of digestion, as argue that a consciousness of choice supplies us with a knowledge of the mechanism of the process. we are conscious of the presence of several desires, we are also conscious that out of these several desires one is strong enough to rank as a motive, but it tells us absolutely nothing of the causes or conditions that have resulted in the emergence of that motive. instead of telling us that we could have acted in opposition to the strongest motive--which is really the indeterminist position--consciousness simply reveals which desire is the most powerful. we are conscious that other desires were present, we are also aware of the possibility that another desire than the one that actually prevailed might have been the most powerful; but when we admit this and say that we _could_ have acted differently, we have really displaced the actual conditions by imaginary ones. we _might_ have preferred to act differently. this is not denied. it is not questioned that we do choose, or that the same person chooses, differently or different occasions. the question really is, why have we chosen thus or thus? and so far as consciousness is concerned we are quite in the dark as to why one choice is made rather than another, what are the conditions that give rise to our conscious desires, or why one desire is more powerful than another. consciousness, then, can testify only to the reality of its own states; no more. it can tell us nothing of their causes. it cannot tell us that man has a brain and nervous system, and can tell us nothing of the connection between mental states and the condition of the bodily organs. the chief factor in conduct (habit) lies outside the region of consciousness altogether. in most cases we act as we have been in the habit of acting, and our present conduct expresses the sum of our previous actions and inclinations. every action we perform assists the formation of a habit, and with every repetition of a particular action we find its performance easier. indeed, a very powerful criticism of the trustworthiness of consciousness is found in the fact that the determining causes of conduct lie largely in the region of the unconscious or subconscious, and of this territory consciousness can tell us no more than a ripple on the surface of a river can tell us of its depths. next to the emphasis upon the testimony of consciousness the indeterminist lays special stress upon the facts of choice and deliberation. can we really say, it is asked, that man chooses and deliberates, or even that in any genuine sense he does anything at all, if all his actions are pre-determined by his constitution and environment? if every act of man is determined and man himself a mere stage in the process unending and unbroken, is it not idle to speak of man deliberating on alternatives and choosing that which seems to him best? we continue using words that on deterministic lines have lost all meaning. and if determinists do not realise this, it is because the logical implications of their doctrines have never been fully explored. well, it entirely depends upon the sense in which one uses the cardinal terms in the discussion. if deliberation and choice when applied to mental processes are used in the same sense as when these terms are used as descriptive of the proceedings of a committee, then we can all agree that deliberation would be as great a sham as it would be if the members of a committee before meeting had determined upon their decision. but, we may note in passing, that even here, when the deliberations are genuine, the votes of each member are supposed to be decided by the reasons advanced during the discussion--that is the decision of each individual member is determined by the forces evoked during the deliberations. the scientific method, and it may be added, the sane and profitable method, is not to come to the study of a problem with ready-made meanings and compel the facts, under penalty of disqualification, to agree with them, but to let the facts determine what meaning is to be attached to the words used. it is mere childish petulance for the indeterminist to say that unless certain words are used with _his_ meaning they shall not be used at all, but shall be expelled from our vocabulary. when gravity was conceived as a force moving downward through infinite space, the existence of people on the other side of the earth was denied as being contrary to the law of gravitation. a more correct knowledge of the phenomena did not lead people to discard gravity; the meaning of the word was revised. and really neither language nor morality is the private property of the indeterminist, and he is, therefore, not at liberty to annihilate either for not coming up to his expectations. he must submit to such revision of his ideas, or his language, or of both, as more accurate knowledge may demand. the question is not, then, whether determinism destroys deliberation and choice and responsibility, but what meaning determinism can legitimately place upon these words, and is this meaning in harmony with what we know to be true. with responsibility we will deal at length later. for the present let us see what is really involved in the fact of choice. determinism, we are advised, must deny the reality of choice, because choice assumes alternatives, and there can be no genuine alternatives if events are determined. let us see. if i am watching a stone rolling down a hillside, and am in doubt as to whether it will pass to the right or to the left of a given point, i shall not recognize any resident capacity in the stone for choosing one path rather than the other. the absence of consciousness in the stone precludes such an assumption. but suppose we substitute for the stone a barefooted human being, and assume that one path is smooth while the other is liberally sprinkled with sharp pointed stones. there would then be an obvious reason for the selection of one path, and no one would hesitate to say that here was an illustration of the exercise of choice. choice, then, is a phenomenon of consciousness, and it implies a recognition of alternatives. but a recognition of alternatives does not by any means imply that either of two are equally eligible. it is merely a consciousness of the fact that they exist, and that either might be selected were circumstances favourable to its selection. without labouring the point we may safely say that all that is given in the fact of choice is the consciousness of a choice. there is nothing in it that tells us of the conditions of the selection, or whether it was possible for the agent to have chosen differently or not. so far there is nothing in determinism that is discordant with the fact of choice, indeed, it has a perfectly reasonable theory of the process. why is there a choice or selection of things or actions? clearly the reason must be looked for in the nature of the thing selected, or in the nature of the agent that selects, or in a combination of both factors. either there is an organic prompting in favour of the thing selected, as when a baby takes a bottle of milk and rejects a bottle of vinegar, or there is a recognition that the selection will enable the agent to better realize whatever end he has in view. the alternatives are there, and they are real in the only sense in which they can be real. but they are not real in the sense of their being equally eligible--which is the sense in which the indeterminist uses the word. for that would destroy choice altogether. unless a selection is made because certain things offer greater attractions than other things to the agent, no intelligible meaning can be attached to such a word as "choice." we should have a mere blind explosion of energy, the direction taken no more involving choice than the stone's path down a hillside. and if the "will" chooses between alternatives because one is more desirable than the other, its "freedom" (in the indeterminist sense) is sacrificed, and the selection is correspondingly determined. there can be no real choice in the absence of a determinative influence exercised by one of the things chosen. but it is urged that this line of reasoning does not explain the feeling of possibility that we have at the moment of action. i think it explains possibility as it explains choice, provided we allow facts to determine the meaning of words instead of torturing facts to suit certain forms of language. if by possibility we mean that under identical conditions, other things than those which actually occur are possible, then this may be confidently met with a flat denial. if, on the other hand, it is meant that by varying the conditions other possibilities become actualities, this is a statement that to a determinist is self-evident. as a matter of fact, there are only two senses in which the word "possibility" may be rightly used, and neither sense yields any evidence against determinism. one of these meanings is simply an expression of our own ignorance on the matter that happens to be before us. if i am asked what kind of weather we are likely to have a month hence, i should reply that it is equally possible the day may be dry or wet, bright or dull. i do not mean to imply that had i adequate knowledge it would not be as easy to predict the kind of weather on that date as it is to predict the position of neptune. it is simply an expression of my own ignorance. but, as spinoza pointed out, possibility narrows as knowledge grows. to complete ignorance anything is possible because the course of events is unknown. as a comprehension of natural causation develops, people speak less of what may possibly occur, and more of what will occur. possibility here has no reference to the course of events, only to our knowledge, or want of knowledge, concerning their order. to say that it is possible for a man to do either this or that is, so far as a spectator is concerned, only to say that our knowledge concerning the man's whole nature is not extensive enough, or exact enough for us to predict what he will do. nor is the case altered if instead of an outsider, it is the agent himself who is incapable of prediction. for all that amounts to is the assertion that the agent is ignorant of the relative strength of desires that may be aroused under a particular conjuncture of circumstances. the second sense of "possibility" depends upon our ability to imagine conditions not actually present at the moment of action. by a trick of imagination i can picture myself acting differently, or, on looking back, i can see that i might have acted differently. but in either case i have altered in thought the conditions that actually existed at the moment of action. generally, all it means is that with a number of conflicting desires present, i am conscious that a very slight variation in the relative strength of these desires would result in a different course of conduct. and the conditions affecting conduct are so complex and so easily varied that it is small wonder there is lacking in this instance that sense of inevitability present when one is dealing with physical processes. but the essential question is not whether a slight change of conditions would produce a different result, but whether under identical conditions two opposite courses of action are equally possible? and this is not only untrue in fact, it is unthinkable, as a formal proposition. even the old adage, "there, but for the grace of god, go i," while recognizing a different possibility, also recognized that a variation in the factors--the elimination of the grace of god--is essential if the possibility was to become an actuality. that the sense of possibility implies more than this may be safely denied, let who will make the opposite affirmation. this discussion of the nature and function of choice will help us to realize more clearly than would otherwise be the case the nature of deliberation. this question has always played an important part in the free-will controversy, because it has stood as the very antithesis of a reflex or obviously mechanical action. deliberation, it has been argued, does very clearly point to a determinative power exercised by the human will, and a power that cannot be explained in the same terms with which we explain other events. one anti-determinist writer remarks that "if a volition is the effect of a 'motive,' it should follow immediately upon the occurrence of the motive. but if there is deliberation between motives, they do not seem to have casual power to initiate a volition until a prior causal power directs them, and this would be the deliberating subject." now there are numerous cases, the majority probably, where action does follow immediately upon the presence of desire. and in such cases we are not aware of any process of deliberation, although there may be a truly intentional action. and from this single case we have a whole series of examples that will take us to the other extreme where the desires are so numerous and so conflicting that an excess of deliberation may prevent action altogether. let us take an illustration. sitting in my room on a fine day i am conscious of a desire for a walk. provided no opposing feeling or desire is present i should at once rise and go out. but i may be conscious of a number of other feelings based upon various considerations. there is the fact of leaving the task on which i am engaged, and the desire to get it finished. there is the trouble of dressing, the consideration that once out i may wish i had stayed in, or that it may rain, or that i may be needed at home: all these result in a state of indecision, and induce deliberation. imagination is excited, ideal feelings are aroused, and eventually a choice is made. i decide on the walk. what is it, now, that has occurred? my first desire for a walk has been enforced by a representation of all the advantages that may be gained by going out, and these have proved themselves strong enough to bear down all opposition. had any other desire gained strength, or had the conviction that it would rain been strong enough, a different motive would have emerged from this conflict of desires and ideas. no matter how we vary the circumstances, this is substantially what occurs in every case where deliberation and choice are involved. not only is this what does occur, but it is impossible to picture clearly any other process. the only evidence we can have of the relative strength of ideas is that one triumphs over others. to say that the weaker desire triumphs is to make a statement the absurdity of which is self-evident. this conclusion cannot be invalidated by the argument that a particular desire becomes the stronger because the "will" declares in its favour. one need only ask, by way of reply, why does the "will" declare in favour of one desire rather than another? there is no dispute that a choice is made. those who say that a man can choose what he likes are not making a statement that conflicts in the slightest degree with determinism. the determinist says as clearly as anyone that i do what i choose to do. the real question is why do i choose this rather than that? why does the "will" pronounce in favour of one desire rather than another? no one can believe that all desires are of equal strength or value to the agent. such an assumption would be too absurd for serious argument. but if all desires are not of equal strength and value, the only conclusion left is that certain ones operate because they are, in relation to the particular organism, of greater value than others. and in that case we are simply restating determinism. the action of the environment is conditioned by the nature of the organism. the reaction of the organism is conditioned by the character of the environment. the resultant is a compound of the two. it is, moreover, an absurdity to speak of the "will" or the self as though this were something apart from the various phases of consciousness. in the contest of feelings and desires that calls forth deliberation _i_ am equally involved in every aspect of the process. as professor james points out, "both effort and resistance are ours, and the identification of our _self_ with one of these factors is an illusion and a trick of speech." my self and my mental states are not two distinct things; they constitute myself, and if these are eliminated there is no self left to talk about. further, in the growth of each individual, conscious and deliberative action can be seen developing out of automatic action--the simplest and earliest type of action. not only does deliberative action develop from reflex action, but it sinks into reflex action again. one of the commonest of experiences is that actions performed at one time slowly and after deliberation are at another time performed rapidly and automatically. every action contributes to the formation of a habit, and frequently repetition results in the habit becoming a personal characteristic. deliberation and choice are not even always the mark of a highly developed character; they may denote a poorly-developed one--one that is ill adapted to social requirements. one man, on going into a room where there is a purse of money, may only after long deliberation and from conscious choice refrain from stealing it. another person, under the same conditions, may be conscious of no choice, no effort, the desire to steal the purse being one that is foreign to his nature. in two such by no means uncommon instances, we should have no doubt as to which represented the higher type of character. morally, it is not the feeling, "i could have acted dishonestly instead of honestly had i so chosen," that marks the ethically developed character, but the performance of the right action at the right moment, without a consciousness of tendency in the opposite direction. but the aim of education is, in the one direction, to weaken the sense of choice by the formation of right habits, moral and intellectual; and on the other hand by bringing man into a more direct contact with a wider and more complex environment, deliberation becomes one of the conditions of a co-ordination of ideas and actions that will result in a more perfect adaptation. iv. some alleged consequences of determinism. not the least curious aspect of the free-will controversy is that those who oppose determinism base a large part of their argumentation upon the supposed evil consequences that will follow its acceptance. in a work from which i have already cited, mr. f. c. s. schiller falls foul of determinism because, he says, while incompatible with morality, its champions nevertheless imagine they are leaving morality undisturbed. the real difficulty of determinism is, he says, that in its world, events being fully determined, there can be no alternatives. things are what they must be. they must be because they are. no man can help doing what he does. man himself belongs to a sequence unending and unbroken. "to imagine therefore that determinism, after annihilating the moral agent, remains compatible with morality, simply means that the logical implications of the doctrine have never been fully explored." and he adds: "the charge against it is not merely that it fails to do full justice to the ethical fact of responsibility, but that it utterly annihilates the moral agent." this, he says, is the real dilemma, and determinism has never answered it. it is curious that so clever a writer as mr. schiller should fail to realize that taking determinism in its most drastic form, and accepting it in the most unequivocal manner, nothing can suffer, because everything remains as it must be--including the facts, feelings, and consequences of the moral life. observe, it is part of mr. schiller's case against determinism that on determinist lines everything, down to the minutest happenings, is the necessary result of all antecedent and co-operating conditions. but this being the case, if determinism leaves no room for chance or absolute origination, how comes it that an acceptance of determinism initiates an absolutely new thing--the destruction of morality? surely it is coming very near the absurd to charge determinism with breaking an unbreakable sequence. it is surely idle to credit determinism with doing what is impossible for it to accomplish. so far as morality is a real thing, so far as the facts of the moral life are real things, determinism must leave them substantially unaltered. the problem is, as has been already said, to find out for what exactly all these things stand. to read wrong meanings into the facts of life, and then to declare that the facts cease to exist if the meanings are corrected, is unphilosophical petulance. it is, indeed, quite open to the determinist to meet these grave fears as to the consequences of determinism with a denial that morality is vitally concerned with the question of whether man's "will" be "free" or not. the question of determinism may enter into the subject of how to develop character along desirable lines; and, apart from determinism, it is difficult to see how there can be anything like a scientific cultivation of character. but the fact of morality and the value of morality are not bound up with whether conduct be the expression of theoretically calculable factors, or whether it is, on the one side, determined by a self which originates its own impulses. determinism or no determinism, murder, to take an extreme illustration, is never likely to become an every-day occupation in human society. neither can any other action that is obviously injurious to the well-being of society be practised beyond certain well-defined limits. the laws of social health operate to check socially injurious actions, as the laws of individual health operate to check injurious conduct in dietary or in hygiene. determinists and indeterminists, as may easily be observed, manifest a fairly uniform measure of conduct, and whatever variations from the normal standard each displays cannot well be put down to their acceptance or rejection of determinism. the real nature of morality is best seen if one asks oneself the question, "what is morality?" let us imagine the human race reduced to a single individual. what would then be the scope and character of morality? it is without question that a large part of our moral rules would lose all meaning. theft, murder, unchastity, slander, etc., would be without meanings, for the simple reason that there would be none against whom such offences could be committed. would there be any moral laws or moral feelings left? would there even be a man left under such conditions? one might safely query both statements. for if we take away from this solitary individual all that social culture and intercourse have given him--language, knowledge, habits both mental and moral, all, in short, that has been developed through the agency of the social medium--man, as we know him, disappears, and a mere animal is left in his place. even the feeling that a man has a duty to himself, and that to realize his highest possibilities is the most imperative of moral obligations, is only an illustration of the same truth. for very little analysis serves to show that even this derives its value from the significance of the individual to the social structure. morality, then, is wholly a question of relationship. not whether my actions spring from a self-determined "will" or even whether they are the inevitable consequent of preceding conditions makes them moral or immoral, but their influence in forwarding or retarding certain ideal social relations. the rightness or wrongness of an action lies in its consequences. whether one is of the utilitarian or other school of morals does not substantially affect the truth of this statement. action without consequences--assuming its possibility--would have no moral significance whatever. and consequences remain whether we accept or reject determinism. determinism cannot alter or regulate the consequences of actions, it can only indicate their causes and their results. what a science of morals is really concerned with is, objectively, the consequences of actions, and subjectively the feelings that lead to their performance. when a science of morals has determined what actions best promote desirable relations between human beings, and what states of mind are most favourable to the performance of such actions, its task as a science of morals is concluded. the genesis of such states of mind belongs to psychology, just as to sociology belong the creation and maintenance of such social conditions as will best give them expression and actuality. the question of the moral consequences of determinism is not, therefore, discussed because we believe there is any relevancy in the issue thus raised, but solely because it is raised, and not to deal with it may create a prejudice against determinism. many of those who quite admit the scientific character of determinism, yet insist on the necessity for some sort of indeterminism in the region of morals. professor william james, for instance, admits that a profitable study of mental phenomena is impossible unless we postulate determinism (_prin. psych._ ii. ). but having admitted this, and in fact illustrated it through the whole of his two volumes, his next endeavour is to find a place for "free-will" as a "moral postulate." the region of morals is thus made to play the part of a haven of refuge for illegitimate and unscientific theories, a kind of workhouse for all mental vagrants found at large without visible means of support. the moral postulate which is to reinstate "free-will," is that "what ought to be can be, and that bad acts cannot be fated, but that good ones must be possible in their place." in a writer usually so clear this somewhat ambiguous deliverance is far more indicative of a desire to befriend an oppressed theory than of the possession of any good evidence in its behalf. the matter really turns upon what is meant by "ought" and "possible." it has already been pointed out that if by "possible" it is meant that although one thing actually occurs, another thing--a different thing--might have occurred without any alteration in the accompanying conditions, the statement is not only untrue in fact, but it is inconceivable as possibly true. and if it does not mean this, then professor james is merely stating what every determinist most cheerfully endorses. but in that case the "possibility" gives no support whatever to the indeterminist. further, professor james says that determinism is a clear and seductive conception so long as one "stands by the great scientific postulate that the world must be one unbroken fact, and that prediction of all things without exception must be ideally, even if not actually, possible." on which one may enquire, how prediction could be at all possible unless, given the co-operating conditions, a definite and particular result is inevitable? but if prediction be possible--and the whole power of science lies in its power of prediction--what becomes of the value of "possibility" to the indeterminist? is it any more than an expression of our ignorance of the power of particular factors, and a consequent ignorance of their resultant? to say that certain things "ought" to be, or that one "ought" to act in this or that particular manner, are common expressions, and within limits, relevant and intelligible expressions. but "ought" here clearly stands for no more than ideal conception. its reference is to the future, not to the past. it does not imply a belief that things could have resulted other than those which actually did result, but a belief that given a suitable alteration in the conditions different results might ensue in the future. when, for example, i say that men ought to think wisely, i do not affirm either that all men do think wisely, or that foolish men can do so without some change in their mental make-up. i merely eliminate all those conditions that make for unwise thinking, leaving wise thinking as the only possible result. that is, recognizing that from different conditions different consequences will follow, in imagination, all forces that are inimical to the ideal end are eliminated. we say that no man ought to commit murder, and yet if we take as an illustration the congenital homicide, no one can assert that in his case, at least, anything but murder is possible, given favourable conditions for its perpetration. or if it is said that congenital homicide is a purely pathological case, it may surely be asserted that the same general considerations apply to cases that are not classified as pathological. the more we know of the criminal's heredity, environment, and education, the more clearly it is seen that his deeds result from the inter-action of these factors, and that these must be modified if we are reasonably to expect any alteration in his conduct. in fact, the criminal--or the saint--being what he is as the result of the inter-action of possibly calculable factors is the essential condition towards making "the prediction of all things" ideally, if not actually possible. in saying, then, that a man ought not to do wrong, we are only saying that our ideal of a perfect man eliminates the idea of wrong-doing, and that our imagination is powerful enough to construct a human character to which wrong-doing shall be alien. the fallacy here is due to a confusion of the actual with the desirable. if we are looking to the past we are bound to say that "ought" is meaningless, because what has been is the only thing that could have been. thus it is meaningless to say that a piece of string capable of withstanding a strain of half a hundredweight ought to have withstood a strain of half a ton. it is equally absurd to say that a man ought to have withstood the germ of malarial fever, when his constitution rendered him susceptible to attack. both of these instances will be readily admitted. is it, then, any more reasonable to say that a man ought to have withstood a temptation to drunkenness, or theft, or cruelty--in the sense that given his nature he _could_ have withstood it--when all the circumstances of character, heredity, and environment made for his downfall? we say that certain considerations "ought" to have restrained jones because they were enough to restrain smith. are we, then, to conclude that smith and jones are so much alike--are, in fact, identical in character--that the same forces will influence each in the same manner and to the same degree? the assumption is obviously absurd. what ought to have happened with smith and jones, bearing in mind all the conditions of the problem, is what did happen. what ought to happen to smith and jones in the future will be equally dependent upon the extent to which the character of the two becomes modified. in this sense our conception of what "ought" to be in the future will guide us as to the nature of the influences we bring to bear upon smith and jones. we believe that good actions may be possible in the future where bad ones occurred in the past, because we see that a change of conditions may produce the desired result. the "moral postulate," therefore, does not contain anything, or imply anything, in favour of indeterminism. it does assert that certain things ought to be, but it can only realize this by recognizing, and acting upon the recognition, that just as certain forces in the past have issued in certain results, so a modification in the nature or incidence of these forces will produce a corresponding modification of conduct in the future. whatever else there appears to be in the "ought" is a mere trick of the imagination; and the surprising thing is that a writer of the calibre of professor james should not have been perfectly alive to this. a cruder form of the same position, although introducing other issues, was upheld by dr. martineau in the categorical statement, "either free-will is a fact, or moral judgment a delusion." his reason for this remarkable statement is:-- "we could never condemn one turn of act or thought did we not believe the agent to have command of another; and just in proportion as we perceive, in his temperament or education or circumstances, the certain preponderance of particular suggestions, and the near approach to an inner necessity, do we criticize him rather as a natural object than as a responsible being, and deal with his aberrations as maladies instead of sins."[ ] [ ] _types of ethical theory_, vol. ii. p. . well, human nature might easily have been nearer perfection than it is had moral aberrations been treated as maladies rather than sins, and one certainly would not have felt greater regret had judges and critics always been capable of rising to this level of judgment. social, political, and religious malevolence might not have received the gratification and support it has received had this been the rule of judgment and the guide to methods of treatment, but our social consciousness would have been of a superior texture than is now the case. and one may ask whether there is any human action conceivable for which an adequate cause cannot be found in temperament or education or circumstances, or in a combination of the three? it would tax any one's ingenuity to name an action that lies outside the scope of these influences. temperament, education, circumstances, are the great and controlling conditions of human action, and only in proportion as this is recognized and acted upon do we approach a science of human nature and begin to realize methods of profitable modification. against determinism dr. martineau argues that "the moral life dwells exclusively in the voluntary sphere," and also that "impulses of spontaneous action do not constitute character." the first of these statements is at least very debatable, although it may turn upon a matter of definition. but the second statement is distinctly inaccurate. one may assert the exact opposite, and instead of saying that the impulses of spontaneous action do not constitute character, argue that they are the truest indications of character. of course, from one point of view, all that a man does, whether it be spontaneous or reflective, must be equally the expression of the whole man. but from another point of view the more permanent and enduring characteristics of a man may be overborne by a passing flood of emotion or by a casual combination of unusual circumstances. by these means an habitually mean man may be roused to acts of generosity, an habitual thief roused to acts of honesty. long reflection may cause a person to decide this or that, when his spontaneous impulses are in the contrary direction. and while these reflections and floods of emotion are equally with the spontaneous impulses part of a given personality, yet it will hardly be disputed that the latter are the more deeply seated, will express themselves in a more uniform manner, and are thus a truer and more reliable index to the character of the person with whom we are dealing. how far we are to accept morality as dwelling exclusively in the voluntary, that is the intentional, sphere, is, as i have said, largely a matter of definition. we may so define morality that it shall cover only intentional acts, in which case the statement must be accepted, or we can define morality in a wider sense, as covering all action by means of which desirable relations between people are maintained, in which case the statement is not true. for we should then be committed to the curious position that all moral development tends to make man less moral. to have the quality of voluntariness an act must be consciously performed with a particular end in view. but a large part of the more important functions of life do not come under this category, while a still larger portion are only semi-voluntary. the whole set of instincts that cluster round the family, the feelings which urge human beings to seek others' society, and which are the essential conditions of all social phenomena, do not properly come under the head of volition. our conduct in any of these directions may easily be justified by reason, but it would be absurd to argue that there is any intentional choice involved. moreover, the chief aim of education, of the moralization of character, is to divest actions of their quality of reflectiveness or intention. our aim here is so to fashion character that it will unquestioningly and instinctively place itself on the right side. this is a force that operates on all individuals more or less, and from the cradle to the grave. family influences curb and fashion the egotism of the child until there is an unconscious and often unreasoning adherence to the family circle. social influences continue the work and train the individual into an instinctive harmony, more or less complete with the structure of the society to which he belongs. the mere repetition of a particular action involves the formation of a habit, and habit is meaningless in the absence of a modified nerve structure which reacts in a special manner. persistence in right action, therefore, no matter how consciously it may be performed in its initial stages, inevitably passes over into unconscious or instinctive action. and let it be noted, too, that it is only when this change has been brought about that a person can be said to be a thoroughly moralized character. it is not the man who does right after a long internal struggle that is most moral, but the one with whom doing right is the most imperative of organic necessities. we praise the man who does right after struggle, but chiefly because of our admiration at the triumph of right over wrong, or because his weakness cries for support, or because he has in him the making of a more perfect character. but to place him as the superior of one whose right doing is the efflorescence of his whole nature is to misunderstand the ethical problem. and equally to confine morality to merely voluntary or intentional action is to truncate the sphere of morals to an extent that would meet with the approval of very few writers on ethics. in brief, one may not merely say with lessing, "determinism has nothing to fear from the side of morals," one may add that it is only on the theory of determinism that the moralization of character becomes a rational possibility. v. professor james on "the dilemma of determinism." we have seen in what has gone before how much of the case for free-will is based upon the wrong use of language, and upon a display of petulance arising from the degree to which it is assumed that the universe ought to fulfil certain _a priori_ expectations. in this last respect the volitionist behaves as if he were on a kind of shopping excursion, with full liberty to purchase or reject the goods brought out for inspection. both of these points are well illustrated in an apology for indeterminism offered by professor william james, and although in examining his argument it may be necessary to repeat in substance some of the arguments already used, this will not be without its value in enabling the reader to realize the shifts to which the defender of free-will is compelled to resort. in justice to professor james, however, it is only fair to point out that it is not quite clear that he is thoroughly convinced of the position he sees fit to state. much of his argument reads as though he were merely stating a speculation that might prove valuable, but which might also turn out valueless. still, whatever conviction he has, or had, appears to lean to the side of indeterminism, and i shall accordingly deal with his argument as though he were quite convinced of its soundness. in his chief work, _the principles of psychology_, professor james took up the perfectly sane position that a man would be foolish not to espouse "the great scientific postulate" that the prediction of all things without exception must be possible, and drew a proper distinction between what is ideally possible--that is to complete knowledge--and what is actually possible to incomplete knowledge. in a later deliverance he, for the time at least, forsakes this position and champions a case which rests for its coherence very largely upon the neglect of those precautions previously insisted on.[ ] to suit the necessities of the argument the determinist is made to say things that i think few, if any, determinists ever dreamed of saying, while certain leading words are used with a meaning obviously framed to meet the requirements of the case. [ ] see the lecture on "the dilemma of determinism" in the volume _the will to believe, and other essays_. london; . at the outset of his essay professor james remarks that if a certain formula--in this case the determinist formula--"for expressing the nature of the world violates my moral demands, i shall feel as free to throw it overboard, or at least to doubt it, as if it disappointed my demand for uniformity of sequence." and he proceeds to argue that all our scientific "laws" are ideal constructions, built up in order to satisfy certain demands of our nature. uniformity in nature is thus as much a formula framed to this end as is free-will. "if this be admitted," he says, "we can debate on even terms." unfortunately for the professor's argument the two instances are not analogous--not, at least, in the direction required. the sense of causality is not something that is innate in human nature. children at an early age hardly possess it, and primitive man has it in only a very vague manner. the conviction that all things are bound together in terms of causation is one that belongs, even to-day, to the educated, thoughtful mind. at any rate it is a conviction that has been forced upon the human mind by the sheer pressure of experience. it is a growth consequent upon the mind's intercourse with the objective universe. and its validity is not called into question. on the other hand, this assumed "moral demand" for "free-will" is the very point in dispute. whether there is such a demand, and if so is it a legitimate one, are the questions upon which the discussion turns. and it will not do for professor james to claim free-will in the name of certain "moral demands" and reserve the right to throw overboard any theory that does not grant them. man's moral nature, equally with his intellectual nature, must in the last resort yield to facts. it will not do to exalt into a moral instinct what may be no more than a personal idiosyncrasy. there is certainly no more than this in such expressions as "something must be fatally unreasonable, absurd, and wrong in the world," or "i deliberately refuse to keep on terms of loyalty with the universe," if certain things turn out to be true. such phrases are completely out of place in a scientific enquiry. the universe will remain what it is whether we call it absurd or rational, and may even survive the raising of the standard of revolt by so eminent a psychologist as professor james, to whom we would commend, were he still alive, schopenhauer's profound remark that there are no moral phenomena, only moral interpretations of phenomena. what, now, is the insuperable dilemma which professor james places before upholders of determinism? the whole of it turns out to be little more than a play upon the words "possible" and "actual." determinism, he says, professes that "those parts of the universe already laid down absolutely appoint and decree (why 'appoint' and 'decree'? why not the impersonal word 'determine?') what the other parts shall be." the future is determined by the past; and given the past, only one future is possible. indeterminism says that "the parts have a certain amount of loose play on one another, so that the laying down of one of them does not necessarily determine what the others shall be." thus, still following professor james's exposition, given a special instance, both sides admit the occurrence of a volition. the determinist asserts that no other volition could have occurred. the indeterminist asserts that another volition might have occurred, other things remaining the same. and, asks the professor, can science tell us which is correct? his reply is, no. "how can any amount of assurance that something actually happened give us the least grain of information as to whether another thing might or might not have happened in its place? only facts can be proved by other facts. with things that are possibilities and not facts, facts have no concern." the position may be made clearer by taking the professor's own illustration. when, he says, i leave this lecture hall i may go home _via_ divinity avenue, or traverse oxford street. it is a matter of chance which route is selected. but assume that by some miracle, after having walked down divinity avenue, ten minutes of time are annihilated, and reaching the hall door again oxford street is the route selected. spectators thus have two alternative universes. one universe with the professor walking through divinity avenue, the other with him walking through oxford street. if the spectators are determinists they will believe only one universe to have been from eternity possible. but, asks professor james, looking outwardly at these two universes, can anyone say which is the accidental and which is the necessary one? "in other words, either universe _after the fact_ and once there would, to our means of observation and understanding, appear just as rational as the other." there is no means by which we can distinguish chance from a rational necessity. a universe which allows a certain loose play of the parts is as rational as one which submits to the most rigid determinism. before dealing with the above, it is necessary to take another phrase on which much of the above argument depends. professor james says that the stronghold of the determinist sentiment is antipathy to the idea of "chance," and chance is a notion not to be entertained by any sane mind. and the sting, he says, seems to rest on the assumption that chance is something positive, and if a thing happens by chance it must needs be irrational and preposterous. but i am not aware that any scientific determinist ever used "chance" as being a positive term at all. certainly the last thing the present writer would dream of doing would be to predicate chance of any portion of the objective universe whatsoever. the only legitimate use of the word is in reference to _the state of our knowledge concerning phenomena_. to say that a thing chanced, or happened by chance, is only saying that we are not aware of the causes that produced it. we say nothing of the thing itself, we only express the state of our mind in relation to it. professor james says all you mean by "chance" is that a thing is not guaranteed, it may fall out otherwise. not guaranteed by our knowledge about the thing, certainly; in any other sense, his definition seems invented for the express purpose of bolstering up his hypothesis. for, he says, a chance thing means that the general system of things has no hold on it. it appears in relation to other things, but it escapes their determining influence, and appears as "a free gift." thus whether he walked down divinity avenue or oxford street was a matter of chance; and the future of the world is full of similar chances--events that may take one of several forms, either of which is consistent with the whole. we now have the essence of professor james's case, and can consider it in detail. first of all we may note the curiously double sense in which professor james uses the word "fact" and the agility with which he skips from one meaning to another, as it suits his argument. in a broad and general sense a mental fact is as much a fact as any other fact. a man riding on horseback is a fact. my vision or conception of a horse with the head of a man is equally a fact, though nothing like it exists in nature. we should discriminate between the two by saying that one is a mental fact strictly relative to a particular mind, the other is an objective fact relative to all minds normally constituted. now science does not deny possibilities as _mental facts_. but it would be a very queer science indeed that allowed all sorts of possibilities of a given group of phenomena _under identical conditions_. like "chance," the possibilities of the universe are strictly relative to our knowledge concerning it. if opposite things appear equally possible, it is only because we are not sufficiently conversant with the processes to say which thing is certain. a universe with professor james walking down divinity avenue appears as orderly and as natural as one with him parading oxford street. but this is because we cannot unravel the complex conditions that may determine the selection of one route or the other. or if it be said in reply, that the walker is unaware of any choice in the matter, the answer is that there is present the desire to get away from the lecture hall and arrive at home, and this is strong enough to make the choice of means to that end unimportant. if the choice lay between walking down a sunlit street or wading through a mile of water, five feet deep, while the latter would still remain a possibility, since it could be done were the inducement to do it strong enough, there is not much doubt as to what the choice would actually be. the complete reply therefore to professor james's illustration is that from the standpoint of mere possibility, bearing in mind the proper significance of possibility, opposite alternatives may be equally real. we can, that is, conceive conditions under which a certain thing may occur, and we can conceive another set of conditions under which exactly the opposite may occur. and either alternative presents us with a universe that is equally "rational," because in either case we vary the co-operating conditions in order to produce the imagined consequence. but given a complete knowledge of all the co-operating conditions, and not only do two views of the universe cease to be equally rational, but one of them ceases to be even conceivable. for let us note that the resultant of any calculation is no more and no less than a synthesis of the factors that are included in the calculation. if we do not understand the factors included in a given synthesis it will be a matter of "chance" what the resultant may be. but if we do understand the nature of the factors, and the consequence of their synthesis, possibility and actuality become convertible terms. finally, whether a man on leaving a lecture hall turns to the right or the left appears, under ordinary conditions, equally rational and natural only because we are aware that it may be a matter of indifference which direction he takes, and in that case his action will be governed by the simple desire to get away, or to get to a particular spot. it is a simple deduction from experience presented by professor james in a needlessly confusing manner. the next, and practically the only example cited by professor james to prove that this world is a world of "chances," is concerned with a question of morals. we constantly, he says, have occasion to make "judgments of regret." in illustration of this, he cites the case of a particularly brutal murder, and adds, "we feel that, although a perfect mechanical fit to the rest of the universe, it is a bad moral fit, and that something else would really have been better in its place." but "calling a thing bad means, if it means anything at all, that the thing ought not to be, that something else ought to be in its stead." if determinism denies this it is defining the universe as a place "in which what ought to be is impossible," and this lands us in pessimism, or if we are to escape pessimism we can only do so by abandoning the judgment of regret. but if our regrets are necessitated nothing else can be in their place, and the universe is what it was before--a place in which what ought to be appears impossible. murder and treachery cannot be good without regret being bad, regret cannot be good without murder and treachery being bad. as both, however, are foredoomed, something must be fatally wrong and absurd in the world. now, i must confess all this seems a deal of bother concerning a fairly simple matter. indeed, professor james seems to be engaged in raising a dust and then complaining of the murkiness of the atmosphere. coming from a writer of less standing i might, in view of what has been said elsewhere in this essay, have left the reply to the careful reader's understanding of the subject. but from so eminent a psychologist as william james, silence might well be construed as deterministic inability to reply to the position laid down. in the first place, i may be pardoned for again reminding the reader that, in this connection, "ought" stands upon precisely the same level as "possible." whether we say that a man ought to do a certain thing, or that it is possible for him to do a certain thing, we are making identical statements, for no one would dream of saying that a man ought to do that which it is impossible for him to perform. when we say that murder and treachery ought not to be, we do not imply--if we use language properly--that these are not as much part of the cosmic order, and as much the expression of co-operating conditions, as are kindness and loyalty. it is saying no more than that in our judgment human nature may be so trained and conditioned as to practise neither murder nor treachery. we are expressing a judgment as to what our ideal of human nature is, and our ideal of what human nature should be is based upon what experience has taught us concerning its possibilities. man's "judgment of regret" is justifiable and admirable, not because he recognizes that the past could have been different from what it was, but because it furnishes him with the requisite experience for a better direction of action in the future, and because the feeling of regret is itself one of the determining conditions that will decide conduct in the future. "the question," says professor james, "is of things, not of eulogistic names for them." with this i cordially agree; but in that case what are we to make of the following:-- "the only consistent way of representing ... a world whose parts may affect one another through their conduct being either good or bad is the indeterminate way. what interest, zest, or excitement can there be in achieving the right way, unless we are enabled to feel that the wrong way is also a possible and a natural way--nay, more, a menacing and an imminent way? and what sense can there be in condemning ourselves for taking the wrong way, unless we need have done nothing of the sort, unless the right way was open to us as well? i cannot understand the willingness to act, no matter how we feel, without the belief that acts are really good or bad. i cannot understand the belief that an act is bad, without regret at its happening. i cannot understand regret without the admission of real genuine possibilities in the world." eliminate from this all that is matter of common agreement between determinists and indeterminists, and what have we left but sheer verbal confusion? the pleasurable feeling that results from a sense of achievement is real no matter what are the lines on which the universe is constructed. one might as reasonably ask, why feel a greater interest in a first-class orchestral performance, than in the harmonic outrages of a hurdy-gurdy, since both are, from the physical side, vibratory phenomena? and is it not clear, to repeat a truth already emphasized, that a most important factor in our condemning ourselves for doing a wrong action is the fact that we have done so. it is one of the determining conditions of doing better actions in future. of course, professor james cannot understand the belief that an act is bad, without regret at its happening. neither can anyone else, for the simple reason that one involves the other. the statement is as much a truism as is the one that we can have no willingness to act unless we believe that acts are either good or bad. equally true is it that regret implies real possibilities in the world--not always, though, for we may regret death or the radiation into extra terrestrial space of solar energy without believing that the prevention of either is possible. but our possibilities in relation to conduct do not, as the argument implies, relate to the past, but to the future. indeed, the sense of possibility would be morally worthless were it otherwise. finally, and this brings me to what is one of the cardinal weaknesses of so much of the writing on psychology, professor james's argument is vitiated by non-recognition of the fact that regret and satisfaction, praise and blame, with most of the cardinal moral qualities, are _social_ in their origin and application. they represent the reaction of our social feelings against anti-social conduct, or their expression of satisfaction at conduct of an opposite character. they are consequently the creations, not of an indwelling "will," but of an outdwelling social relationship. they are not impressed by the "ego" upon the world, they are impressed by the world upon the ego. character is not something that each individual brings ready fashioned to the service of society; it is something that society itself creates. it has been fashioned by countless generations of social evolution, and, in the main, that evolution has of necessity placed due emphasis upon those intellectual and moral qualities on which social welfare depends. vi. the nature and implications of responsibility. if hume was not right in asserting that a few intelligible definitions would put an end to the free-will controversy, his error lay in assuming a greater receptivity of mind than most people possess. for it may safely be asserted that once the legitimate meanings of the terms employed are acknowledged, and they are properly applied to the matter in dispute, it may be shown that the opponents of determinism have been beating the air. the determinism they attack is not the determinism that is either professed or defended. the consequences they forecast follow only from a distorted, and often meaningless, use of the terms employed. instead of the determinist denying the moral and mental value of certain qualities of which the indeterminist announces himself the champion, he admits their value, gives them a definite meaning, and proves that it is only by an assumption of the truth of the cardinal principle of determinism that they have any reality. this has already been shown to be true in the case of freedom, choice, deliberation, etc.; it remains to pursue the same method with such conceptions as praise and blame or punishment and reward, and responsibility. the charge is, again, that determinism robs praise and blame and responsibility of all meaning, and reduces them to mere verbal expressions which some may mistake for the equivalents of reality, but which clearer thinkers will estimate at their true worth. what is the use of praising or blaming if each one does what heredity, constitution, and environment compels? why punish a man for being what he is? why hold him responsible for the expressions of a character provided for him, and for the influence of an environment which he had no part in forming? so the string of questions run on. none of them, it may safely be said, would ever be asked if all properly realized the precise meaning and application of the terms employed. for as with the previous terms examined, it is an acceptance of indeterminism that would rob these words of all value. rationally conceived they are not only consonant with determinism, but each of them implies it. of the four terms mentioned above--praise, blame, punishment, and responsibility, the cardinal and governing one is the last. it will be well, therefore, to endeavour to fix this with some degree of clearness. to commence with we may note that in contra-distinction to "freedom" where the testimony of consciousness is illegitimately invoked, a consciousness of responsibility is essential to its existence. a person in whom it was manifestly impossible to arouse such a consciousness would be unhesitatingly declared to be irresponsible. there is here, consequently, both the fact of responsibility and our consciousness of it that calls for explanation. and both require for an adequate explanation a larger area than is offered by mere individual psychology. indeed, so long as we restrict ourselves to the individual we cannot understand either the fact or the consciousness of responsibility. by limiting themselves in this manner some determinists have been led to deny responsibility altogether. the individual, they have said, does not create either his own organism or its environment, and consequently all reasonable basis for responsibility disappears. to which there is the effective reply that the datum for responsibility is found in the nature of the organism and in the possibility of its being affected by certain social forces, and not in the absolute origination of its own impulses and actions. it is playing right into the hands of the indeterminist to deny so large and so important a social phenomenon as responsibility. and to the indeterminist attack, that if action is the expression of heredity, organism, and environment, there is no room for responsibility, there is the effective reply that it is precisely because the individual's actions are the expression of all the forces brought to bear upon him that he may be accounted responsible. the determinist has often been too ready to take the meanings and implications of words from his opponent, instead of checking the sense in which they were used. the general sense of responsibility--omitting all secondary meanings--is that of accountability, to be able to reply to a charge, or to be able to answer a claim made upon us. this at once gives us the essential characteristic of responsibility, and also stamps it as a phenomenon of social ethics. a man living on a desert island would not be responsible, unless we assume his responsibility to deity; and even here we have the essential social fact--relation to a person--reintroduced. it is our relations to others, that and the influence of our actions upon others, combined with the possibility of our natures being affected by the praise or censure of the social body to which we belong, which sets up the fact of responsibility. conduct creates a social reaction, good or bad, agreeable or disagreeable, and the reacting judgment of society awakens in each of us a consciousness of responsibility, more or less acute, and more or less drastic, to society at large. the individual sees himself in the social mirror. his nature is fashioned by the social medium, his personal life becomes an expression of the social life. just as the social conscience, in the shape of a legal tribunal, judges each for actions that are past, so the larger social conscience, as expressed in a thousand and one different forms, customs, and associations, judges us for those desires and dispositions that may result in action in the future. responsibility as a phenomenon of social psychology is obvious, educative, inescapable, and admirable. responsibility as a phenomenon of individual psychology, whether from the determinist or indeterminist point of view, is positively meaningless. taking, then, responsibility as a fact of social life, with its true significance of accountability, let us see its meaning on deterministic lines. for the sake of clearness we will first take legal responsibility as illustrating the matter. in law a man is accounted guilty provided he knows the law he is breaking, and also that he is capable of appreciating the consequences of his actions. a further consideration of no mean importance is that the consequences attending the infringement of the law are assumed to be sufficiently serious to counterbalance the inducements to break the regulation. and as all citizens are assumed to know the law, we may confine our attention to the last two aspects. what, then, is meant by ability to appreciate consequences? there can be no other meaning than the capacity to create an ideal presentment of the penalties attaching to certain actions. every promise of reward or threat of punishment assumes this, and assumes also that provided the ideal presentment is strong enough, certain general results will follow. it is on this principle alone that punishments are proportioned to offences, and that certain revisions of penalties take place from time to time. negatively the same thing is shown by the fact that young children, idiots, and lunatics are not legally held responsible for their actions. the ground here is that the power to represent ideally the full consequences of actions is absent, or operates in an abnormal manner. moreover, the whole line of proof to establish insanity in a court of law is that a person is not amenable to certain desires and impulses in the same manner as are normally constituted people. substantially the same thing is seen if we take the fact of responsibility in non-legal matters. a very young child, incapable of ideally representing consequences, is not considered a responsible being. an older child has a limited responsibility in certain simple matters. as it grows older, and growth brings with it the power of more fully appreciating the consequence of actions, its responsibility increases in the home, in the school, in business, social, religious, and political circles it is held accountable for its conduct, in proportion as the power of estimating the consequences of actions is assumed. in other words, we assume not that there is at any stage an autonomous or self-directing "will" in operation, but that a particular quality of motive will operate at certain stages of mental development, and the whole of the educative process, in the home, the school, and in society, aims at making these motives effective. that is, the whole fact of responsibility assumes as a datum the very condition that the indeterminist regards as destroying responsibility altogether. he argues that if action is the expression of character, responsibility is a farce. but it is precisely because action is the expression of character that responsibility exists. when the law, or when society, calls a man to account for something he has done, it does not deny that had he possessed a different character he would have acted differently. it does not assert that at the time of action he could have helped doing what he did. both may be admitted. what it does say is that having a character of such and such a kind certain things are bound to follow. but inasmuch as that character may be modified by social opinion or social coercion, inasmuch as it will respond to certain influences brought to bear upon it, it is a responsible character, and so may be held accountable for its actions. there is, therefore, nothing incompatible between determinism and responsibility. the incompatibility lies between indeterminism and responsibility. what meaning can we attach to it, on what ground can we call a person to account, if our calling him to account is not one of the considerations that will affect his conduct? grant that a consciousness of responsibility decides how a person shall act, and the principle of determinism is admitted. deny that a consciousness of responsibility determines action, and the phrase loses all meaning and value. the difficulty arises, as has been said, by ignoring the fact that responsibility is of social origin, and in looking for an explanation in individual psychology. it would, of course, be absurd to make man responsible for being what he is, but so long as he is amenable to the pressure of normal social forces he is responsible or accountable for what he may be. whatever his character be, so long as it has the capacity of being affected by social pressure, it is a responsible character. and this is the sole condition that makes responsibility intelligible. having said this, it is not difficult to see the place of punishment and reward, or praise and blame, in the determinist scheme of things. another word than punishment might be selected, and one that would be without its unpleasant associations, but on the whole it is advisable perhaps to retain the word in order to see the nature of the problem clearly. of course, punishment in the sense of the infliction of pain merely because certain actions have been committed, no determinist would countenance. so far as punishment is inflicted in this spirit of sheer retaliation it serves only to gratify feelings of malevolence. a society that punishes merely to gratify resentment is only showing that it can be as brutal collectively as individuals can be singly. and if punishment begins and ends with reference to the past, then it is certainly revolting to inflict pain upon a person because he has done what education and organization impelled him to do. so far one can agree with professor sidgwick that when a man's conduct is "compared with a code, to the violation of which punishments are attached, the question whether he really could obey the rule by which he is judged is obvious and inevitable." but when he goes on to reply "if he could not, it seems contrary to our sense of justice to punish him," the reply is, not if the code is one that normal human nature can obey, and the individual one who can be modified in a required direction in both his own interest and the interest of others. for if our punishment is prospective instead of retrospective, or at least retrospective only so far as to enable us to understand the character of the individual with whom we are dealing, and using punishment as one of the means of securing a desirable modification of character, then punishment is merged in correction, and receives a complete justification upon deterministic lines. the problem is comparatively simple. actions being decided by motives, the problem with a socially defective character is how to secure the prevalence of desires that will issue in desirable conduct. a man steals; the problem then is, how can we so modify the character of which stealing is the expression, so that we may weaken the desire to steal and strengthen feelings that will secure honesty of action? on the lower plane society resorts to threats of pains and penalties, so that when the desire to steal arises again, the knowledge that certain measures will be taken against the offender will arrest this desire. this is one of the principal grounds on which a measure like the first offenders act is based. on a higher plane the approval and respect of society serve to awaken a positive liking for honesty and the formation of desirable mental habits. praise and blame rest upon a precisely similar basis. man being the socialized animal he is, the approbation and disapprobation of his fellows must always exert considerable influence on his conduct. the memory of censure passed or of praise bestowed acts as one of the many influences that will determine conduct when the critical moment for action arrives. man does not always consciously put the question of what his social circle will think of his actions, but this feeling rests upon a deeper and more secure basis than that of consciousness. it has been, so to speak, worked into his nature by all the generations of social life that have preceded his existence, and to escape it means to put off all that is distinctly human in his character. every time we praise or blame an action we are helping to mould character, for both will serve as guides in the future. and it is just because at the moment of action a person "could not help doing" what he did that there is any reasonable justification for either approval or censure. social approval and disapproval become an important portion of the environment to which the human being must perforce adapt himself. what use could there be in punishing or blaming a man if his actions are determined, not by realizable motives, but by a mysterious will that in spite of our endeavours remains uninfluenced? if neither the promise nor the recollection of punishment creates feelings that will determine conduct, then one might as well whip the wind. its only purpose is to gratify our own feelings of anger or malevolence. it is equally futile to look for the cause of wrong-doing in education, organization, or environment. for in proportion as we recognize any or all of these factors as determining conduct we are deserting the indeterminist position, and relinquishing the "freedom" of the will. if indeterminism be true we are forced to believe that although as a consequence of ill-conduct evil feelings may arise with greater frequency, yet they must be wholly ineffective as influencing action. it cannot even be argued that certain motives offer stronger attraction than others to the will, for this in itself would be a form of determinism. there is no middle course. either the "will" remains absolutely uninfluenced by threat of punishment or desire for praise, serenely indifferent to the conflict of desires, and proof against the influence of education, or it forms a part of the causative sequence and the truth of determinism is admitted. you cannot at the same time hold that man does not act in accordance with the strongest motive, and decide that the "will" maintains its freedom by deciding which motive shall be the strongest--its own determination not being the product of previous training. one need, indeed, only state the indeterminist position plainly to see its inherent absurdity. if ever in any case the argument _ad absurdum_ was applicable it is surely here. it may safely be said that the larger part of the life of each of us is passed in anticipating the future in the light of experience. but if "free-will" be a fact, on what ground can we forecast the future. if motives do not determine conduct, any prophecy of what certain people may do in a given situation is futile. the will being indetermined, what they have done in the past is no guide as to what they will do in the future. if motives did not decide then they will not decide now. whether we read backward or forward makes no difference. we have no right to say that the actions of certain statesmen prove them to have been animated by the desire for wealth or power. that would imply determinism. we cannot say that because a murder has been committed a certain person who bore the deceased ill-will is rightly suspected. this is assuming that conduct is determined by motives. if we see a person jump into the river, we have no right to argue that depressed health, or financial worry, or impending social disgrace, has caused him to commit suicide. the mother may as easily murder her child as nurse it. the workman may labour as well for a bare pittance as for a comfortable wage. a man outside a house in the early hours of the morning, armed with a dark lantern and a jemmy, may have no desire to commit a burglary. a person with a game bag and a gun furnishes no reliable data for believing that he intends to shoot something. in all of these cases, and in hundreds of others, if "free-will" be a fact we have no right to argue from actions to motives, or infer motives from actions. motives do not rule, and we are witnessing the uncaused and unaccountable vagaries of an autonomous will. it is sometimes said that no matter how convinced a determinist one may be, one always acts as though the will were free. this, so far from being true, is the reverse of what really happens. in all the affairs of life people of all shades of opinion concerning determinism really act as though "free-will" had no existence. it would, indeed, be strange were it otherwise. facts are more insistent than theories, and in the last resort it is the nature of things which determines the course of our actions. nature, while permitting considerable latitude in matters of theory or opinion, allows comparatively little play in matters of conduct. and it may be asserted that a society which failed to acknowledge in its conduct the principle of determinism would stand but small chance of survival. as a matter of fact, when it comes to practical work the theory of "free-will" is ignored and the theory of determinism acted upon. the unfortunate thing is that the maintenance of "free-will" in the sphere of opinion serves to check the wholesome application of the opposite principle. theory is used to check action instead of serving its proper function as a guide to conduct. still, it is instructive to note to what extent in the sphere of practice the principle of determinism is admitted. in dealing with the drink question, for instance, temperance reformers argue that a diminution in the number of public-houses, and the creation of opportunities for healthy methods of enjoyment, will diminish temptation and weaken the desire for alcoholic stimulants. in the training of children stress is rightly laid upon the importance of the right kind of associates, the power of education, and of healthy physical surroundings. with adults, the beneficial influences of fresh air, good food, well-built houses, open spaces, and healthy conditions of labour have become common-places of sociology. in every rational biography attention is paid to the formative influences of parents, friends, and general environment. medical men seek the cause of frames of mind in nervous structure, and predisposition to physical, mental, and moral disease in heredity. statisticians point to absolute uniformity of general human action under certain social conditions. moralists point to the power of ideals on people's minds. religious teachers emphasize the power of certain teachings in reducing particular habits. in all these cases no allowance whatever is made for the operation of an undetermined will. the motive theory of action may not be consciously in the minds of all, but it is everywhere and at all times implied in practice. in strict truth, we cannot undertake a single affair in life without making the assumption that people will act in accordance with certain motives, and that these in turn will be the outcome of specific desires. if i journey from here to paris i unconsciously assume that certain forces--the desire to retain a situation, to earn a living, to satisfy a sense of duty--will cause all the officials connected with boat and train service to carry out their duties in a given manner. if i appeal for the protection of the police i am again counting upon certain motives influencing the official mind in a particular manner. all commercial transactions rest upon the same unconscious assumption. a merchant who places an order with a firm in russia, america, or japan, or who sends goods abroad, counts with absolute confidence upon certain desires and mental states so influencing a number of people with whom he has no direct connection, that they will co-operate in landing the goods at the point desired. or if the goods are not transmitted as desired, it is not because the principle upon which he relied is invalid, but because other desires have operated in a more powerful manner. a general commanding an army acts on precisely the same principle. the ideal of duty, of the honour of the regiment, the desire for distinction, are all counted upon as being powerful enough to serve as motives that will cause men to join in battle, storm a risky position, or take part in a forlorn hope. history is read upon the same principle. the statement that nero was cruel, that henry the eighth was of an amatory nature, that charles i. was tyrannical, or that louis the fifteenth was licentious, could not be made unless we argue that their actions imply the existence of certain motives. that the motive theory of the will is true is admitted in practice by all. the indeterminist admits it even in his appeal to "liberty." he is counting upon the desire for freedom (sociologically) as being strong enough to lead people to reject a theory which denies its applicability to morals. human nature becomes a chaos if determinism is denied. neither a science of human conduct nor of history is possible in its absence; for both assume a fundamental identity of human nature beneath all the comparatively superficial distinctions of colour, creed, or national divisions. the determination of the influence of climate, food, inter-tribal or international relations, of the power of ideals--moral, religious, military, national, etc.--are all so many exercises in the philosophy of determinism. in none of these directions do we make the least allowance for the operation of an uncaused "will." we say with absolute confidence that given a people with a military environment, and either its discomforts produce an anti-militarist feeling, or its glamour evokes a strong militarist feeling. so with all other consideration that comes before us. and as determinism enables us to read and understand history and life, so it also provides a basis upon which we can work for reform. in the belief that certain influences will produce, in the main, a particular result, we can lay our plans and work with every prospect of ultimate success. instead of our best endeavours being left at the mercy of an undetermined "will," they take their place as part of the determining influences that are moulding human nature. every action becomes a portion of the environment with which each has to deal. more, it becomes a portion of the agent's own environment, a part of that ideal world in which we all more or less live. and the heightened consciousness that every action leaves a certain residuum for either good or ill, supplies in itself one of the strongest incentives for the exercise of self-control and furnishes an unshakable basis for self-development. vii. determinism and character. in spite of what has been said, it may be that a protest will still be raised by some on behalf of character. a man's character, it will be argued, is an alienable personal possession. what he does belongs to him in a sense that is peculiar to his personality. in many important instances his actions bear the stamp of individuality in so plain a manner that while we cannot predict what he will do, once it is done we recognize by the peculiar nature of the action that it must have been done by him and by none other. in painting, in music, in literature, and in many other walks of life, we are able to infer authorship by the personality stamped upon the production. moreover, nothing that we can do or say will ever destroy the conviction that my actions are _mine_. they proceed from _me_; they are the expressions of _my_ character; it is this feeling that induces me to plead guilty to the charge of responsibility, and this conviction remains after all argument has been urged. but, it is further asked, how can this be aught but an illusion if i am not the real and determining cause of my conduct? if i and my actions are the products of a converging series of calculable or indetermined forces, are we not compelled to dismiss this conviction as pure myth? must i not conclude that i am no more the determining cause of my conduct than a stone determines whether it shall fall to the ground or not? and is not the cultivation of character, therefore, an absurd futility? now although the determinist will dissent from the conclusions of those who argue in this way, with a great deal of the argument he would agree; more than that, he would enforce the same line of reasoning as a legitimate inference from his own position. and he might also submit that it is only by an acceptance of the deterministic position that such reasoning can receive full justification. what do we mean by character? suppose we reply with t. h. green by defining character as the way in which a man seeks self-satisfaction.[ ] we are next faced with the problem of accounting for the different ways in which self-satisfaction is sought. one man is a drunkard and another temperate, one is benevolent and another grasping, one is cruel and another kind; there are endless diversities of human conduct, and all come within the scope of green's definition of character. we have to look farther and deeper. a satisfactory answer clearly cannot be found in the assumption that each person's actions proceed from an unfettered, autonomous will. the reason for the choice would still have to be discovered. nor will it do to attribute the difference of choice to different environmental influences in which the "self" is placed. this would indeed be reducing the man to the level of a machine, or to a lower level still. and the same environmental influences do _not_ produce identical results. this is one of the commonest facts of daily experience. stimulus from the environment is the essential condition of action, but the precise nature of the action elicited is an affair of the organism. if i am courageous by nature i shall stay and face a threatened danger. if i am cowardly i shall run away. thus, while circumstances are the cause of my acting, how i shall act is in turn caused by my character, the net result being due to their interaction. this seems so obvious that it may well be accepted as a datum common to both parties in the dispute. [ ] _works_, vol. ii. p. . we may, then, freely grant the indeterminist--what he foolishly assumes is inconsistent with the deterministic position--that environment may be modified by character, that a man is not the creature of circumstances, if we restrict that word to external circumstances, as is so often done. a man, we will say, allowing for the influence of external circumstances, acts according to his character. the question then becomes, "what is his character? how does he acquire it?[ ] and whence the varieties of character?" to these queries the only intelligible reply is that a man's character represents his psychic heritage, as his body represents his physical heritage, both of them being subject to development and modification by post-natal influences. each one thus brings a different psychic force, or a different character, to bear upon the world around him. he is thus the author of his acts, not in the unintelligible sense of absolutely originating the sequence that proceeds from his actions, but in the rational sense of being that point in the sequence that is represented by his personality. and his actions bear the stamp of his personality because had his antecedents been different his actions would have varied accordingly. each is properly judged in terms of character, because it is the character which determines the form taken by the reaction of the organism on the environment. [ ] of course, the man and his character are not two distinct things. the character is the man. but it would involve needless circumlocution to insist on superfine distinctions, and it may even help to a comprehension of the argument to keep to familiar forms of speech. we may go even further than this and say that it is only actions which proceed from character that are properly the subject of moral judgment. let us take a concrete illustration of this. a man distributes a large sum of money among the inhabitants of a town, some of it in the form of personal gifts among its needy inhabitants, the rest in endowing various institutions connected with its social and municipal life. twelve months later he comes forward as candidate in a parliamentary election. the question of his donations at once comes up for judgment, and in defence he may plead that he was only invited to contest the seat after the money was given. how shall we determine what his motives were? obviously by an appeal to his character. if he were well known as a wealthy person of recognized benevolent disposition, it would be argued that while his candidature would inevitably reap benefit from his donations it was highly probable that in giving the money he was only acting as one would expect him to act. if, on the other hand, he was well known as a person of a mean and grasping disposition, it would be concluded that the donation was an attempt to bribe the electorate, his giving the money so long before being an intelligent anticipation of events. in either case we should be appealing to character, and judging the man by what of his character was known. numerous instances of a like kind might be given, but in every case it would be found that we infer from an action a particular kind of motive, and that our judgment of the motive is determined by the character of the individual. this is so far the case that we are apt to mistrust our own judgment when we find a benevolent person doing what looks like a mean action, or a brave person committing what looks like an act of cowardice. while action is thus--so far as it is intentional--always the registration of motive, and motive the expression of a preponderating desire, the desire, whether it be licentious or chaste, noble or ignoble, is the outcome of character. determinism thus finds a fit and proper place for character in its philosophy of things. it does not say that the fact or the consideration of character is irrelevant; on the contrary, it says it is all-important. and in saying this it challenges the position of the indeterminist by the implication that it is only on lines of determinism that character is important or that it can be profitably cultivated. for consider what is meant by saying that conduct implies and proceeds from character. it clearly implies that a man acts in this or that manner because he has been in the habit of acting in this or that manner. we do not gather grapes from thistles, and we do not experience noble actions from a depraved character. the actions of each are determined by the character of each, and character is in turn the outcome of psychic inheritance, plus the effects of the interaction of organism and environment from the moment of birth onward. personal characteristics, honesty, courage, truthfulness, loyalty, thus imply strictly determined qualities. they are qualities determined by the nature of the organism. they could not be expressed unless the surrounding circumstances were favourable to their expression; but neither could they be manifested unless the character was of a particular order. conduct is, in fact, always a product of the two things. let us also note that it is this determination of qualities that is implied when we speak of a good or a bad, a strong or a weak character. we should not call a man a good character who to-day fed a starving child, and to-morrow kicked it from his doorstep. we should describe him as, at best, a person of an exceedingly variable disposition who satisfied the caprice of the moment irrespective of the feelings and needs of others. we should not call a person strong who withstood a temptation one hour and yielded to it the next. he would be described as weak, and lacking the compelling force of a stable disposition. it is also true that the moralization of character is the more complete as the determined nature of impulses is the more evident. most people would not only resent the imputation of having committed a mean action, they would also resent the likelihood of their committing one. and in common speech, and in fact, the highest tribute we can pay a man is to say that a certain kind of action is beneath him. we say that we know a would not have committed a theft, but we are quite willing to believe it of b. in each case we make no allowance for the operation of an undetermined will; such doubts as we have being connected with our inability to completely analyze the character in question. but our prognostications are strictly based upon our knowledge of character and upon the conviction that given a certain character and the operation of particular motives, specific action follows with mathematical certainty. and this, as has previously been pointed out, gives the only reliable basis for the cultivation of character. the whole aim of education, whether it be that received in the home, in the school, or the larger and more protracted education of social life, has the aim and purpose of securing the spontaneous response of a particular action to a particular stimulus, or on the negative side that certain circumstances shall not arouse desires of a socially unwelcome character. the phrase "patriotism" thus serves to arouse a group of feelings that cluster round the state and social life. "home" awakens its own groups of domestic and parental feelings. "duty," again, covers a wider sphere, but involves the same process. by instruction and by training, certain conditions, circumstances, words, or associations are made to call up trains of connected feelings which, culminating in a desire, imperatively demand conduct along a given line. the more complete the education, the stronger the desire; the stronger the desire, the more certain the action. the more defective the education the less the certainty with which we can count upon specific conduct. the man who acts to-day in one way and to-morrow in another way is not a man of strong desires, so much as he is a man whose desires are undisciplined. the man who acts with uniform certainty is not a man of weak desire, but one whose desires run with strength and swiftness in a uniform direction. and it is a curious feature of indeterministic psychology that it should take as clear evidence of the subordination of desire to "will" the man whose desire is so strong as to preclude hesitation between it and action. the whole of education, the whole of the discipline of life, is thus based upon the determination of conduct by circumstances and character. if the principle of cause and effect does not fully apply to conduct, all our training is so much waste of time. but it is because we cannot really think of the past not influencing the present, once we bring the two into relation, that we, determinist and indeterminist alike, proceed with our deterministic methods of training, and in this instance at least wisdom is justified of her children. finally, if the above be granted, can we longer attach meaning to the expression that man forms his own character? well, if it means that a man has any share in his psychic endowments, or that they being what they are at any given time he could at that time act differently from the way in which he does act, the expression is meaningless. it is absolute nonsense. but in another sense it does convey an important truth. we must, however, always bear in mind that in speaking of a man's character we are not dealing with two things, but with one thing. the character is the man, the man is the character. or to be quite accurate, body and mind, physical and psychical qualities together, form the man, and any separation of these is for purposes of analysis and study only. if we say, then, that a man is master of his own character, or that a man may mould his own character, we do not imply the existence of an independent entity moulding or mastering something else. we are saying no more than that every experience carries its resultant into the sum of character. action generates habit, and habit means a more or less permanent modification of character. what a man is, is the outcome of what he has been, and a perception of this truth no more conflicts with the principles of determinism as above explained, than a stone being intercepted in its fall down the side of a hill by lodging against a tree is an infraction of the law of gravitation. in this sense, using figurative language, a man may be said to be master of himself. what he does proceeds from himself; it is the expression of his character, and his doing cuts deeper the grooves of habit, and so makes more certain the performance of similar actions in the future. it is the fact of the motive springing from character which determines the act that makes the man its author. and the knowledge of this supplies him with, not alone the most powerful incentive towards the determination of his own character, but, what is equally important, the only method whereby to fashion the character of others. viii. a problem in determinism. if human feeling followed logical conviction the discussion of determinism might, so far as the present writer is concerned, be considered as finished. ultimately this doubtless occurs; but in the interim one has to reckon with the play of feeling, fashioned by long-standing conviction, upon convictions that are of recent origin. thus it happens that many who realise the logical force of arguments similar to those hitherto advanced, find themselves in a state of fearfulness concerning the ultimate effect on human life of a convinced determinism. the conflict between feeling and conviction that exists in their own minds they naturally ascribe to others, and endow it with a permanency which mature consideration might show to be unwarranted. it would indeed be strange and lamentable if the divorce between feeling and conviction--to adopt a popular classification--was not simply incidental to change, but was also an inexpugnable part of fundamental aspects of human life. mr. a. j. balfour has indeed gone so far as to suggest,[ ] as a theory to meet this phenomenon, that the immediate consciousness of our actions being determined would be so paralyzing to action, that nature has by "a process of selective slaughter" made a consciousness of this character a practical impossibility. but it would seem that the fact of a consciousness of determination developing at all affords strong presumptions in favour of the belief that no such selective slaughter is really necessary to the maintenance of vital social relations. mr. balfour's argument might have some weight against fatalism, which says that what is to be will be in despite of all that may be done to prevent its occurrence; but we are on different ground with a theory which makes what _i_ do part of the sequence that issues in a particular result. [ ] _international journal of ethics_, vol. iv. pp. - . the problem is put very plainly in the following two quotations. the first is from a private source, written by one who fears the consequences of determinism on conduct. the writer says:-- "in a moral crisis, and with the consciousness of a strong tendency in the direction of what is felt to be wrong, is there no danger of this desire gaining further strength and becoming the predominant feeling by accepting determinism, causing a weakened sense of responsibility, besides providing a convenient excuse for giving way to the lower instead of the higher? thus in a question of alternatives is it not conceivable that by dwelling on this thought, the agent is resisting possibilities which might otherwise have a different effect had determinism no advocacy and with a different competitive factor to oppose? this, it seems to me, is what the indeterminist fears, and i think it must be admitted not without some reason." the second comes from mr. f. w. headley's work, _life and evolution_. mr. headley, after discussing the evolution of mind, and after admitting the impregnable nature of the determinist position, says that notwithstanding the evidence to the contrary we cannot help cherishing the belief that we are in some sense "free," and adds:-- "for practical purposes what is wanted is not free-will but a working belief in it. when the time for decision and for action comes, a man must feel that he is free to choose or he is lost. and this working belief in free-will, even though the thing itself be proved to be a phantom and an illusion, is the inalienable property of every healthy man." both these criticisms might be met by the method of analysing the use made of certain leading words. for example, the determinist would quite agree that for conduct to be fruitful a man must feel that he is free to choose. but unless his freedom consists in liberty to obey the dictates of his real nature, the term is without significance. the fact of choice, as has been pointed out, is common ground for both determinist and indeterminist. the real question is whether the choice itself is determined or not. what a man needs to feel is that his choice is decisive, and that it is based upon an impartial review of the alternatives as they appear to him. determinism makes full allowance for this; it is indeterminism which in denying the application of causality to the will substantially asserts that the whole training of a lifetime may be counteracted by the decision of an uncaused will, and so renders the whole process unintelligible. and as to determinism causing a weakened sense of responsibility, surely one may fairly argue that the consciousness of the cumulative force of practice may well serve to warn us against yielding to a vicious propensity, and so strengthen the feeling of resistance to it. there could hardly be conceived a stronger incentive to right action, or to struggle against unwholesome desires, than this conviction. moreover, the practical testimony of those who are convinced determinists is all in this direction. the fears are expressed by those whose advocacy of determinism is at best of but a lukewarm description. but in order that the full weight of the difficulty may be realized let us put the matter in a still more forcible form. determinism, it is to be remembered, is an attempt to apply to mind and morals that principle of causation which is of universal application in the physical world, and where it has proved itself so fruitful and suggestive. on this principle all that is flows from all that has been in such a way that, given a complete knowledge of the capacities of all the forces in operation at any one time, the world a century hence could be predicted with mathematical accuracy. so likewise with human nature. human conduct being due to the interaction of organism with environment, our inability to say what a person will do under given circumstances is no more than an expression of our ignorance of the quantitative and qualitative value of the forces operating. the possibilities of action are co-extensive with the actualities of ignorance. there is no break in the working of causation, no matter what the sphere of existence with which we happen to be dealing. it is at this point that determinism lands one in what is apparently an ethical _cul-de-sac_. if all that is, is the necessary result of all that has been, if nothing different from what does occur could occur, what is the meaning of the sense of power over circumstances that we possess? and why urge people to make an effort in this or that direction if everything, including the effort or its absence, is determined? i may flatter myself with the notion that things are better because of some action of mine. but beyond the mere fact that my action is part of the stream of causation, all else is a trick of the imagination. my conduct is, all the time, the result of the co-operation of past conditions with present circumstances. to say that praise or blame of other people's conduct, or approval or disapproval of my own conduct, is itself a determinative force, hardly meets the point. for these, too, are part of the determined order. it might be urged that the knowledge that by exciting certain feelings others are proportionately weakened operates in the direction of improvement. quite so; and as a mere description of what occurs the statement is correct. but to the determinist there is no "i" that determines which feeling or cluster of feelings shall predominate. "i" am the expression of the succession and co-ordination of mental states; we are still within a closed circle of causation. whether i am good or bad, wise or unwise, i shall be what i must be, and nothing else; do as i must do, and no more. this is, i think, putting the indeterminists' case as strongly as it can be put. how is the determinist to meet the attack? a common retort is that all this being granted things remain as they were. if the criminal action is determined so is that of the judge, and so no harm is done. we shall go on praising or blaming, punishing or rewarding, doing or not doing, exactly as before, simply because we cannot do otherwise. this, however, while effective as a mere retort, is not very satisfactory as an answer. for it neither explains the sense of power people feel they possess, nor does it meet the criticism raised. on the one hand there is the fact that character does undergo modification, and the conviction that _my_ effort does play a part in securing that modification. and with this there goes the feeling--with some--that if everything, mental states and dispositions included, is part of an unbroken and unbreakable order, why delude ourselves with the notion of personal power? why not let things drift? and on the other hand there is the conviction that scientific determinism holds the field. the state of mind is there, and it is fairly expressed in the two quotations already given; particularly in mr. headley's statement that we ought to act as though free-will were a fact, even though we know it to be otherwise. the difficulty is there, and one must admit that it is not always fairly faced by writers on determinism. an appeal is made to man's moral sense, and this, while legitimate enough in some connections, is quite irrelevant in this. or it is said that a knowledge of the causational nature of morals should place people on their guard against encouraging harmful states of mind. this is also good counsel, but it clearly does not touch the point that, whether i encourage harmful or beneficial states of mind, it is all part of the determined order of things. as an example of what has been said we may take a passage from john stuart mill. in his criticism of sir william hamilton, mill remarks:-- "the true doctrine of the causation of human actions maintains ... that not only our conduct, but our character, is, in part, amenable to our will; that we can by employing the proper means, improve our character; and that if our character is such that while it remains what it is, it necessitates us to do wrong, it will be just to apply motives which will necessitate us to strive for its improvement, and so emancipate ourselves from the other necessity; in other words, we are under a moral obligation to seek the improvement of our moral character." admirable as is this passage it is clearly no reply to the criticism that whether we seek moral improvement or not, either course is as much necessitated as is the character that needs improving. to give a real relevance to this passage we should have to assume the existence of an ego outside the stream of causation deciding at what precise point it should exert a determining influence. that so clear a thinker as mill should have overlooked this gives point to what has been said as to writers on determinism having failed to squarely face the issue. a more valid reply to mr. headley's position would be that so long as we believe a theory to be sound there is no real gain in acting as though we were convinced otherwise. granting that an illusion may have its uses, it can only be of service so long as we do not know it to be an illusion. a mirage of cool trees and sparkling pools may inspire tired travellers in a desert to renewed efforts of locomotion. but if they _know_ it to be a mirage it only serves to discourage effort. and once we believe in determinism, our right course, and our only profitable course, is to face all the issues as courageously as may be. not that a correct reading of determinism leads to our sitting with folded hands lacking the spirit to strive for better things. it may be that certain people so read determinism, but one cannot reasonably hold a theory responsible for every misreading of it that exists. theologians in particular would be in a very uncomfortable position if this rule were adopted. a theory is responsible for such conclusions or consequences as are logically deducible therefrom, but no more. and what we are now concerned with is, first, will determinism, properly understood, really have the effect feared; and, second, is it possible for determinism to account adequately for the belief that it is possible to modify other people's character, and in so doing modify our own? in mill's words, can we exchange the necessity to do wrong for the necessity to do right? i believe that a satisfactory reply can be given to both questions. in the first place we have to get rid of the overpowering influence of an atomistic psychology. a very little study of works on psychology--particularly of the more orthodox schools--is enough to show that the social medium as a factor determining man's mental nature has been either ignored, or given a quite subordinate position. because in studying the mental qualities of man we are necessarily dealing with an individual brain, it has been assumed that mental phenomena may be explained with no more than a casual reference to anything beyond the individual organism. this assumption may be sound so long as we are dealing with mind as the function of definitely localized organs, or if we are merely describing mental phenomena. it is when we pass to the contents of the mind, and study the significance of mental states, or enquire how they came into existence, that we find the atomistic psychology breaking down, and we find ourselves compelled to deal with mind as a psycho-sociologic phenomenon, with its relation to the social medium. then we discover that it is man's social relationships, the innumerable generations of reaction between individual organisms and the social medium, which supply the key to problems that are otherwise insoluble. it has already been pointed out that the whole significance of morality is social. if we restrict ourselves to the individual no adequate explanation can be given of such qualities as sympathy, honesty, truthfulness, chastity, kindness, etc. separate it in thought from the social medium and morality becomes meaningless. properly studied, psychology yields much the same result. when we get beyond the apprehension of such fundamental qualities as time and space, heat and cold, colour and sound, the contour of man's mind, so to speak, is a social product. his feelings and impulses imply a social medium as surely as does morality. from this point of view the phrase "social sense" is no mere figure of speech; it is the expression of a pregnant truth, the statement of something as real as any scientific law with which we are acquainted. for the essence of a scientific law is the expression of a relation. the law of gravitation, for instance, formulates the relations existing between particles of matter. if there existed but one particle of matter in the universe gravitation would be a meaningless term. introduce a second particle, and a relation is established between the two, and the material for a scientific "law" created. in the same way a description of individual human qualities is fundamentally a statement of the relations existing between individuals living in groups; and any attempt to understand human nature without considering these relations is as certainly foredoomed to failure as would be the attempt to study a particle of matter apart from the operation of all known forces. the individual as he exists to-day is not something that exists apart from the social forces; he is an expression, an epitome, of all their past and present operations. the really essential thing in the study of human nature is not so much the discrete individual a or b, but the relations existing between a and b. it is these which make each end of the term what it is--determines the individual's language, feelings, thoughts, and character. it is along these lines that we have to look for an explanation of the feeling that we can initiate a reform in character, and of a sense of power in determining events. we start with a sense of power over the course of events--which is interpreted as the equivalent of our ability to initiate absolutely a change in our own character or in that of others. but a little reflection convinces us--particularly if we call ourselves determinists--that this interpretation is quite erroneous. an absolute beginning is no more conceivable in the mental or moral sphere than it is in the physical world. the sum of all that is is the product of all that has been, and in this, desires, feelings, dispositions are included no less than physical properties. now, curiously enough, the conviction that an absolute change in character can be initiated exists with much greater strength in regard to oneself than it does with regard to others. it is easier to observe others than to analyze one's own mental states, with the result that most people can more readily realize that what others do is the product of their heredity and their environment than they can realize it in their own case. of course, reflection shows that the same principle applies in both directions, but we are here dealing with moods rather than with carefully reasoned out convictions. and, generally speaking, while we _feel_ ourselves masters of our own fate, we only suspect a similar strength in others. but each one realizes, and with increasing vividness, the power he possesses in modifying other people's character by a change of circumstances. we see this illustrated by the increased emphasis placed upon the importance of better sanitation, better housing, better conditions of labour, and of an improved education. more from observing others than by studying ourselves we see how modifiable a thing human nature is. we see how character is modified by an alteration of the material environment, and we also note our own individual function as a determinative influence in effecting this modification. now i quite fail to see that there is in this sense of power over circumstances anything more than a recognition of our own efforts as part of the determinative sequence. the added factor to the general causative series is the consciousness of man himself. we are conscious, more or less clearly, of our place in the sequence; we are able to recognize and study our relations to past and present events, and our probable relation to future ones. we see ourselves as so many efficient causes of those social reactions that go to make up a science of sociology, and it is this which gives us a sense of _power_ of determining events. i say "power" because "freedom" is an altogether different thing. the question of whether we are free to determine events is, as i have shown, meaningless when applied to scientific matters. but the question of whether or not we have the _power_ of determining events may be answered in the affirmative--an answer not in the least affected by the belief that this power is strictly conditioned by past and present circumstances. the sense of power is real, and it expresses a fact, even though the fact be an inevitable one. we are all shapers of each other's character, moulders of each other's destiny. the recognition of our power to act in this relation is not contrary to determinism, determinism implies it. it is this which gives a real meaning to the expression "social sense." for the social sense can have no other meaning or value than as a recognition of the action of one individual upon another, which, as in the case of a chemical compound, results in the production of something that is not given by the mere sum of individual qualities. so, too, do we get by this method a higher meaning to the word "freedom." in an earlier part of this essay it was pointed out that "freedom" was of social origin and application. its essential meaning is liberty to carry out the impulses of one's nature unrestricted by the coercive action of one's fellows. but there is a higher and a more positive meaning than this. man is a social animal; his character is a social product. the purely human qualities not only lose their value when divorced from social relationships, it is these relationships that provide the only medium for their activity. to say that a person is free to express moral qualities in the absence of his fellows is meaningless, since it is only in their presence that the manifestation of them is possible. it is the intercourse of man with man that gives to each whatever freedom he possesses. the restraints imposed upon each member of a society in the interests of all are not a curtailing of human freedom but the condition of its realization. to chafe against them is, to use kant's famous illustration, as unreasonable as a bird's revolt against the opposing medium or atmosphere, in ignorance of the fact that it is this opposition which makes flight possible. the only genuine freedom that man can know and enjoy is that provided by social life. human freedom has its origin in social relationships, and to these we are ultimately driven to discover its meaning and significance. so far, then, the sense of power in controlling events which each possesses presents no insuperable difficulty to a theory of determinism. only one other point remains on which to say a word, and that is whether a conviction of the causative character of human action would lead to a weakening of effort or to moral depression. why should it have this effect? it is curious that those who fear this result seem to have only in mind the tendencies to wrongdoing. but if it operates at all it must operate in all directions, and this would certainly strengthen good resolutions as well as bad ones. and even though no more were to be said, this would justify the assertion that merit and demerit would remain unaffected, and that any harm done in one direction would be compensated by good done in another. but another important consideration is to be added. this is that while a consciousness of the power of habit acts as a retarding influence on wrongdoing, it has an accelerating influence in the reverse direction--that is, unless we assume a character acting with the deliberate intention of cultivating an evil disposition. besides, the really vicious characters are not usually given to reflecting upon the origin and nature of their desires, and are therefore quite unaffected by any theory of volition; while those who are given to such reflection are not usually of a vicious disposition. we are really crediting the vicious with a degree of intelligence and reflective power quite unwarranted by the facts of the case. finally, the criticism with which i have been dealing takes a too purely intellectual view of conduct. it does not allow for the operation of sympathy, or for the power of social reaction. and these are not only real, they are of vital importance when we are dealing with human nature. for man cannot, even if he would, remain purely passive. the power of sympathy, the desire for social intercourse, the invincible feeling that in some way he is vitally concerned with the well-being of the society to which he belongs, these are always in operation, even though their degree of intensity varies with different individuals. we cannot possibly isolate man in considering conduct, because his whole nature has been moulded by social intercourse, and craves continuously for social approval. and it is such feelings that are powerful agents in the immediate determination of conduct. the mental perception of the causes and conditions of conduct are feeble by comparison and can only operate with relative slowness. and in their operation they are all the time checked and modified by the fundamental requirements of the social structure. ix. environment. in the course of the foregoing pages we have made frequent reference to "environment," without the word being precisely described or defined. the subject was of too great importance to be dismissed with a bald definition, and to have dealt with it earlier at suitable length might have diverted attention from the main argument. but so much turns on a correct understanding of the word "environment" that a discussion of determinism would be incomplete that failed to fix its meaning with a fair degree of accuracy. a very casual study of anti-deterministic literature is enough to show that a great deal of the opposition to a scientific interpretation of human conduct has its origin in a quite wrong conception of what the determinist has in mind when he speaks of the part played by the environment in the determination of conduct. even writings ostensibly deterministic in aim have not been free from blame in their use of the word. thus on the one hand we find it said that man is a creature of his environment, and by "environment" we are to understand, by implication, only the material forces, which are assumed to somehow drive man hither and thither in much the same way as a tennis ball is driven this way or that by the player. against this there has been a natural and, let it be said, a justifiable reaction. expressed in this way it was felt that man was not at the mercy of his surroundings. it was felt that, whatever be its nature the organism does exert some influence over environmental forces, and that it is not a merely passive register of their operations. neither of these views expresses the whole truth. it may be that each expresses a truth, and it is still more probable, as is the case with some terms already examined, that the confusion arises from a mis-use of the language employed. to-day we are all familiar with the dictum that the maintenance of life is a question of adaptation to environment--a truth that is equally applicable to ideas and institutions. but the general truth admitted, there is next required a consideration of its application to the particular subject in hand, and in connection with our present topic some attention must be paid both to the nature of the organism and of the environment with which we are dealing. we then discover that not alone are we dealing with an organism which is extremely plastic in its nature, but that the environment may also vary within very wide limits. on the one side, and in relation to man, we may be dealing with an environment that is mainly physical in character, or it may be a combination of physical conditions and biological forces, or, yet again, it may be predominantly psychological in its nature. and, on the other hand, the reaction of the organism on the environment may vary from extreme feebleness to an almost overpowering determination. we may, indeed, anticipate our argument by saying that one of the chief features of human progress is the gradual subordination of the material environment to the psychologic powers of man. if, now, we contrast the environment of an uncivilized with that of a civilized people the difference is striking. the environment of an uncivilized race will consist of the immediate physical surroundings, the animals that are hunted for sport or killed for food, and a comparatively meagre stock of customs and traditions. the environment of a modern european will add to the physical surroundings an enormously enlarged mass of social traditions and customs, an extensive literature, contact with numerous other societies in various stages of culture, and relations, more or less obscure, to a vast literary and social past. the environment thus includes not merely the living, but also the dead. roman law, greek philosophy, eastern religious ideas, etc., all affect the twentieth century european. it would require a lengthy essay to enumerate all the influences that dominate the life of a particular people of to-day, but enough has been said to illustrate the truth that we must use the term "environment" so as to include _all_ that affects the organism. and when this is done it soon becomes clear that by the very growth of humanity the influence of the physical portion of the environment becomes of relatively less importance with the progress of the race--it is the subordination of the physical environment that is the principal condition of the advance of civilization. but even when our conception of the meaning of environment has been thus enlarged, we need to be on our guard against misconception from another side. for the environment is only one factor in the problem; the organism is another, and the relative importance of the two is a matter of vital significance. we may still make the mistake of treating the environment as active and the organism as passive. this would be a similar mistake to that which is made when morality and religion are treated as being no more than a reflection of economic conditions. the action of the environment is given a place of first importance, while the reaction of the organism on its environment is treated as a negligible quantity. historically this may be taken as a reaction against the extreme spiritualistic view which, in upholding, a theory of free-will made no allowance for the influence of the surroundings. an extreme view in one direction usually sets up an extreme view by way of opposition, and it must be confessed that in social philosophy the power of the environment has often been made omnipotent. the medium has been presented as active and the organism as passive. different results occur because the susceptibilities of organisms vary. good or bad influences affect individuals differently for much the same reason that soils differ in their capacity for absorbing water. from the scientific and the philosophic side this conception derived a certain adventitious strength. in the first place there was the now generally discarded psychology which taught that the individual mind was as a sheet of blank paper on which experience inscribed its lessons. and in the second place the growth of biological science brought out with great distinctness the influence of the environment on organic life. it was very plain that the quality and quantity of the food supply, the action of air and light, and other purely environmental forces exercised an important influence. in the plant world it was seen how much could be effected by a mere change of habitat. in the animal world markings and structure seemed to have an obvious reference to the nature of the environment. it, therefore, seemed nothing but a logical inference to extend the same reasoning to man, and treat not only his structure but his mental capacities as being the outcome of the same kind of correspondence. but a too rigid application of biological principles lands one in error. society is more than a mere biological group, and no reasoning that proceeds on the assumption that it is no more than that can avoid confusion. and we certainly cannot square the facts with a theory which treats the human organism as passive under the operation of environmental forces. the conviction that man plays a positive part in life is general, powerful, and, i think, justifiable. but if what _i_ do is at any time the product of the environmental forces, physical and other, there does not seem any room for _me_ as an active participant. and the facts seem to demand that the individual should appear in some capacity other than that of representing the total in an environmental calculation. this would leave man with no other function than that of a billiard ball pushed over a table by rival players. given the force exerted by the player, added to the size, weight, and position of the ball, and the product of the combination gives us the correct answer. but this kind of calculation will not do in the case of man. here we must allow, in addition to external influences, the positive action of man on his surroundings. the conception of the organism as a plexus of forces capable of this reaction is, indeed, vital to our conception of a living being. granted that in either case, that of the billiard ball and that of the man, the result expresses the exact sum of all the forces aiding at the time, there still remains an important distinction in the two cases. whether the billiard ball is struck by a professional player or by an amateur, provided it be struck in a particular way the result is in both cases identical. an identity of result is produced by an identity of external conditions. with the human organism--with, in fact, any organism--this rule does not apply. in any two cases the external factors may be identical, but the results may be entirely different. a temptation that leaves one unaffected may prove overpowering with another. exactly the same conditions of food, occupation, residence, and social position may co-exist with entirely different effects on the organism. these differences will be manifested from the earliest years and are a direct consequence of the positive reaction of the organism on its environment, a reaction that is more profound in the case of man than in that of any other animal. to put the matter briefly. in the case of the billiard player the ball remains a constant factor in a problem in which external conditions represent a variant. in the case of man and his environment we are dealing with two sets of factors, neither of which is constant and one of which--the human one--varies enormously. and the reaction of man on his environment becomes so great as to result in its practical transformation. it may, of course, be urged that all this is covered and allowed for by heredity. this may be so, but i am arguing against those who while recognizing heredity fail to make adequate allowance for its operations. or it may be said that "environment" covers all forces, including heredity. but in that case the distinction between organism and environment is useless--in fact, it disappears. if, however, the distinction between the two is retained, our theorizing must give full appreciation to both. and in that case we must not fail to allow for the transforming power of man over his surroundings. nor must we overlook another and a very vital fact, that in a large measure the environment to which civilised mankind must adapt itself is largely a thing of human creation. viewed as merely external circumstances, the physical environment of man remains constant. at any rate, such changes as do take place occur with such slowness that for generations we may safely deal with them as unchanged. the dissipation of the heat of the earth may be a fact, but no one takes this into account in dealing with the probabilities of human life during the next few generations. on the other hand, the organism represents the cumulative, and consequently, ever-changing power of human nature, and it is this that gives us the central fact of human civilization. whether acquired characters be inherited or not may be still an open question, but in any case there is no denying that capacity is heritable, and natural selection will move along the line of favouring the survival of that capacity which is most serviceable. and how does increasing capacity express itself? it can do so only in the direction of giving man a greater ability to control and mould to his own uses the material environment in which he is placed. looking at the course of social evolution, we see this increased and increasing capacity expressed in art, industries, inventions, etc., all of which mean in effect a transformation of the material surroundings and their subjugation to the needs of man. these inventions, etc., not only involve a transformation of the existing environment; they also mean the creating of a new environment for succeeding generations. each mechanical invention, for example, is dependent upon the inventions and discoveries that have preceded it, and to that extent it is dependent upon the environment. but each invention places a new power in the hands of man, and so enables him to still further modify and control his surroundings. human heredity is thus expressed in capacity as represented by a definite organic structure. this is one factor in the phenomenon of social evolution. the other factor is the environment in which the organism is placed and to which it responds. the two factors, organism and environment, remain constant throughout the animal world. it is when we come to deal with human society specifically, that we find a radical change in the nature of the environment to be considered. granted that some influence must always be exerted by the purely material conditions, the fact remains that they become relatively less powerful with the advance of civilization. the development of agriculture, the invention of weapons and tools, the discovery of the nature of natural forces, all help to give the developing human a greater measure of control over both the physical and organic portion of his environment, and to manifest a measure of independence concerning them. but the supreme and peculiar feature of human society is the creation of a new medium to which the individual must adapt himself. by means of language and writing the knowledge and experience gained by one generation are transmitted to its successors. the human intellect elaborates definite theories concerning the universe of which it forms a part. these theories and beliefs form and fashion institutions that are transmitted from generation to generation. language stereotypes tradition and slowly creates a literature. in this way a new medium is created which is psychological in character, and ultimately dominates life. when a dog is about to rest it often tramps round and round the spot on which it is to recline. naturalists explain this as the survival of an instinct which in the wild dog served the useful function of guarding it against the presence of harmful creatures hidden in the grass. the domesticated dog is here exhibiting an instinct that belongs to a past condition of life. but man has few instincts--fewer perhaps than any other animal. in their stead he has a greater plasticity of nature, and a more educable intelligence. and it is in the exercise of this educable organization that the psychological medium as expressed in art, literature, and inventions, plays its part for good and ill. so soon as he is able to understand, the individual finds himself surrounded by ideas concerning home, the state, the monarchy, the church, and a thousand and one other things. he is brought into relation with a vast literature, and also with the play of myriads of minds similar to his own. henceforth, it is this environment with which he has chiefly to reckon in terms of either harmony or conflict. he can no more escape it than he can dispense with the atmosphere. it is part and parcel of himself. without it he ceases to be himself; for if we cut away from man all that this psychological heredity gives him he ceases to be man as we understand the term. he becomes a mere animated object. finally, we have to note that this psychological environment is cumulative in character as being is all powerful in its influence. by its own unceasing activity humanity is continually triumphing over the difficulties of its material environment and adding to the complexity and power of its mental one. inevitably the environment thus becomes more psychic in character and more powerful in its operations. we may overcome the difficulties of climate, poor soil, geographical position, etc., but it is impossible to ignore the great and growing pressure of this past mental life of the race. it defies all attempts at material coercion, and gradually transforms a material medium into what is substantially a psychological one. man cannot escape the domination of his own mental life. its unfettered exercise supplies the only freedom he is capable of realising, as it constitutes the source of his influence as a link in the causative process of determining his own destiny and moulding that of his successors. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ transcriber's note: minor punctuation errors have been corrected without note. inconsistent hyphenation has not been changed. in the plain-text version, decorative italics have not been represented. the following corrections were made to the text: p. : contantly to constantly (constantly enlarging and more comprehensive) p. : admiting to admitting (even while admitting) p. : which which to with which (with which it is used) p. (footnote ): contraint to constraint (freedom and constraint) p. (footnote ): acton to action (all volitional action) p. : maudesley to maudsley (says dr. maudsley) p. : missing "from" added (shall be expelled from our) p. : occured to occurred (occurred in the past) p. : absurdem to absurdum (argument _ad absurdum_) p. : condiitons to conditions (certain conditions, circumstances) p. : hamiliton to hamilton (sir william hamilton) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ gutenberg (this book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google books project.) the philosophy of spiritual activity a modern philosophy of life developed by scientific methods by rudolf steiner ph.d. (vienna) being an enlarged and revised edition of "the philosophy of freedom," together with the original thesis on "truth and science" authorized translation by professor & mrs. r. f. alfred hoernlÉ g. p. putnam's sons london & new york editor's note the following pages are a translation of dr. steiner's philosophie der freiheit, which was published in germany some twenty years ago. the edition was soon exhausted, and has never been reprinted; copies are much sought after but very difficult to obtain. the popularity of dr. steiner's later works upon ethics, mysticism, and kindred subjects has caused people to forget his earlier work upon philosophy in spite of the fact that he makes frequent references to this book and it contains the germs of which many of his present views are the logical outcome. for the above reasons, and with the author's sanction, i have decided to publish a translation. i have had the good fortune to have been able to secure as joint translators mrs. hoernlé, who, after graduating in the university of the cape of good hope, continued her studies in the universities of cambridge, leipzig, paris, and bonn, and her husband, mr. r. f. alfred hoernlé, assistant professor of philosophy at harvard university, u.s.a., formerly jenkyns exhibitioner, balliol college, oxford, their thorough knowledge of philosophy and their complete command of the german and english languages enabling them to overcome the difficulty of finding adequate english equivalents for the terms of german philosophy. i am glad to seize this opportunity of acknowledging my indebtedness to these two, without whom this publication could not have been undertaken. harry collison. march . editor's note to second edition in dr. steiner published a revised edition of the philosophie der freiheit. for the translation of the new passages added to, and of the incidental changes made in, this revised edition i am indebted to mr. hoernlé, now professor of philosophy in the armstrong college (newcastle-upon-tyne), university of durham. at the author's request i have changed the title to philosophy of spiritual activity, and throughout the entire work "freedom" should be taken to mean "spiritual activity." dr. steiner's ph. d. thesis on "truth and science," originally published as a prelude to the philosophy of freedom, has, with his consent, been translated for this edition and been added at the end of this volume. h. c. march . contents chap. page preface to the revised edition ( ) xi the theory of freedom i conscious human action ii why the desire for knowledge is fundamental iii thought as the instrument of knowledge iv the world as percept v our knowledge of the world vi human individuality vii are there limits to knowledge? the reality of freedom viii the factors of life ix the idea of freedom x monism and the philosophy of spiritual activity xi world-purpose and life-purpose (the destiny of man) xii moral imagination (darwin and morality) xiii the value of life (optimism and pessimism) xiv the individual and the genus ultimate questions xv the consequences of monism truth and science i preliminary observations ii the fundamental problem of kant's theory of knowledge iii theory of knowledge since kant iv the starting-points of the theory of knowledge v knowledge and reality vi theory of knowledge without presuppositions versus fichte's theory of science vii concluding remarks: epistemological viii concluding remarks: practical appendices i addition to revised edition of "the philosophy of freedom" ii revised introduction to "the philosophy of freedom" iii preface to original edition of "truth and science" iv introduction to original edition of "truth and science" preface to the revised edition ( ) there are two fundamental problems in the life of the human mind, to one or other of which everything belongs that is to be discussed in this book. one of these problems concerns the possibility of attaining to such a view of the essential nature of man as will serve as a support for whatever else comes into his life by way of experience or of science, and yet is subject to the suspicion of having no support in itself and of being liable to be driven, by doubt and criticism, into the limbo of uncertainties. the other problem is this: is man, as voluntary agent, entitled to attribute freedom to himself, or is freedom a mere illusion begotten of his inability to recognise the threads of necessity on which his volition, like any natural event, depends? it is no artificial tissue of theories which provokes this question. in a certain mood it presents itself quite naturally to the human mind. and it is easy to feel that a mind lacks something of its full stature which has never once confronted with the utmost seriousness of inquiry the two possibilities--freedom or necessity. this book is intended to show that the spiritual experiences which the second problem causes man to undergo, depend upon the position he is able to take up towards the first problem. an attempt will be made to prove that there is a view concerning the essential nature of man which can support the rest of knowledge; and, further, an attempt to point out how with this view we gain a complete justification for the idea of free will, provided only that we have first discovered that region of the mind in which free volition can unfold itself. the view to which we here refer is one which, once gained, is capable of becoming part and parcel of the very life of the mind itself. the answer given to the two problems will not be of the purely theoretical sort which, once mastered, may be carried about as a mere piece of memory-knowledge. such an answer would, for the whole manner of thinking adopted in this book, be no real answer at all. the book will not give a finished and complete answer of this sort, but point to a field of spiritual experience in which man's own inward spiritual activity supplies a living answer to these questions, as often as he needs one. whoever has once discovered the region of the mind where these questions arise, will find precisely in his actual acquaintance with this region all that he needs for the solution of his two problems. with the knowledge thus acquired he may then, as desire or fate dictate, adventure further into the breadths and depths of this unfathomable life of ours. thus it would appear that there is a kind of knowledge which proves its justification and validity by its own inner life as well as by the kinship of its own life with the whole life of the human mind. this is how i conceived the contents of this book when i first wrote it twenty-five years ago. to-day, once again, i have to set down similar sentences if i am to characterise the leading thoughts of my book. at the original writing i contented myself with saying no more than was in the strictest sense connected with the fundamental problems which i have outlined. if anyone should be astonished at not finding in this book as yet any reference to that region of the world of spiritual experience of which i have given an account in my later writings, i would ask him to bear in mind that it was not my purpose at that time to set down the results of spiritual research, but first to lay the foundations on which such results can rest. the philosophy of spiritual activity contains no special results of this spiritual sort, as little as it contains special results of the natural sciences. but what it does contain is, in my judgment, indispensable for anyone who desires a secure foundation for such knowledge. what i have said in this book may be acceptable even to some who, for reasons of their own, refuse to have anything to do with the results of my researches into the spiritual realm. but anyone who finds something to attract him in my inquiries into the spiritual realm may well appreciate the importance of what i was here trying to do. it is this: to show that open-minded consideration simply of the two problems which i have indicated and which are fundamental for all knowledge, leads to the view that man lives in the midst of a genuine spiritual world. the aim of this book is to demonstrate, prior to our entry upon spiritual experience, that knowledge of the spiritual world is a fact. this demonstration is so conducted that it is never necessary, in order to accept the present arguments, to cast furtive glances at the experiences on which i have dwelt in my later writings. all that is necessary is that the reader should be willing and able to adapt himself to the manner of the present discussions. thus it seems to me that in one sense this book occupies a position completely independent of my writings on strictly spiritual matters. yet in another sense it seems to be most intimately connected with them. these considerations have moved me now, after a lapse of twenty-five years, to re-publish the contents of this book in the main without essential alterations. i have only made additions of some length to a number of chapters. the misunderstandings of my argument with which i have met seemed to make these more detailed elaborations necessary. actual changes of text have been made by me only where it seemed to me now that i had said clumsily what i meant to say a quarter of a century ago. (only malice could find in these changes occasion to suggest that i have changed my fundamental conviction.) for many years my book has been out of print. in spite of the fact, which is apparent from what i have just said, that my utterances of twenty-five years ago about these problems still seem to me just as relevant today, i hesitated a long time about the completion of this revised edition. again and again i have asked myself whether i ought not, at this point or that, to define my position towards the numerous philosophical theories which have been put forward since the publication of the first edition. yet my preoccupation in recent years with researches into the purely spiritual realm prevented my doing as i could have wished. however, a survey, as thorough as i could make it, of the philosophical literature of the present day has convinced me that such a critical discussion, alluring though it would be in itself, would be out of place in the context of what my book has to say. all that, from the point of view of the philosophy of spiritual activity, it seemed to me necessary to say about recent philosophical tendencies may be found in the second volume of my riddles of philosophy. rudolf steiner. april . the theory of freedom i conscious human action is man free in action and thought, or is he bound by an iron necessity? there are few questions on which so much ingenuity has been expended. the idea of freedom has found enthusiastic supporters and stubborn opponents in plenty. there are those who, in their moral fervour, label anyone a man of limited intelligence who can deny so patent a fact as freedom. opposed to them are others who regard it as the acme of unscientific thinking for anyone to believe that the uniformity of natural law is broken in the sphere of human action and thought. one and the same thing is thus proclaimed, now as the most precious possession of humanity, now as its most fatal illusion. infinite subtlety has been employed to explain how human freedom can be consistent with determinism in nature of which man, after all, is a part. others have been at no less pains to explain how such a delusion as this could have arisen. that we are dealing here with one of the most important questions for life, religion, conduct, science, must be clear to every one whose most prominent trait of character is not the reverse of thoroughness. it is one of the sad signs of the superficiality of present-day thought, that a book which attempts to develop a new faith out of the results of recent scientific research (david friedrich strauss, der alte und neue glaube), has nothing more to say on this question than these words: "with the question of the freedom of the human will we are not concerned. the alleged freedom of indifferent choice has been recognised as an empty illusion by every philosophy worthy of the name. the determination of the moral value of human conduct and character remains untouched by this problem." it is not because i consider that the book in which it occurs has any special importance that i quote this passage, but because it seems to me to express the only view to which the thought of the majority of our contemporaries is able to rise in this matter. every one who has grown beyond the kindergarten-stage of science appears to know nowadays that freedom cannot consist in choosing, at one's pleasure, one or other of two possible courses of action. there is always, so we are told, a perfectly definite reason why, out of several possible actions, we carry out just one and no other. this seems quite obvious. nevertheless, down to the present day, the main attacks of the opponents of freedom are directed only against freedom of choice. even herbert spencer, in fact, whose doctrines are gaining ground daily, says, "that every one is at liberty to desire or not to desire, which is the real proposition involved in the dogma of free will, is negatived as much by the analysis of consciousness, as by the contents of the preceding chapters" (the principles of psychology, part iv, chap. ix, par. ). others, too, start from the same point of view in combating the concept of free will. the germs of all the relevant arguments are to be found as early as spinoza. all that he brought forward in clear and simple language against the idea of freedom has since been repeated times without number, but as a rule enveloped in the most sophisticated arguments, so that it is difficult to recognise the straightforward train of thought which is alone in question. spinoza writes in a letter of october or november, , "i call a thing free which exists and acts from the pure necessity of its nature, and i call that unfree, of which the being and action are precisely and fixedly determined by something else. thus, e.g., god, though necessary, is free because he exists only through the necessity of his own nature. similarly, god knows himself and all else as free, because it follows solely from the necessity of his nature that he knows all. you see, therefore, that for me freedom consists not in free decision, but in free necessity. "but let us come down to created things which are all determined by external causes to exist and to act in a fixed and definite manner. to perceive this more clearly, let us imagine a perfectly simple case. a stone, for example, receives from an external cause acting upon it a certain quantity of motion, by reason of which it necessarily continues to move, after the impact of the external cause has ceased. the continued motion of the stone is due to compulsion, not to the necessity of its own nature, because it requires to be defined by the impact of an external cause. what is true here for the stone is true also for every other particular thing, however complicated and many-sided it may be, namely, that everything is necessarily determined by external causes to exist and to act in a fixed and definite manner. "now, pray, assume that this stone during its motion thinks and knows that it is striving to the best of its power to continue in motion. this stone which is conscious only of its striving and is by no means indifferent, will believe that it is absolutely free, and that it continues in motion for no other reason than its own will to continue. now this is that human freedom which everybody claims to possess and which consists in nothing but this, that men are conscious of their desires, but ignorant of the causes by which they are determined. thus the child believes that he desires milk of his own free will, the angry boy regards his desire for vengeance as free, and the coward his desire for flight. again, the drunken man believes that he says of his own free will what, sober again, he would fain have left unsaid, and as this prejudice is innate in all men, it is difficult to free oneself from it. for, although experience teaches us often enough that man least of all can temper his desires, and that, moved by conflicting passions, he perceives the better and pursues the worse, yet he considers himself free because there are some things which he desires less strongly, and some desires which he can easily inhibit through the recollection of something else which it is often possible to recall." it is easy to detect the fundamental error of this view, because it is so clearly and definitely expressed. the same necessity by which a stone makes a definite movement as the result of an impact, is said to compel a man to carry out an action when impelled thereto by any cause. it is only because man is conscious of his action, that he thinks himself to be its originator. in doing so, he overlooks the fact that he is driven by a cause which he must obey unconditionally. the error in this train of thought is easily brought to light. spinoza, and all who think like him, overlook the fact that man not only is conscious of his action, but also may become conscious of the cause which guides him. anyone can see that a child is not free when he desires milk, nor the drunken man when he says things which he later regrets. neither knows anything of the causes, working deep within their organisms, which exercise irresistible control over them. but is it justifiable to lump together actions of this kind with those in which a man is conscious not only of his actions but also of their causes? are the actions of men really all of one kind? should the act of a soldier on the field of battle, of the scientific researcher in his laboratory, of the statesman in the most complicated diplomatic negotiations, be placed on the same level with that of the child when he desires milk? it is, no doubt, true that it is best to seek the solution of a problem where the conditions are simplest. but lack of ability to see distinctions has before now caused endless confusion. there is, after all, a profound difference between knowing the motive of my action and not knowing it. at first sight this seems a self-evident truth. and yet the opponents of freedom never ask themselves whether a motive of action which i recognise and understand, is to be regarded as compulsory for me in the same sense as the organic process which causes the child to cry for milk. eduard von hartmann, in his phänomenologie des sittlichen bewusstseins (p. ), asserts that the human will depends on two chief factors, the motives and the character. if one regards men as all alike, or at any rate the differences between them as negligible, then their will appears as determined from without, viz., by the circumstances with which they come in contact. but if one bears in mind that men adopt an idea as the motive of their conduct, only if their character is such that this idea arouses a desire in them, then men appear as determined from within and not from without. now, because an idea, given to us from without, must first in accordance with our characters be adopted as a motive, men believe that they are free, i.e., independent of external influences. the truth, however, according to eduard von hartmann, is that "even though we must first adopt an idea as a motive, we do so not arbitrarily, but according to the disposition of our characters, that is, we are anything but free." here again the difference between motives, which i allow to influence me only after i have consciously made them my own, and those which i follow without any clear knowledge of them, is absolutely ignored. this leads us straight to the standpoint from which the subject will be treated here. have we any right to consider the question of the freedom of the will by itself at all? and if not, with what other question must it necessarily be connected? if there is a difference between conscious and unconscious motives of action, then the action in which the former issue should be judged differently from the action which springs from blind impulse. hence our first question will concern this difference, and on the result of this inquiry will depend what attitude we ought to take up towards the question of freedom proper. what does it mean to have knowledge of the motives of one's actions? too little attention has been paid to this question, because, unfortunately, man who is an indivisible whole has always been torn asunder by us. the agent has been divorced from the knower, whilst he who matters more than everything else, viz., the man who acts because he knows, has been utterly overlooked. it is said that man is free when he is controlled only by his reason, and not by his animal passions. or, again, that to be free means to be able to determine one's life and action by purposes and deliberate decisions. nothing is gained by assertions of this sort. for the question is just whether reason, purposes, and decisions exercise the same kind of compulsion over a man as his animal passions. if, without my doing, a rational decision occurs in me with the same necessity with which hunger and thirst happen to me, then i must needs obey it, and my freedom is an illusion. another form of expression runs: to be free means, not that we can will what we will, but that we can do what we will. this thought has been expressed with great clearness by the poet-philosopher robert hamerling in his atomistik des willens. "man can, it is true, do what he wills, but he cannot will what he wills, because his will is determined by motives! he cannot will what he wills? let us consider these phrases more closely. have they any intelligible meaning? does freedom of will, then, mean being able to will without ground, without motive? what does willing mean if not to have grounds for doing, or striving to do, this rather than that? to will anything without ground or motive would mean to will something without willing it. the concept of motive is indissolubly bound up with that of will. without the determining motive the will is an empty faculty; it is the motive which makes it active and real. it is, therefore, quite true that the human will is not 'free,' inasmuch as its direction is always determined by the strongest motive. but, on the other hand, it must be admitted that it is absurd to speak, in contrast with this 'unfreedom,' of a conceivable 'freedom' of the will, which would consist in being able to will what one does not will" (atomistik des willens, p. ff.). here, again, only motives in general are mentioned, without taking into account the difference between unconscious and conscious motives. if a motive affects me, and i am compelled to act on it because it proves to be the "strongest" of its kind, then the idea of freedom ceases to have any meaning. how should it matter to me whether i can do a thing or not, if i am forced by the motive to do it? the primary question is, not whether i can do a thing or not when impelled by a motive, but whether the only motives are such as impel me with absolute necessity. if i must will something, then i may well be absolutely indifferent as to whether i can also do it. and if, through my character, or through circumstances prevailing in my environment, a motive is forced on me which to my thinking is unreasonable, then i should even have to be glad if i could not do what i will. the question is, not whether i can carry out a decision once made, but how i come to make the decision. what distinguishes man from all other organic beings is his rational thought. activity is common to him with other organisms. nothing is gained by seeking analogies in the animal world to clear up the concept of freedom as applied to the actions of human beings. modern science loves these analogies. when scientists have succeeded in finding among animals something similar to human behaviour, they believe they have touched on the most important question of the science of man. to what misunderstandings this view leads is seen, for example, in the book die illusion der willensfreiheit, by p. ree, , where, on page , the following remark on freedom appears: "it is easy to explain why the movement of a stone seems to us necessary, while the volition of a donkey does not. the causes which set the stone in motion are external and visible, while the causes which determine the donkey's volition are internal and invisible. between us and the place of their activity there is the skull cap of the ass.... the causal nexus is not visible and is therefore thought to be non-existent. the volition, it is explained, is, indeed, the cause of the donkey's turning round, but is itself unconditioned; it is an absolute beginning." here again human actions in which there is a consciousness of the motives are simply ignored, for ree declares, "that between us and the sphere of their activity there is the skull cap of the ass." as these words show, it has not so much as dawned on ree that there are actions, not indeed of the ass, but of human beings, in which the motive, become conscious, lies between us and the action. ree demonstrates his blindness once again a few pages further on, when he says, "we do not perceive the causes by which our will is determined, hence we think it is not causally determined at all." but enough of examples which prove that many argue against freedom without knowing in the least what freedom is. that an action of which the agent does not know why he performs it, cannot be free goes without saying. but what of the freedom of an action about the motives of which we reflect? this leads us to the question of the origin and meaning of thought. for without the recognition of the activity of mind which is called thought, it is impossible to understand what is meant either by knowledge of something or by action. when we know what thought in general means, it will be easier to see clearly the role which thought plays in human action. as hegel rightly says, "it is thought which turns the soul, common to us and animals, into spirit." hence it is thought which we may expect to give to human action its characteristic stamp. i do not mean to imply that all our actions spring only from the sober deliberations of our reason. i am very far from calling only those actions "human" in the highest sense, which proceed from abstract judgments. but as soon as our conduct rises above the sphere of the satisfaction of purely animal desires, our motives are always shaped by thoughts. love, pity, and patriotism are motives of action which cannot be analysed away into cold concepts of the understanding. it is said that here the heart, the soul, hold sway. this is no doubt true. but the heart and the soul create no motives. they presuppose them. pity enters my heart when the thought of a person who arouses pity had appeared in my consciousness. the way to the heart is through the head. love is no exception. whenever it is not merely the expression of bare sexual instinct, it depends on the thoughts we form of the loved one. and the more we idealise the loved one in our thoughts, the more blessed is our love. here, too, thought is the father of feeling. it is said that love makes us blind to the failings of the loved one. but the opposite view can be taken, namely that it is precisely for the good points that love opens the eyes. many pass by these good points without notice. one, however, perceives them, and just because he does, love awakens in his soul. what else has he done except perceive what hundreds have failed to see? love is not theirs, because they lack the perception. from whatever point we regard the subject, it becomes more and more clear that the question of the nature of human action presupposes that of the origin of thought. i shall, therefore, turn next to this question. ii why the desire for knowledge is fundamental zwei seelen wohnen, ach! in meiner brust, die eine will sich von der andern trennen; die eine hält, in derber liebeslust, sich an die welt mit klammernden organen; die andre hebt gewaltsam sich vom dust zu den gefilden hoher ahnen. [ ] faust i, - . in these words goethe expresses a trait which is deeply ingrained in human nature. man is not a self-contained unity. he demands ever more than the world, of itself, offers him. nature has endowed us with needs; among them are some the satisfaction of which she leaves to our own activity. however abundant the gifts which we have received, still more abundant are our desires. we seem born to dissatisfaction. and our desire for knowledge is but a special instance of this unsatisfied striving. suppose we look twice at a tree. the first time we see its branches at rest, the second time in motion. we are not satisfied with this observation. why, we ask, does the tree appear to us now at rest, then in motion? every glance at nature evokes in us a multitude of questions. every phenomenon we meet presents a new problem to be solved. every experience is to us a riddle. we observe that from the egg there emerges a creature like the mother animal, and we ask for the reason of the likeness. we observe a living being grow and develop to a determinate degree of perfection, and we seek the conditions of this experience. nowhere are we satisfied with the facts which nature spreads out before our senses. everywhere we seek what we call the explanation of these facts. the something more which we seek in things, over and above what is immediately given to us in them, splits our whole being into two parts. we become conscious of our opposition to the world. we oppose ourselves to the world as independent beings. the universe has for us two opposite poles: self and world. we erect this barrier between ourselves and the world as soon as consciousness is first kindled in us. but we never cease to feel that, in spite of all, we belong to the world, that there is a connecting link between it and us, and that we are beings within, and not without, the universe. this feeling makes us strive to bridge over this opposition, and ultimately the whole spiritual striving of mankind is nothing but the bridging of this opposition. the history of our spiritual life is a continuous seeking after union between ourselves and the world. religion, art, and science follow, one and all, this goal. the religious man seeks in the revelation, which god grants him, the solution of the world problem, which his self, dissatisfied with the world of mere phenomena, sets him as a task. the artist seeks to embody in his material the ideas which are his self, that he may thus reconcile the spirit which lives within him and the outer world. he, too, feels dissatisfied with the world of mere appearances, and seeks to mould into it that something more which his self supplies and which transcends appearances. the thinker searches for the laws of phenomena. he strives to master by thought what he experiences by observation. only when we have transformed the world-content into our thought-content do we recapture the connection which we had ourselves broken off. we shall see later that this goal can be reached only if we penetrate much more deeply than is often done into the nature of the scientist's problem. the whole situation, as i have here stated it, meets us, on the stage of history, in the conflict between the one-world theory, or monism, and the two-world theory, or dualism. dualism pays attention only to the separation between the self and the world, which the consciousness of man has brought about. all its efforts consist in a vain struggle to reconcile these opposites, which it calls now mind and matter, now subject and object, now thought and appearance. the dualist feels that there must be a bridge between the two worlds, but is not able to find it. in so far as man is aware of himself as "i," he cannot but put down this "i" in thought on the side of spirit; and in opposing to this "i" the world, he is bound to reckon on the world's side the realm of percepts given to the senses, i.e., the material world. in doing so, man assigns a position to himself within this very antithesis of spirit and matter. he is the more compelled to do so because his own body belongs to the material world. thus the "i," or ego, belongs as a part to the realm of spirit; the material objects and processes which are perceived by the senses belong to the "world." all the riddles which belong to spirit and matter, man must inevitably rediscover in the fundamental riddle of his own nature. monism pays attention only to the unity and tries either to deny or to slur over the opposites, present though they are. neither of these two points of view can satisfy us, for they do not do justice to the facts. the dualist sees in mind (self) and matter (world) two essentially different entities, and cannot therefore understand how they can interact with one another. how should mind be aware of what goes on in matter, seeing that the essential nature of matter is quite alien to mind? or how in these circumstances should mind act upon matter, so as to translate its intentions into actions? the most absurd hypotheses have been propounded to answer these questions. however, up to the present the monists are not in a much better position. they have tried three different ways of meeting the difficulty. either they deny mind and become materialists; or they deny matter in order to seek their salvation as spiritualists; or they assert that, even in the simplest entities in the world, mind and matter are indissolubly bound together, so that there is no need to marvel at the appearance in man of these two modes of existence, seeing that they are never found apart. materialism can never offer a satisfactory explanation of the world. for every attempt at an explanation must begin with the formation of thoughts about the phenomena of the world. materialism, thus, begins with the thought of matter or material processes. but, in doing so, it is ipso facto confronted by two different sets of facts, viz., the material world and the thoughts about it. the materialist seeks to make these latter intelligible by regarding them as purely material processes. he believes that thinking takes place in the brain, much in the same way that digestion takes place in the animal organs. just as he ascribes mechanical, chemical, and organic processes to nature, so he credits her in certain circumstances with the capacity to think. he overlooks that, in doing so, he is merely shifting the problem from one place to another. instead of to himself he ascribes the power of thought to matter. and thus he is back again at his starting-point. how does matter come to think of its own nature? why is it not simply satisfied with itself and content to accept its own existence? the materialist has turned his attention away from the definite subject, his own self, and occupies himself with an indefinite shadowy somewhat. and here the old problem meets him again. the materialistic theory cannot solve the problem; it can only shift it to another place. what of the spiritualistic theory? the pure spiritualist denies to matter all independent existence and regards it merely as a product of spirit. but when he tries to apply this theory to the solution of the riddle of his own human nature, he finds himself caught in a tight place. over against the "i," or ego, which can be ranged on the side of spirit, there stands directly the world of the senses. no spiritual approach to it seems open. it has to be perceived and experienced by the ego with the help of material processes. such material processes the ego does not discover in itself, so long as it regards its own nature as exclusively spiritual. from all that it achieves by its own spiritual effort, the sensible world is ever excluded. it seems as if the ego had to concede that the world would be a closed book to it, unless it could establish a non-spiritual relation to the world. similarly, when it comes to acting, we have to translate our purposes into realities with the help of material things and forces. we are, therefore, dependent on the outer world. the most extreme spiritualist, or, if you prefer it, idealist, is johann gottlieb fichte. he attempts to deduce the whole edifice of the world from the "ego." what he has actually accomplished is a magnificent thought-picture of the world, without any empirical content. as little as it is possible for the materialist to argue the mind away, just as little is it possible for the idealist to do without the outer world of matter. when man directs his theoretical reflection upon the ego, he perceives, in the first instance, only the work of the ego in the conceptual elaboration of the world of ideas. hence a philosophy the direction of which is spiritualistic, may feel tempted, in view of man's own essential nature, to acknowledge nothing of spirit except this world of ideas. in this way spiritualism becomes one-sided idealism. instead of going on to penetrate through the world of ideas to the spiritual world, idealism identifies the spiritual world with the world of ideas itself. as a result, it is compelled to remain fixed with its world-view in the circle of the activity of the ego, as if it were bewitched. a curious variant of idealism is to be found in the theory which f. a. lange has put forward in his widely read history of materialism. he holds that the materialists are quite right in declaring all phenomena, including our thoughts, to be the product of purely material processes, but, in turn, matter and its processes are for him themselves the product of our thinking. "the senses give us only the effects of things, not true copies, much less the things themselves. but among these mere effects we must include the senses themselves together with the brain and the molecular vibrations which we assume to go on there." that is, our thinking is produced by the material processes, and these by our thinking. lange's philosophy is thus nothing more than the philosophical analogon of the story of honest baron münchhausen, who holds himself up in the air by his own pigtail. the third form of monism is that which finds even in the simplest real (the atom) the union of both matter and mind. but nothing is gained by this either, except that the question, the origin of which is really in our consciousness, is shifted to another place. how comes it that the simple real manifests itself in a two-fold manner, if it is an indivisible unity? against all these theories we must urge the fact that we meet with the basal and fundamental opposition first in our own consciousness. it is we ourselves who break away from the bosom of nature and contrast ourselves as self with the world. goethe has given classic expression to this in his essay nature. "living in the midst of her (nature) we are strangers to her. ceaselessly she speaks to us, yet betrays none of her secrets." but goethe knows the reverse side too: "mankind is all in her, and she in all mankind." however true it may be that we have estranged ourselves from nature, it is none the less true that we feel we are in her and belong to her. it can be only her own life which pulses also in us. we must find the way back to her again. a simple reflection may point this way out to us. we have, it is true, torn ourselves away from nature, but we must none the less have carried away something of her in our own selves. this quality of nature in us we must seek out, and then we shall discover our connection with her once more. dualism neglects to do this. it considers the human mind as a spiritual entity utterly alien to nature and attempts somehow to hitch it on to nature. no wonder that it cannot find the coupling link. we can find nature outside of us only if we have first learnt to know her within us. the natural within us must be our guide to her. this marks out our path of inquiry. we shall attempt no speculations concerning the interaction of mind and matter. we shall rather probe into the depths of our own being, to find there those elements which we saved in our flight from nature. the examination of our own being must bring the solution of the problem. we must reach a point where we can say, "this is no longer merely 'i,' this is something which is more than 'i.'" i am well aware that many who have read thus far will not consider my discussion in keeping with "the present state of science." to such criticism i can reply only that i have so far not been concerned with any scientific results, but simply with the description of what every one of us experiences in his own consciousness. that a few phrases have slipped in about attempts to reconcile mind and the world has been due solely to the desire to elucidate the actual facts. i have therefore made no attempt to give to the expressions "self," "mind," "world," "nature," the precise meaning which they usually bear in psychology and philosophy. the ordinary consciousness ignores the sharp distinctions of the sciences, and so far my purpose has been solely to record the facts of everyday experience. i am concerned, not with the way in which science, so far, has interpreted consciousness, but with the way in which we experience it in every moment of our lives. iii thought as the instrument of knowledge when i observe how a billiard ball, when struck, communicates its motion to another, i remain entirely without influence on the process before me. the direction and velocity of the motion of the second ball is determined by the direction and velocity of the first. as long as i remain a mere spectator, i can say nothing about the motion of the second ball until after it has happened. it is quite different when i begin to reflect on the content of my observations. the purpose of my reflection is to construct concepts of the process. i connect the concept of an elastic ball with certain other concepts of mechanics, and consider the special circumstances which obtain in the instance in question. i try, in other words, to add to the process which takes place without my interference, a second process which takes place in the conceptual sphere. this latter process is dependent on me. this is shown by the fact that i can rest content with the observation, and renounce all search for concepts if i have no need of them. if, therefore, this need is present, then i am not content until i have established a definite connection among the concepts, ball, elasticity, motion, impact, velocity, etc., so that they apply to the observed process in a definite way. as surely as the occurrence of the observed process is independent of me, so surely is the occurrence of the conceptual process dependent on me. we shall have to consider later whether this activity of mine really proceeds from my own independent being, or whether those modern physiologists are right who say that we cannot think as we will, but that we must think exactly as the thoughts and thought-connections determine, which happen to be in our minds at any given moment. (cp. ziehen, leitfaden der physiologischen psychologie, jena, , p. .) for the present we wish merely to establish the fact that we constantly feel obliged to seek for concepts and connections of concepts, which stand in definite relation to the objects and processes which are given independently of us. whether this activity is really ours, or whether we are determined to it by an unalterable necessity, is a question which we need not decide at present. what is unquestionable is that the activity appears, in the first instance, to be ours. we know for certain that concepts are not given together with the objects to which they correspond. my being the agent in the conceptual process may be an illusion; but there is no doubt that to immediate observation i appear to be active. our present question is, what do we gain by supplementing a process with a conceptual counterpart? there is a far-reaching difference between the ways in which, for me, the parts of a process are related to one another before, and after, the discovery of the corresponding concepts. mere observation can trace the parts of a given process as they occur, but their connection remains obscure without the help of concepts. i observe the first billiard ball move towards the second in a certain direction and with a certain velocity. what will happen after the impact i cannot tell in advance. i can once more only watch it happen with my eyes. suppose someone obstructs my view of the field where the process is happening, at the moment when the impact occurs, then, as mere spectator, i remain ignorant of what goes on. the situation is very different, if prior to the obstructing of my view i have discovered the concepts corresponding to the nexus of events. in that case i can say what occurs, even when i am no longer able to observe. there is nothing in a merely observed process or object to show its relation to other processes or objects. this relation becomes manifest only when observation is combined with thought. observation and thought are the two points of departure for all the spiritual striving of man, in so far as he is conscious of such striving. the workings of common sense, as well as the most complicated scientific researches, rest on these two fundamental pillars of our minds. philosophers have started from various ultimate antitheses, idea and reality, subject and object, appearance and thing-in-itself, ego and non-ego, idea and will, concept and matter, force and substance, the conscious and the unconscious. it is, however, easy to show that all these antitheses are subsequent to that between observation and thought, this being for man the most important. whatever principle we choose to lay down, we must either prove that somewhere we have observed it, or we must enunciate it in the form of a clear concept which can be re-thought by any other thinker. every philosopher who sets out to discuss his fundamental principles, must express them in conceptual form and thus use thought. he therefore indirectly admits that his activity presupposes thought. we leave open here the question whether thought or something else is the chief factor in the development of the world. but it is at any rate clear that the philosopher can gain no knowledge of this development without thought. in the occurrence of phenomena thought may play a secondary part, but it is quite certain that it plays a chief part in the construction of a theory about them. as regards observation, our need of it is due to our organisation. our thought about a horse and the object "horse" are two things which for us have separate existences. the object is accessible to us only by means of observation. as little as we can construct a concept of a horse by mere staring at the animal, just as little are we able by mere thought to produce the corresponding object. in time observation actually precedes thought. for we become familiar with thought itself in the first instance by observation. it was essentially a description of an observation when, at the beginning of this chapter, we gave an account of how thought is kindled by an objective process and transcends the merely given. whatever enters the circle of our experiences becomes an object of apprehension to us first through observation. all contents of sensations, all perceptions, intuitions, feelings, acts of will, dreams and fancies, images, concepts, ideas, all illusions and hallucinations, are given to us through observation. but thought as an object of observation differs essentially from all other objects. the observation of a table, or a tree, occurs in me as soon as those objects appear within the horizon of my field of consciousness. yet i do not, at the same time, observe my thought about these things. i observe the table, but i carry on a process of thought about the table without at the same moment observing this thought-process. i must first take up a standpoint outside of my own activity, if i want to observe my thought about the table, as well as the table. whereas the observation of things and processes, and the thinking about them, are everyday occurrences making up the continuous current of my life, the observation of the thought-process itself is an exceptional attitude to adopt. this fact must be taken into account, when we come to determine the relations of thought as an object of observation to all other objects. we must be quite clear about the fact that, in observing the thought-processes, we are applying to them a method which is our normal attitude in the study of all other objects in the world, but which in the ordinary course of that study is usually not applied to thought itself. someone might object that what i have said about thinking applies equally to feeling and to all other mental activities. thus it is said that when, e.g., i have a feeling of pleasure, the feeling is kindled by the object, but it is this object i observe, not the feeling of pleasure. this objection, however, is based on an error. pleasure does not stand at all in the same relation to its object as the concept constructed by thought. i am conscious, in the most positive way, that the concept of a thing is formed through my activity; whereas a feeling of pleasure is produced in me by an object in a way similar to that in which, e.g., a change is caused in an object by a stone which falls on it. for observation, a pleasure is given in exactly the same way as the event which causes it. the same is not true of concepts. i can ask why an event arouses in me a feeling of pleasure. but i certainly cannot ask why an occurrence causes in me a certain number of concepts. the question would be simply meaningless. in thinking about an occurrence, i am not concerned with it as an effect on me. i learn nothing about myself from knowing the concepts which correspond to the observed change caused in a pane of glass by a stone thrown against it. but i do learn something about myself when i know the feeling which a certain occurrence arouses in me. when i say of an object which i perceive, "this is a rose," i say absolutely nothing about myself; but when i say of the same thing that "it causes a feeling of pleasure in me," i characterise not only the rose, but also myself in my relation to the rose. there can, therefore, be no question of putting thought and feeling on a level as objects of observation. and the same could easily be shown of other activities of the human mind. unlike thought, they must be classed with any other observed objects or events. the peculiar nature of thought lies just in this, that it is an activity which is directed solely on the observed object and not on the thinking subject. this is apparent even from the way in which we express our thoughts about an object, as distinct from our feelings or acts of will. when i see an object and recognise it as a table, i do not as a rule say, "i am thinking of a table," but, "this is a table." on the other hand, i do say, "i am pleased with the table." in the former case, i am not at all interested in stating that i have entered into a relation with the table; whereas, in the second case, it is just this relation which matters. in saying, "i am thinking of a table," i adopt the exceptional point of view characterised above, in which something is made the object of observation which is always present in our mental activity, without being itself normally an observed object. the peculiar nature of thought consists just in this, that the thinker forgets his thinking while actually engaged in it. it is not thinking which occupies his attention, but rather the object of thought which he observes. the first point, then, to notice about thought is that it is the unobserved element in our ordinary mental life. the reason why we do not notice the thinking which goes on in our ordinary mental life is no other than this, that it is our own activity. whatever i do not myself produce appears in my field of consciousness as an object; i contrast it with myself as something the existence of which is independent of me. it forces itself upon me. i must accept it as the presupposition of my thinking. as long as i think about the object, i am absorbed in it, my attention is turned on it. to be thus absorbed in the object is just to contemplate it by thought. i attend, not to my activity, but to its object. in other words, whilst i am thinking i pay no heed to my thinking which is of my own making, but only to the object of my thinking which is not of my making. i am, moreover, in exactly the same position when i adopt the exceptional point of view and think of my own thought-processes. i can never observe my present thought, i can only make my past experiences of thought-processes subsequently the objects of fresh thoughts. if i wanted to watch my present thought, i should have to split myself into two persons, one to think, the other to observe this thinking. but this is impossible. i can only accomplish it in two separate acts. the observed thought-processes are never those in which i am actually engaged but others. whether, for this purpose, i make observations on my own former thoughts, or follow the thought-processes of another person, or finally, as in the example of the motions of the billiard balls, assume an imaginary thought-process, is immaterial. there are two things which are incompatible with one another: productive activity and the theoretical contemplation of that activity. this is recognised even in the first book of moses. it represents god as creating the world in the first six days, and only after its completion is any contemplation of the world possible: "and god saw everything that he had made and, behold, it was very good." the same applies to our thinking. it must be there first, if we would observe it. the reason why it is impossible to observe the thought-process in its actual occurrence at any given moment, is the same as that which makes it possible for us to know it more immediately and more intimately than any other process in the world. just because it is our own creation do we know the characteristic features of its course, the manner in which the process, in detail, takes place. what in the other spheres of observation we can discover only indirectly, viz., the relevant objective nexus and the relations of the individual objects, that is known to us immediately in the case of thought. i do not know off-hand why, for perception, thunder follows lightning, but i know immediately, from the content of the two concepts, why my thought connects the concept of thunder with that of lightning. it does not matter for my argument whether my concepts of thunder and lightning are correct. the connection between the concepts i have is clear to me, and that through the very concepts themselves. this transparent clearness in the observation of our thought-processes is quite independent of our knowledge of the physiological basis of thought. i am speaking here of thought in the sense in which it is the object of our observation of our own mental activity. for this purpose it is quite irrelevant how one material process in my brain causes or influences another, whilst i am carrying on a process of thought. what i observe, in studying a thought-process, is, not what process in my brain connects the concept of thunder with that of lightning, but what is my reason for bringing these two concepts into a definite relation. introspection shows that, in linking thought with thought, i am guided by their content, not by the material processes in the brain. this remark would be quite superfluous in a less materialistic age than ours. to-day, however, when there are people who believe that, when we know what matter is, we shall know also how it thinks, it is necessary to affirm the possibility of speaking of thought without trespassing on the domain of brain physiology. many people to-day find it difficult to grasp the concept of thought in its purity. anyone who challenges the account of thought which i have given here, by quoting cabanis' statement that "the brain secretes thoughts as the liver does gall or the spittle-glands spittle, etc." simply does not know of what i am talking. he attempts to discover thought by the same method of mere observation which we apply to the other objects that make up the world. but he cannot find it in this way, because, as i have shown, it eludes just this ordinary observation. whoever cannot transcend materialism lacks the ability to throw himself into the exceptional attitude i have described, in which he becomes conscious of what in all other mental activity remains unconscious. it is as useless to discuss thought with one who is not willing to adopt this attitude, as it would be to discuss colour with a blind man. let him not imagine, however, that we regard physiological processes as thought. he fails to explain thought, because he is not even aware that it is there. for every one, however, who has the ability to observe thought, and with good will every normal man has this ability, this observation is the most important he can make. for he observes something which he himself produces. he is not confronted by what is to begin with a strange object, but by his own activity. he knows how that which he observes has come to be. he perceives clearly its connections and relations. he gains a firm point from which he can, with well-founded hopes, seek an explanation of the other phenomena of the world. the feeling that he had found such a firm foundation, induced the father of modern philosophy, descartes, to base the whole of human knowledge on the principle, "i think, therefore i am." all other things, all other processes, are independent of me. whether they be truth, or illusion, or dream, i know not. there is only one thing of which i am absolutely certain, for i myself am the author of its indubitable existence; and that is my thought. whatever other origin it may have in addition, whether it come from god or from elsewhere, of one thing i am sure, that it exists in the sense that i myself produce it. descartes had, to begin with, no justification for reading any other meaning into his principle. all he had a right to assert was that, in apprehending myself as thinking, i apprehend myself, within the world-system, in that activity which is most uniquely characteristic of me. what the added words "therefore i am" are intended to mean has been much debated. they can have a meaning on one condition only. the simplest assertion i can make of a thing is, that it is, that it exists. what kind of existence, in detail, it has, can in no case be determined on the spot, as soon as the thing enters within the horizon of my experience. each object must be studied in its relations to others, before we can determine the sense in which we can speak of its existence. an experienced process may be a complex of percepts, or it may be a dream, an hallucination, etc. in short, i cannot say in what sense it exists. i can never read off the kind of existence from the process itself, for i can discover it only when i consider the process in its relation to other things. but this, again, yields me no knowledge beyond just its relation to other things. my inquiry touches firm ground only when i find an object, the reason of the existence of which i can gather from itself. such an object i am myself in so far as i think, for i qualify my existence by the determinate and self-contained content of my thought-activity. from here i can go on to ask whether other things exist in the same or in some other sense. when thought is made an object of observation, something which usually escapes our attention is added to the other observed contents of the world. but the usual manner of observation, such as is employed also for other objects, is in no way altered. we add to the number of objects of observation, but not to the number of methods. when we are observing other things, there enters among the world-processes--among which i now include observation--one process which is overlooked. there is present something different from every other kind of process, something which is not taken into account. but when i make an object of my own thinking, there is no such neglected element present. for what lurks now in the background is just thought itself over again. the object of observation is qualitatively identical with the activity directed upon it. this is another characteristic feature of thought-processes. when we make them objects of observation, we are not compelled to do so with the help of something qualitatively different, but can remain within the realm of thought. when i weave a tissue of thoughts round an independently given object, i transcend my observation, and the question then arises, what right have i to do this? why do i not passively let the object impress itself on me? how is it possible for my thought to be relevantly related to the object? these are questions which every one must put to himself who reflects on his own thought-processes. but all these questions lapse when we think about thought itself. we then add nothing to our thought that is foreign to it, and therefore have no need to justify any such addition. schelling says: "to know nature means to create nature." if we take these words of the daring philosopher of nature literally, we shall have to renounce for ever all hope of gaining knowledge of nature. for nature after all exists, and if we have to create it over again, we must know the principles according to which it has originated in the first instance. we should have to borrow from nature as it exists the conditions of existence for the nature which we are about to create. but this borrowing, which would have to precede the creating, would be a knowing of nature, and would be this even if after the borrowing no creation at all were attempted. the only kind of nature which it would be possible to create without previous knowledge, would be a nature different from the existing one. what is impossible with nature, viz., creation prior to knowledge, that we accomplish in the act of thought. were we to refrain from thinking until we had first gained knowledge of it, we should never think at all. we must resolutely think straight ahead, and then afterwards by introspective analysis gain knowledge of our own processes. thus we ourselves create the thought-processes which we then make objects of observation. the existence of all other objects is provided for us without any activity on our part. my contention that we must think before we can make thought an object of knowledge, might easily be countered by the apparently equally valid contention that we cannot wait with digesting until we have first observed the process of digestion. this objection would be similar to that brought by pascal against descartes, when he asserted we might also say "i walk, therefore i am." certainly i must digest resolutely and not wait until i have studied the physiological process of digestion. but i could only compare this with the analysis of thought if, after digestion, i set myself not to analyse it by thought, but to eat and digest it. it is not without reason that, while digestion cannot become the object of digestion, thought can very well become the object of thought. this then is indisputable, that in thinking we have got hold of one bit of the world-process which requires our presence if anything is to happen. and that is the very point that matters. the very reason why things seem so puzzling is just that i play no part in their production. they are simply given to me, whereas i know how thought is produced. hence there can be no more fundamental starting-point than thought from which to regard all world-processes. i should like still to mention a widely current error which prevails with regard to thought. it is often said that thought, in its real nature, is never experienced. the thought-processes which connect our perceptions with one another, and weave about them a network of concepts, are not at all the same as those which our analysis afterwards extracts from the objects of perception, in order to make them the object of study. what we have unconsciously woven into things is, so we are told, something widely different from what subsequent analysis recovers out of them. those who hold this view do not see that it is impossible to escape from thought. i cannot get outside thought when i want to observe it. we should never forget that the distinction between thought which goes on unconsciously and thought which is consciously analysed, is a purely external one and irrelevant to our discussion. i do not in any way alter a thing by making it an object of thought. i can well imagine that a being with quite different sense-organs, and with a differently constructed intelligence, would have a very different idea of a horse from mine, but i cannot think that my own thought becomes different because i make it an object of knowledge. i myself observe my own processes. we are not talking here of how my thought-processes appear to an intelligence different from mine, but how they appear to me. in any case, the idea which another mind forms of my thought cannot be truer than the one which i form myself. only if the thought-processes were not my own, but the activity of a being quite different from me, could i maintain that, notwithstanding my forming a definite idea of these thought-processes, their real nature was beyond my comprehension. so far, there is not the slightest reason why i should regard my thought from any other point of view than my own. i contemplate the rest of the world by means of thought. how should i make of my thought an exception? i think i have given sufficient reasons for making thought the starting-point for my theory of the world. when archimedes had discovered the lever, he thought he could lift the whole cosmos out of its hinges, if only he could find a point of support for his instrument. he needed a point which was self-supporting. in thought we have a principle which is self-subsisting. let us try, therefore, to understand the world starting with thought as our basis. thought can be grasped by thought. the question is whether by thought we can also grasp something other than thought. i have so far spoken of thought without taking any account of its vehicle, the human consciousness. most present-day philosophers would object that, before there can be thought, there must be consciousness. hence we ought to start, not from thought, but from consciousness. there is no thought, they say without consciousness. in reply i would urge that, in order to clear up the relation between thought and consciousness, i must think about it. hence i presuppose thought. one might, it is true, retort that, though a philosopher who wishes to understand consciousness, naturally makes use of thought, and so far presupposes it, in the ordinary course of life thought arises within consciousness and therefore presupposes that. were this answer given to the world-creator, when he was about to create thought, it would, without doubt, be to the point. thought cannot, of course, come into being before consciousness. the philosopher, however, is not concerned with the creation of the world, but with the understanding of it. hence he is in search of the starting-point, not for creation, but for the understanding of the world. it seems to me very strange that philosophers are reproached for troubling themselves, above all, about the correctness of their principles, instead of turning straight to the objects which they seek to understand. the world-creator had above all to know how to find a vehicle for thought; the philosopher must seek a firm basis for the understanding of what is given. what does it help us to start with consciousness and make it an object of thought, if we have not first inquired how far it is possible at all to gain any knowledge of things by thought? we must first consider thought quite impartially without relation to a thinking subject or to an object of thought. for subject and object are both concepts constructed by thought. there is no denying that thought must be understood before anything else can be understood. whoever denies this, fails to realise that man is not the first link in the chain of creation but the last. hence, in order to explain the world by means of concepts, we cannot start from the elements of existence which came first in time, but we must begin with those which are nearest and most intimately connected with us. we cannot, with a leap, transport ourselves to the beginning of the world, in order to begin our analysis there, but we must start from the present and see whether we cannot advance from the later to the earlier. as long as geology fabled fantastic revolutions to account for the present state of the earth, it groped in darkness. it was only when it began to study the processes at present at work on the earth, and from these to argue back to the past, that it gained a firm foundation. as long as philosophy assumes all sorts of principles, such as atom, motion, matter, will, the unconscious, it will hang in the air. the philosopher can reach his goal only if he adopts that which is last in time as first in his theory. this absolutely last in the world-process is thought. there are people who say it is impossible to ascertain with certainty whether thought is right or wrong, and that, so far, our starting-point is a doubtful one. it would be just as intelligent to raise doubts as to whether a tree is in itself right or wrong. thought is a fact, and it is meaningless to speak of the truth or falsity of a fact. i can, at most, be in doubt as to whether thought is rightly employed, just as i can doubt whether a certain tree supplies wood adapted to the making of this or that useful object. it is just the purpose of this book to show how far the application of thought to the world is right or wrong. i can understand anyone doubting whether, by means of thought, we can gain any knowledge of the world, but it is unintelligible to me how anyone can doubt that thought in itself is right. addition to the revised edition ( ). in the preceding discussion i have pointed out the importance of the difference between thinking and all other activities of mind. this difference is a fact which is patent to genuinely unprejudiced observation. an observer who does not try to see the facts without preconception will be tempted to bring against my argumentation such objections as these: when i think about a rose, there is involved nothing more than a relation of my "i" to the rose, just as when i feel the beauty of the rose. there subsists a relation between "i" and object in thinking precisely as there does, e.g., in feeling or perceiving. those who urge this objection fail to bear in mind that it is only in the activity of thinking that the "i," or ego, knows itself to be identical, right into all the ramifications of the activity, with that which does the thinking. of no other activity of mind can we say the same. for example, in a feeling of pleasure it is easy for a really careful observer to discriminate between the extent to which the ego knows itself to be identical with what is active in the feeling, and the extent to which there is something passive in the ego, so that the pleasure is merely something which happens to the ego. the same applies to the other mental activities. the main thing is not to confuse the "having of images" with the elaboration of ideas by thinking. images may appear in the mind dream-wise, like vague intimations. but this is not thinking. true, someone might now urge: if this is what you mean by "thinking," then your thinking contains willing, and you have to do, not with mere thinking, but with the will to think. however, this would justify us only in saying: genuine thinking must always be willed thinking. but this is quite irrelevant to the characterisation of thinking as this has been given in the preceding discussion. let it be granted that the nature of thinking necessarily implies its being willed, the point which matters is that nothing is willed which, in being carried out, fails to appear to the ego as an activity completely its own and under its own supervision. indeed, we must say that thinking appears to the observer as through and through willed, precisely because of its nature as above defined. if we genuinely try to master all the facts which are relevant to a judgment about the nature of thinking, we cannot fail to observe that, as a mental activity, thinking has the unique character which is here in question. a reader of whose powers the author of this book has a very high opinion, has objected that it is impossible to speak about thinking as we are here doing, because the supposed observation of active thinking is nothing but an illusion. in reality, what is observed is only the results of an unconscious activity which lies at the basis of thinking. it is only because, and just because, this unconscious activity escapes observation, that the deceptive appearance of the self-existence of the observed thinking arises, just as when an illumination by means of a rapid succession of electric sparks makes us believe that we see a movement. this objection, likewise, rests solely on an inaccurate view of the facts. the objection ignores that it is the ego itself which, identical with the thinking, observes from within its own activity. the ego would have to stand outside the thinking in order to suffer the sort of deception which is caused by an illumination with a rapid succession of electric sparks. one might say rather that to indulge in such an analogy is to deceive oneself wilfully, just as if someone, seeing a moving light, were obstinately to affirm that it is being freshly lit by an unknown hand at every point where it appears. no, whoever is bent on seeing in thought anything else than an activity produced--and observable by--the ego has first to shut his eyes to the plain facts that are there for the looking, in order then to invent a hypothetical activity as the basis of thinking. if he does not wilfully blind himself, he must recognise that all these "hypothetical additions" to thinking take him away from its real nature. unprejudiced observation shows that nothing is to be counted as belonging to the nature of thinking except what is found in thinking itself. it is impossible to discover the cause of thinking by going outside the realm of thought. iv the world as percept the products of thinking are concepts and ideas. what a concept is cannot be expressed in words. words can do no more than draw our attention to the fact that we have concepts. when someone perceives a tree, the perception acts as a stimulus for thought. thus an ideal element is added to the perceived object, and the perceiver regards the object and its ideal complement as belonging together. when the object disappears from the field of his perception, the ideal counterpart alone remains. this latter is the concept of the object. the wider the range of our experience, the larger becomes the number of our concepts. moreover, concepts are not by any means found in isolation one from the other. they combine to form an ordered and systematic whole. the concept "organism," e.g., combines with those of "development according to law," "growth," and others. other concepts based on particular objects fuse completely with one another. all concepts formed from particular lions fuse in the universal concept "lion." in this way, all the separate concepts combine to form a closed, conceptual system within which each has its special place. ideas do not differ qualitatively from concepts. they are but fuller, more saturated, more comprehensive concepts. i attach special importance to the necessity of bearing in mind, here, that i make thought my starting-point, and not concepts and ideas which are first gained by means of thought. these latter presuppose thought. my remarks regarding the self-dependent, self-sufficient character of thought cannot, therefore, be simply transferred to concepts. (i make special mention of this, because it is here that i differ from hegel, who regards the concept as something primary and ultimate.) concepts cannot be derived from perception. this is apparent from the fact that, as man grows up, he slowly and gradually builds up the concepts corresponding to the objects which surround him. concepts are added to perception. a philosopher, widely read at the present day (herbert spencer), describes the mental process which we perform upon perception as follows: "if, when walking through the fields some day in september, you hear a rustle a few yards in advance, and on observing the ditch-side where it occurs, see the herbage agitated, you will probably turn towards the spot to learn by what this sound and motion are produced. as you approach there flutters into the ditch a partridge; on seeing which your curiosity is satisfied--you have what you call an explanation of the appearances. the explanation, mark, amounts to this--that whereas throughout life you have had countless experiences of disturbance among small stationary bodies, accompanying the movement of other bodies among them, and have generalised the relation between such disturbances and such movements, you consider this particular disturbance explained on finding it to present an instance of the like relation" (first principles, part i, par. ). a closer analysis leads to a very different description from that here given. when i hear a noise, my first demand is for the concept which fits this percept. without this concept, the noise is to me a mere noise. whoever does not reflect further, hears just the noise and is satisfied with that. but my thought makes it clear to me that the noise is to be regarded as an effect. thus it is only when i combine the concept of effect with the percept of a noise that i am led to go beyond the particular percept and seek for its cause. the concept of "effect" calls up that of "cause," and my next step is to look for the agent, which i find, say, in a partridge. but these concepts, cause and effect, can never be gained through mere perception, however many instances we bring under review. perception evokes thought, and it is this which shows me how to link separate experiences together. if one demands of a "strictly objective science" that it should take its data from perception alone, one must demand also that it abandon all thought. for thought, by its very nature, transcends the objects of perception. it is time now to pass from thought to the thinker. for it is through the thinker that thought and perception are combined. the human mind is the stage on which concept and percept meet and are linked to one another. in saying this, we already characterise this (human) consciousness. it mediates between thought and perception. in perception the object appears as given, in thought the mind seems to itself to be active. it regards the thing as object and itself as the thinking subject. when thought is directed upon the perceptual world we have consciousness of objects; when it is directed upon itself we have self-consciousness. human consciousness must, of necessity, be at the same time self-consciousness, because it is a consciousness which thinks. for, when thought contemplates its own activity it makes an object for study of its own essential nature, it makes an object of itself as subject. it is important to note here that it is only by means of thinking that i am able to determine myself as subject and contrast myself with objects. therefore thinking must never be regarded as a merely subjective activity. thinking transcends the distinction of subject and object. it produces these two concepts just as it produces all others. when, therefore, i, as thinking subject, refer a concept to an object, we must not regard this reference as something purely subjective. it is not the subject, but thought, which makes the reference. the subject does not think because it is a subject, rather it conceives itself to be a subject because it can think. the activity of consciousness, in so far as it thinks, is thus not merely subjective. rather it is neither subjective nor objective; it transcends both these concepts. i ought never to say that i, as an individual subject, think, but rather that i, as subject, exist myself by the grace of thought. thought thus takes me out of myself and relates me to objects. at the same time it separates me from them, inasmuch as i, as subject, am set over against the objects. it is just this which constitutes the double nature of man. his thought embraces himself and the rest of the world. but by this same act of thought he determines himself also as an individual, in contrast with the objective world. we must next ask ourselves how the other element, which we have so far simply called the perceptual object and which comes, in consciousness, into contact with thought, enters into thought at all? in order to answer this question, we must eliminate from the field of consciousness everything which has been imported by thought. for, at any moment, the content of consciousness is always shot through with concepts in the most various ways. let us assume that a being with fully developed human intelligence originated out of nothing and confronted the world. all that it there perceived before its thought began to act would be the pure content of perception. the world so far would appear to this being as a mere chaotic aggregate of sense-data, colours, sounds, sensations of pressure, of warmth, of taste, of smell, and, lastly, feelings of pleasure and pain. this mass constitutes the world of pure unthinking perception. over against it stands thought, ready to begin its activity as soon as it can find a point of attack. experience shows that the opportunity is not long in coming. thought is able to draw threads from one sense-datum to another. it brings definite concepts to bear on these data and thus establishes a relation between them. we have seen above how a noise which we hear is connected with another content by our identifying the first as the effect of the second. if now we recollect that the activity of thought is on no account to be considered as merely subjective, then we shall not be tempted to believe that the relations thus established by thought have merely subjective validity. our next task is to discover by means of thought what relation the above-mentioned immediate sense-data have to the conscious subject. the ambiguity of current speech makes it advisable for me to come to an agreement with my readers concerning the meaning of a word which i shall have to employ in what follows. i shall apply the name "percepts" to the immediate sense-data enumerated above, in so far as the subject consciously apprehends them. it is, then, not the process of perception, but the object of this process which i call the "percept." i reject the term "sensation," because this has a definite meaning in physiology which is narrower than that of my term "percept." i can speak of feeling as a percept, but not as a sensation in the physiological sense of the term. before i can have cognisance of my feeling it must become a percept for me. the manner in which, through observation, we gain knowledge of our thought-processes is such that when we first begin to notice thought, it too may be called a percept. the unreflective man regards his percepts, such as they appear to his immediate apprehension, as things having a wholly independent existence. when he sees a tree he believes that it stands in the form which he sees, with the colours of all its parts, etc., there on the spot towards which his gaze is directed. when the same man sees the sun in the morning appear as a disc on the horizon, and follows the course of this disc, he believes that the phenomenon exists and occurs (by itself) exactly as he perceives it. to this belief he clings until he meets with further percepts which contradict his former ones. the child who has as yet had no experience of distance grasps at the moon, and does not correct its first impression as to the real distance until a second percept contradicts the first. every extension of the circle of my percepts compels me to correct my picture of the world. we see this in everyday life, as well as in the mental development of mankind. the picture which the ancients made for themselves of the relation of the earth to the sun and other heavenly bodies, had to be replaced by another when copernicus found that it contradicted percepts which in those early days were unknown. a man who had been born blind said, when operated on by dr. franz, that the idea of the size of objects which he had formed before his operation by his sense of touch was a very different one. he had to correct his tactual percepts by his visual percepts. how is it that we are compelled to make these continual corrections in our observations? a single reflection supplies the answer to this question. when i stand at one end of an avenue, the trees at the other end, away from me, seem smaller and nearer together than those where i stand. but the scene which i perceive changes when i change the place from which i am looking. the exact form in which it presents itself to me is, therefore, dependent on a condition which inheres, not in the object, but in me, the percipient. it is all the same to the avenue where i stand. but the picture of it which i receive depends essentially on my standpoint. in the same way, it makes no difference to the sun and the planetary system that human beings happen to perceive them from the earth; but the picture of the heavens which human beings have is determined by the fact that they inhabit the earth. this dependence of our percepts on our points of observation is the easiest kind of dependence to understand. the matter becomes more difficult when we realise further that our perceptual world is dependent on our bodily and mental organisation. the physicist teaches us that within the space in which we hear a sound there are vibrations of the air, and that there are vibrations also in the particles of the body which we regard as the cause of the sound. these vibrations are perceived as sounds only if we have normally constructed ears. without them the whole world would be for us for ever silent. again, the physiologist teaches us that there are men who perceive nothing of the wonderful display of colours which surrounds us. in their world there are only degrees of light and dark. others are blind only to one colour, e.g., red. their world lacks this colour tone, and hence it is actually a different one from that of the average man. i should like to call the dependence of my perceptual world on my point of observation "mathematical," and its dependence on my organisation "qualitative." the former determines proportions of size and mutual distances of my percepts, the latter their quality. the fact that i see a red surface as red--this qualitative determination--depends on the structure of my eye. my percepts, then, are in the first instance subjective. the recognition of the subjective character of our percepts may easily lead us to doubt whether there is any objective basis for them at all. when we know that a percept, e.g., that of a red colour or of a certain tone, is not possible without a specific structure of our organism, we may easily be led to believe that it has no being at all apart from our subjective organisation, that it has no kind of existence apart from the act of perceiving of which it is the object. the classical representative of this theory is george berkeley, who held that from the moment we realise the importance of a subject for perception, we are no longer able to believe in the existence of a world apart from a conscious mind. "some truths there are so near and obvious to the mind that man need only open his eyes to see them. such i take this important one to be, viz., that all the choir of heaven and the furniture of the earth--in a word, all those bodies which compose the mighty frame of the world--have not any subsistence without a mind; that their being is to be perceived or known; that consequently, so long as they are not actually perceived by me, or do not exist in my mind or that of any other created spirit, they must either have no existence at all or else subsist in the mind of some eternal spirit" (berkeley, of the principles of human knowledge, part i, section ). on this view, when we take away the act of perceiving, nothing remains of the percept. there is no colour when none is seen, no sound when none is heard. extension, form, and motion exist as little as colour and sound apart from the act of perception. we never perceive bare extension or shape. these are always joined with colour or some other quality, which are undoubtedly dependent on the subject. if these latter disappear when we cease to perceive, the former, being connected with them, must disappear likewise. if it is urged that, even though figure, colour, sound, etc., have no existence except in the act of perception, yet there must be things which exist apart from perception and which are similar to the percepts in our minds, then the view we have mentioned would answer, that a colour can be similar only to a colour, a figure to a figure. our percepts can be similar only to our percepts and to nothing else. even what we call a thing is nothing but a collection of percepts which are connected in a definite way. if i strip a table of its shape, extension, colour, etc.--in short, of all that is merely my percepts--then nothing remains over. if we follow this view to its logical conclusion, we are led to the assertion that the objects of my perceptions exist only through me, and only in as far as, and as long as, i perceive them. they disappear with my perceiving and have no meaning apart from it. apart from my percepts i know of no objects and cannot know of any. no objection can be made to this assertion as long as we take into account merely the general fact that the percept is determined in part by the organisation of the subject. the matter would be far otherwise if we were in a position to say what part exactly is played by our perceiving in the occurrence of a percept. we should know then what happens to a percept whilst it is being perceived, and we should also be able to determine what character it must possess before it comes to be perceived. this leads us to turn our attention from the object of a perception to the subject of it. i am aware not only of other things but also of myself. the content of my perception of myself consists, in the first instance, in that i am something stable in contrast with the ever coming and going flux of percepts. the awareness of myself accompanies in my consciousness the awareness of all other percepts. when i am absorbed in the perception of a given object i am, for the time being, aware only of this object. next i become aware also of myself. i am then conscious, not only of the object, but also of my self as opposed to and observing the object. i do not merely see a tree, i know also that it is i who see it. i know, moreover, that some process takes place in me when i observe a tree. when the tree disappears from my field of vision, an after-effect of this process remains, viz., an image of the tree. this image has become associated with my self during my perception. my self has become enriched; to its content a new element has been added. this element i call my idea of the tree. i should never have occasion to talk of ideas, were i not aware of my own self. percepts would come and go; i should let them slip by. it is only because i am aware of my self, and observe that with each perception the content of the self is changed, that i am compelled to connect the perception of the object with the changes in the content of my self, and to speak of having an idea. that i have ideas is in the same sense matter of observation to me as that other objects have colour, sound, etc. i am now also able to distinguish these other objects, which stand over against me, by the name of the outer world, whereas the contents of my perception of my self form my inner world. the failure to recognise the true relation between idea and object has led to the greatest misunderstandings in modern philosophy. the fact that i perceive a change in myself, that my self undergoes a modification, has been thrust into the foreground, whilst the object which causes these modifications is altogether ignored. in consequence it has been said that we perceive, not objects, but only our ideas. i know, so it is said, nothing of the table in itself, which is the object of my perception, but only of the changes which occur within me when i perceive a table. this theory should not be confused with the berkeleyan theory mentioned above. berkeley maintains the subjective nature of my perceptual contents, but he does not say that i can know only my own ideas. he limits my knowledge to my ideas because, on his view, there are no objects other than ideas. what i perceive as a table no longer exists, according to berkeley, when i cease to look at it. this is why berkeley holds that our percepts are created directly by the omnipotence of god. i see a table because god causes this percept in me. for berkeley, therefore, nothing is real except god and human spirits. what we call the "world" exists only in spirits. what the naïve man calls the outer world, or material nature, is for berkeley non-existent. this theory is confronted by the now predominant kantian view which limits our knowledge of the world to our ideas, not because of any conviction that nothing beyond these ideas exists, but because it holds that we are so organised that we can have knowledge only of the changes within our own selves, not of the things-in-themselves which are the causes of these changes. this view concludes from the fact that i know only my own ideas, not that there is no reality independent of them, but only that the subject cannot have direct knowledge of such reality. the mind can merely "through the medium of its subjective thoughts imagine it, conceive it, know it, or perhaps also fail to know it" (o. liebmann, zur analysis der wirklichkeit, p. ). kantians believe that their principles are absolutely certain, indeed immediately evident, without any proof. "the most fundamental principle which the philosopher must begin by grasping clearly, consists in the recognition that our knowledge, in the first instance, does not extend beyond our ideas. our ideas are all that we immediately have and experience, and just because we have immediate experience of them the most radical doubt cannot rob us of this knowledge. on the other hand, the knowledge which transcends my ideas--taking ideas here in the widest possible sense, so as to include all psychical processes--is not proof against doubt. hence, at the very beginning of all philosophy we must explicitly set down all knowledge which transcends ideas as open to doubt." these are the opening sentences of volkelt's book on kant's theory of knowledge. what is here put forward as an immediate and self-evident truth is, in reality, the conclusion of a piece of argument which runs as follows. naïve common sense believes that things, just as we perceive them, exist also outside our minds. physics, physiology, and psychology, however, teach us that our percepts are dependent on our organisation, and that therefore we cannot know anything about external objects except what our organisation transmits to us. the objects which we perceive are thus modifications of our organisation, not things-in-themselves. this line of thought has, in fact, been characterised by ed. von hartmann as the one which leads necessarily to the conviction that we can have direct knowledge only of our own ideas (cp. his grundproblem der erkenntnistheorie, pp. - ). because outside our organisms we find vibrations of particles and of air, which are perceived by us as sounds, it is concluded that what we call sound is nothing more than a subjective reaction of our organisms to these motions in the external world. similarly, colour and heat are inferred to be merely modifications of our organisms. and, further, these two kinds of percepts are held to be the effects of processes in the external world which are utterly different from what we experience as heat or as colour. when these processes stimulate the nerves in the skin of my body, i perceive heat; when they stimulate the optical nerve i perceive light and colour. light, colour, and heat, then, are the reactions of my sensory nerves to external stimuli. similarly, the sense of touch reveals to me, not the objects of the outer world, but only states of my own body. the physicist holds that bodies are composed of infinitely small particles called molecules, and that these molecules are not in direct contact with one another, but have definite intervals between them. between them, therefore, is empty space. across this space they act on one another by attraction and repulsion. if i put my hand on a body, the molecules of my hand by no means touch those of the body directly, but there remains a certain distance between body and hand, and what i experience as the body's resistance is nothing but the effect of the force of repulsion which its molecules exert on my hand. i am absolutely external to the body and experience only its effects on my organism. the theory of the so-called specific nervous energy, which has been advanced by j. müller, supplements these speculations. it asserts that each sense has the peculiarity that it reacts to all external stimuli in only one definite way. if the optic nerve is stimulated, light sensations result, irrespective of whether the stimulation is due to what we call light, or to mechanical pressure, or an electrical current. on the other hand, the same external stimulus applied to different senses gives rise to different sensations. the conclusion from these facts seems to be, that our sense-organs can give us knowledge only of what occurs in themselves, but not of the external world. they determine our percepts, each according to its own nature. physiology shows, further, that there can be no direct knowledge even of the effects which objects produce on our sense-organs. through his study of the processes which occur in our own bodies, the physiologist finds that, even in the sense-organs, the effects of the external process are modified in the most diverse ways. we can see this most clearly in the case of eye and ear. both are very complicated organs which modify the external stimulus considerably, before they conduct it to the corresponding nerve. from the peripheral end of the nerve the modified stimulus is then conducted to the brain. here the central organs must in turn be stimulated. the conclusion is, therefore, drawn that the external process undergoes a series of transformations before it reaches consciousness. the brain processes are connected by so many intermediate links with the external stimuli, that any similarity between them is out of the question. what the brain ultimately transmits to the soul is neither external processes, nor processes in the sense-organs, but only such as occur in the brain. but even these are not apprehended immediately by the soul. what we finally have in consciousness are not brain processes at all, but sensations. my sensation of red has absolutely no similarity with the process which occurs in the brain when i sense red. the sensation, again, occurs as an effect in the mind, and the brain process is only its cause. this is why hartmann (grundproblem der erkenntnistheorie, p. ) says, "what the subject experiences is therefore only modifications of his own psychical states and nothing else." however, when i have sensations, they are very far as yet from being grouped in those complexes which i perceive as "things." only single sensations can be transmitted to me by the brain. the sensations of hardness and softness are transmitted to me by the organ of touch, those of colour and light by the organ of sight. yet all these are found united in one object. this unification must, therefore, be brought about by the soul itself; that is, the soul constructs things out of the separate sensations which the brain conveys to it. my brain conveys to me singly, and by widely different paths, the visual, tactual, and auditory sensations which the soul then combines into the idea of a trumpet. thus, what is really the result of a process (i.e., the idea of a trumpet), is for my consciousness the primary datum. in this result nothing can any longer be found of what exists outside of me and originally stimulated my sense-organs. the external object is lost entirely on the way to the brain and through the brain to the soul. it would be hard to find in the history of human speculation another edifice of thought which has been built up with greater ingenuity, and which yet, on closer analysis, collapses into nothing. let us look a little closer at the way it has been constructed. the theory starts with what is given in naïve consciousness, i.e., with things as perceived. it proceeds to show that none of the qualities which we find in these things would exist for us, had we no sense-organs. no eye--no colour. therefore, the colour is not, as yet, present in the stimulus which affects the eye. it arises first through the interaction of the eye and the object. the latter is, therefore, colourless. but neither is the colour in the eye, for in the eye there is only a chemical, or physical, process which is first conducted by the optic nerve to the brain, and there initiates another process. even this is not yet the colour. that is only produced in the soul by means of the brain process. even then it does not yet appear in consciousness, but is first referred by the soul to a body in the external world. there i finally perceive it, as a quality of this body. we have travelled in a complete circle. we are conscious of a coloured object. that is the starting-point. here thought begins its construction. if i had no eye, the object would be, for me, colourless. i cannot, therefore, attribute the colour to the object. i must look for it elsewhere. i look for it, first, in the eye--in vain; in the nerve--in vain; in the brain--in vain once more; in the soul--here i find it indeed, but not attached to the object. i recover the coloured body only on returning to my starting-point. the circle is completed. the theory leads me to identify what the naïve man regards as existing outside of him, as really a product of my mind. as long as one stops here everything seems to fit beautifully. but we must go over the argument once more from the beginning. hitherto i have used, as my starting-point, the object, i.e., the external percept of which up to now, from my naïve standpoint, i had a totally wrong conception. i thought that the percept, just as i perceive it, had objective existence. but now i observe that it disappears with my act of perception, that it is only a modification of my mental state. have i, then, any right at all to start from it in my arguments? can i say of it that it acts on my soul? i must henceforth treat the table of which formerly i believed that it acted on me, and produced an idea of itself in me, as itself an idea. but from this it follows logically that my sense-organs, and the processes in them are also merely subjective. i have no right to talk of a real eye but only of my idea of an eye. exactly the same is true of the nerve paths, and the brain processes, and even of the process in the soul itself, through which things are supposed to be constructed out of the chaos of diverse sensations. if assuming the truth of the first circle of argumentation, i run through the steps of my cognitive activity once more, the latter reveals itself as a tissue of ideas which, as such, cannot act on one another. i cannot say that my idea of the object acts on my idea of the eye, and that from this interaction results my idea of colour. but it is necessary that i should say this. for as soon as i see clearly that my sense-organs and their activity, my nerve- and soul-processes, can also be known to me only through perception, the argument which i have outlined reveals itself in its full absurdity. it is quite true that i can have no percept without the corresponding sense-organ. but just as little can i be aware of a sense-organ without perception. from the percept of a table i can pass to the eye which sees it, or the nerves in the skin which touches it, but what takes place in these i can, in turn, learn only from perception. and then i soon perceive that there is no trace of similarity between the process which takes place in the eye and the colour which i see. i cannot get rid of colour sensations by pointing to the process which takes place in the eye whilst i perceive a colour. no more can i re-discover the colour in the nerve- or brain-processes. i only add a new percept, localised within the organism, to the first percept which the naïve man localises outside of his organism. i only pass from one percept to another. moreover, there is a break in the whole argument. i can follow the processes in my organism up to those in my brain, even though my assumptions become more and more hypothetical as i approach the central processes of the brain. the method of external observation ceases with the process in my brain, more particularly with the process which i should observe, if i could treat the brain with the instruments and methods of physics and chemistry. the method of internal observation, or introspection, begins with the sensations, and includes the construction of things out of the material of sense-data. at the point of transition from brain process to sensation, there is a break in the sequence of observation. the theory which i have here described, and which calls itself critical idealism, in contrast to the standpoint of naïve common sense which it calls naïve realism, makes the mistake of characterising one group of percepts as ideas, whilst taking another group in the very same sense as the naïve realism which it apparently refutes. it establishes the ideal character of percepts by accepting naïvely, as objectively valid facts, the percepts connected with one's own body; and, in addition, it fails to see that it confuses two spheres of observation, between which it can find no connecting link. critical idealism can refute naïve realism only by itself assuming, in naïve-realistic fashion, that one's own organism has objective existence. as soon as the idealist realises that the percepts connected with his own organism stand on exactly the same footing as those which naïve realism assumes to have objective existence, he can no longer use the former as a safe foundation for his theory. he would, to be consistent, have to regard his own organism also as a mere complex of ideas. but this removes the possibility of regarding the content of the perceptual world as a product of the mind's organisation. one would have to assume that the idea "colour" was only a modification of the idea "eye." so-called critical idealism can be established only by borrowing the assumptions of naïve realism. the apparent refutation of the latter is achieved only by uncritically accepting its own assumptions as valid in another sphere. this much, then, is certain: analysis within the world of percepts cannot establish critical idealism, and, consequently, cannot strip percepts of their objective character. still less is it legitimate to represent the principle that "the perceptual world is my idea" as self-evident and needing no proof. schopenhauer begins his chief work, the world as will and idea, with the words: "the world is my idea--this is a truth which holds good for everything that lives and knows, though man alone can bring it into reflective and abstract consciousness. if he really does this, he has attained to philosophical wisdom. it then becomes clear and certain to him that what he knows is not a sun and an earth, but only an eye that sees a sun, a hand that feels an earth; that the world which surrounds him is there only in idea, i.e., only in relation to something else, the consciousness which is himself. if any truth can be asserted a priori, it is this: for it is the expression of the most general form of all possible and thinkable experience, a form which is more general than time, or space, or causality, for they all presuppose it ..." (the world as will and idea, book i, par. ). this whole theory is wrecked by the fact, already mentioned above, that the eyes and the hand are just as much percepts as the sun and the earth. using schopenhauer's vocabulary in his own sense, i might maintain against him that my eye which sees the sun, and my hand which feels the earth, are my ideas just like the sun and the earth themselves. that, put in this way, the whole theory cancels itself, is clear without further argument. for only my real eye and my real hand, but not my ideas "eye" and "hand," could own the ideas "sun" and "earth" as modifications. yet it is only in terms of these ideas that critical idealism has the right to speak. critical idealism is totally unable to gain an insight unto the relation of percept to idea. it cannot make the separation, mentioned on p. , between what happens to the percept in the process of perception and what must be inherent in it prior to perception. we must therefore attempt this problem in another way. v our knowledge of the world from the foregoing considerations it follows that it is impossible to prove, by analysis of the content of our perceptions, that our percepts are ideas. this is supposed to be proved by showing that, if the process of perceiving takes place in the way in which we conceive it in accordance with the naïve-realistic assumptions concerning the psychological and physiological constitution of human individuals, then we have to do, not with things themselves, but merely with our ideas of things. now, if naïve realism, when consistently thought out, leads to results which directly contradict its presuppositions, then these presuppositions must be discarded as unsuitable for the foundation of a theory of the world. in any case, it is inadmissible to reject the presuppositions and yet accept the consequences, as the critical idealist does who bases his assertion that the world is my idea on the line of argument indicated above. (eduard von hartmann gives in his work das grundproblem der erkenntnistheorie a full account of this line of argument.) the truth of critical idealism is one thing, the persuasiveness of its proofs another. how it stands with the former, will appear later in the course of our argument, but the persuasiveness of its proofs is nil. if one builds a house, and the ground floor collapses whilst the first floor is being built, then the first floor collapses too. naïve realism and critical idealism are related to one another like the ground floor to the first floor in this simile. for one who holds that the whole perceptual world is only an ideal world, and, moreover, the effect of things unknown to him acting on his soul, the real problem of knowledge is naturally concerned, not with the ideas present only in the soul, but with the things which lie outside his consciousness, and which are independent of him. he asks, how much can we learn about them indirectly, seeing that we cannot observe them directly? from this point of view, he is concerned, not with the connection of his conscious percepts with one another, but with their causes which transcend his consciousness and exist independently of him, whereas the percepts, on his view, disappear as soon as he turns his sense-organs away from the things themselves. our consciousness, on this view, works like a mirror from which the pictures of definite things disappear the very moment its reflecting surface is not turned towards them. if, now, we do not see the things themselves, but only their reflections, we must obtain knowledge of the nature of the former indirectly by drawing conclusions from the character of the latter. the whole of modern science adopts this point of view, when it uses percepts only as a means of obtaining information about the motions of matter which lie behind them, and which alone really "are." if the philosopher, as critical idealist, admits real existence at all, then his sole aim is to gain knowledge of this real existence indirectly by means of his ideas. his interest ignores the subjective world of ideas, and pursues instead the causes of these ideas. the critical idealist can, however, go even further and say, i am confined to the world of my own ideas and cannot escape from it. if i conceive a thing beyond my ideas, this concept, once more, is nothing but my idea. an idealist of this type will either deny the thing-in-itself entirely or, at any rate, assert that it has no significance for human minds, i.e., that it is as good as non-existent since we can know nothing of it. to this kind of critical idealist the whole world seems a chaotic dream, in the face of which all striving for knowledge is simply meaningless. for him there can be only two sorts of men: ( ) victims of the illusion that the dreams they have woven themselves are real things, and ( ) wise men who see through the nothingness of this dream world, and who gradually lose all desire to trouble themselves further about it. from this point of view, even one's own personality may become a mere dream phantom. just as during sleep there appears among my dream-images an image of myself, so in waking consciousness the idea of my own self is added to the idea of the outer world. i have then given to me in consciousness, not my real self, but only my idea of my self. whoever denies that things exist, or, at least, that we can know anything of them, must also deny the existence, respectively the knowledge, of one's own personality. this is how the critical idealist comes to maintain that "all reality transforms itself into a wonderful dream, without a life which is the object of the dream, and without a mind which has the dream; into a dream which is nothing but a dream of itself." (cp. fichte, die bestimmung des menschen.) whether he who believes that he recognises immediate experience to be a dream, postulates nothing behind this dream, or whether he relates his ideas to actual things, is immaterial. in both cases life itself must lose all scientific interest for him. however, whereas for those who believe that the whole of accessible reality is exhausted in dreams, all science is an absurdity, for those who feel compelled to argue from ideas to things, science consists in studying these things-in-themselves. the first of these theories of the world may be called absolute illusionism, the second is called transcendental realism [ ] by its most rigorously logical exponent, eduard von hartmann. these two points of view have this in common with naïve realism, that they seek to gain a footing in the world by means of an analysis of percepts. within this sphere, however, they are unable to find any stable point. one of the most important questions for an adherent of transcendental realism would have to be, how the ego constructs the world of ideas out of itself. a world of ideas which was given to us, and which disappeared as soon as we shut our senses to the external world, might provoke an earnest desire for knowledge, in so far as it was a means for investigating indirectly the world of the self-existing self. if the things of our experience were "ideas," then our everyday life would be like a dream, and the discovery of the true facts like waking. even our dream-images interest us as long as we dream and, consequently, do not detect their dream character. but as soon as we wake, we no longer look for the connections of our dream-images among themselves, but rather for the physical, physiological, and psychological processes which underlie them. in the same way, a philosopher who holds the world to be his idea, cannot be interested in the reciprocal relations of the details within the world. if he admits the existence of a real ego at all, then his question will be, not how one of his ideas is associated with another, but what takes place in the soul which is independent of these ideas, while a certain train of ideas passes through his consciousness. if i dream that i am drinking wine which makes my throat burn, and then wake up with a fit of coughing (cp. weygandt, entstehung der träume, ) i cease, the moment i wake, to be interested in the dream-experience for its own sake. my attention is now concerned only with the physiological and psychological processes by means of which the irritation which causes me to cough, comes to be symbolically expressed in the dream. similarly, once the philosopher is convinced that the given world consists of nothing but ideas, his interest is bound to switch from them at once to the soul which is the reality lying behind them. the matter is more serious, however, for the illusionist who denies the existence of an ego behind the "ideas," or at least holds this ego to be unknowable. we might very easily be led to such a view by the reflection that, in contrast to dreaming, there is the waking state in which we have the opportunity to detect our dreams, and to realise the real relations of things, but that there is no state of the self which is related similarly to our waking conscious life. every adherent of this view fails entirely to see that there is, in fact, something which is to mere perception what our waking experience to our dreams. this something is thought. the naïve man cannot be charged with failure to perceive this. he accepts life as it is, and regards things as real just as they present themselves to him in experience. the first step, however, which we take beyond this standpoint can be only this, that we ask how thought is related to perception. it makes no difference whether or no the percept, as given to me, has a continuous existence before and after i perceive it. if i want to assert anything whatever about it, i can do so only with the help of thought. when i assert that the world is my idea, i have enunciated the result of an act of thought, and if my thought is not applicable to the world, then my result is false. between a percept and every kind of judgment about it there intervenes thought. the reason why, in our discussion about things, we generally overlook the part played by thought, has already been given above (p. ). it lies in the fact that our attention is concentrated only on the object about which we think, but not at the same time on the thinking itself. the naïve mind, therefore, treats thought as something which has nothing to do with things, but stands altogether aloof from them and makes its theories about them. the theory which the thinker constructs concerning the phenomena of the world is regarded, not as part of the real things, but as existing only in men's heads. the world is complete in itself even without this theory. it is all ready-made and finished with all its substances and forces, and of this ready-made world man makes himself a picture. whoever thinks thus need only be asked one question. what right have you to declare the world to be complete without thought? does not the world cause thoughts in the minds of men with the same necessity as it causes the blossoms on plants? plant a seed in the earth. it puts forth roots and stem, it unfolds into leaves and blossoms. set the plant before yourselves. it connects itself, in your minds, with a definite concept. why should this concept belong any less to the whole plant than leaf and blossom? you say the leaves and blossoms exist quite apart from an experiencing subject. the concept appears only when a human being makes an object of the plant. quite so. but leaves and blossoms also appear on the plant only if there is soil in which the seed can be planted, and light and air in which the blossoms and leaves can unfold. just so the concept of a plant arises when a thinking being comes into contact with the plant. it is quite arbitrary to regard the sum of what we experience of a thing through bare perception as a totality, a whole, while that which thought reveals in it is regarded as a mere accretion which has nothing to do with the thing itself. if i am given a rosebud to-day, the percept that offers itself to me is complete only for the moment. if i put the bud into water, i shall to-morrow get a very different picture of my object. if i watch the rosebud without interruption, i shall see to-day's state gradually change into to-morrow's through an infinite number of intermediate stages. the picture which presents itself to me at any one moment is only a chance section out of the continuous process of growth in which the object is engaged. if i do not put the bud into water, a whole series of states, the possibility of which lay in the bud, will not be realised. similarly, i may be prevented to-morrow from watching the blossom further, and thus carry away an incomplete picture of it. it would be a quite unscientific and arbitrary judgment which declared of any haphazard appearance of a thing, this is the thing. to regard the sum of perceptual appearances as the thing is no more legitimate. it might be quite possible for a mind to receive the concept at the same time as, and together with, the percept. to such a mind it would never occur that the concept did not belong to the thing. it would have to ascribe to the concept an existence indivisibly bound up with the thing. let me make myself clearer by another example. if i throw a stone horizontally through the air, i perceive it in different places at different times. i connect these places so as to form a line. mathematics teaches me to distinguish various kinds of lines, one of which is the parabola. i know a parabola to be a line which is produced by a point moving according to a certain well-defined law. if i analyse the conditions under which the stone thrown by me moves, i find that the line of its flight is identical with the line i know as a parabola. that the stone moves exactly in a parabola is a result of the given conditions and follows necessarily from them. the form of the parabola belongs to the whole phenomenon as much as any other feature of it. the hypothetical mind described above which has no need of the roundabout way of thought, would find itself presented, not only with a sequence of visual percepts at different points, but, as part and parcel of these phenomena, also with the parabolic form of the line of flight, which we can add to the phenomenon only by an act of thought. it is not due to the real objects that they appear to us at first without their conceptual sides, but to our mental organisation. our whole organisation functions in such a way that in the apprehension of every real thing the relevant elements come to us from two sources, viz., from perception and from thought. the nature of things is indifferent to the way i am organised for apprehending them. the breach between perception and thought exists only from the moment that i confront objects as spectator. but which elements do, and which do not, belong to the objects, cannot depend on the manner in which i obtain my knowledge of them. man is a being with many limitations. first of all, he is a thing among other things. his existence is in space and time. hence but a limited portion of the total universe can ever be given to him. this limited portion, however, is linked up with other parts on every side both in time and in space. if our existence were so linked with things that every process in the object world were also a process in us, there would be no difference between us and things. neither would there be any individual objects for us. all processes and events would then pass continuously one into the other. the cosmos would be a unity and a whole complete in itself. the stream of events would nowhere be interrupted. but owing to our limitations we perceive as an individual object what, in truth, is not an individual object at all. nowhere, e.g., is the particular quality "red" to be found by itself in abstraction. it is surrounded on all sides by other qualities to which it belongs, and without which it could not subsist. for us, however, it is necessary to isolate certain sections of the world and to consider them by themselves. our eye can seize only single colours one after another out of a manifold colour-complex, our understanding only single concepts out of a connected conceptual system. this isolation is a subjective act, which is due to the fact that we are not identical with the world-process, but are only things among other things. it is of the greatest importance for us to determine the relation of ourselves, as things, to all other things. the determining of this relation must be distinguished from merely becoming conscious of ourselves. for this self-awareness we depend on perception just as we do for our awareness of any other thing. the perception of myself reveals to me a number of qualities which i combine into an apprehension of my personality as a whole, just as i combine the qualities, yellow, metallic, hard, etc., in the unity "gold." this kind of self-consciousness does not take me beyond the sphere of what belongs to me. hence it must be distinguished from the determination of myself by thought. just as i determine by thought the place of any single percept of the external world in the whole cosmic system, so i fit by an act of thought what i perceive in myself into the order of the world-process. my self-observation restricts me within definite limits, but my thought has nothing to do with these limits. in this sense i am a two-sided being. i am contained within the sphere which i apprehend as that of my personality, but i am also the possessor of an activity which, from a higher standpoint, determines my finite existence. thought is not individual like sensation and feeling; it is universal. it receives an individual stamp in each separate human being only because it comes to be related to his individual feelings and sensations. by means of these particular colourings of the universal thought, individual men are distinguished from one another. there is only one single concept of "triangle." it is quite immaterial for the content of this concept whether it is in a's consciousness or in b's. it will, however, be grasped by each of the two minds in its own individual way. this thought conflicts with a common prejudice which is very hard to overcome. the victims of this prejudice are unable to see that the concept of a triangle which my mind grasps is the same as the concept which my neighbour's mind grasps. the naïve man believes himself to be the creator of his concepts. hence he believes that each person has his private concepts. one of the first things which philosophic thought requires of us is to overcome this prejudice. the one single concept of "triangle" does not split up into many concepts because it is thought by many minds. for the thought of the many is itself a unity. in thought we have the element which welds each man's special individuality into one whole with the cosmos. in so far as we sense and feel (perceive), we are isolated individuals; in so far as we think, we are the all-one being which pervades everything. this is the deeper meaning of our two-sided nature. we are conscious of an absolute principle revealing itself in us, a principle which is universal. but we experience it, not as it issues from the centre of the world, but rather at a point on the periphery. were the former the case, we should know, as soon as ever we became conscious, the solution of the whole world problem. but since we stand at a point on the periphery, and find that our own being is confined within definite limits, we must explore the region which lies beyond our own being with the help of thought, which is the universal cosmic principle manifesting itself in our minds. the fact that thought, in us, reaches out beyond our separate existence and relates itself to the universal world-order, gives rise to the desire for knowledge in us. beings without thought do not experience this desire. when they come in contact with other things no questions arise for them. these other things remain external to such beings. but in thinking beings the concept confronts the external thing. it is that part of the thing which we receive not from without, but from within. to assimilate, to unite, the two elements, the inner and the outer, that is the function of knowledge. the percept, thus, is not something finished and self-contained, but one side only of the total reality. the other side is the concept. the act of cognition is the synthesis of percept and concept. and it is only the union of percept and concept which constitutes the whole thing. the preceding discussion shows clearly that it is futile to seek for any other common element in the separate things of the world than the ideal content which thinking supplies. all attempts to discover any other principle of unity in the world than this internally coherent ideal content, which we gain for ourselves by the conceptual analysis of our percepts, are bound to fail. neither a personal god, nor force, nor matter, nor the blind will (of schopenhauer and hartmann), can be accepted by us as the universal principle of unity in the world. these principles all belong only to a limited sphere of our experience. personality we experience only in ourselves, force and matter only in external things. the will, again, can be regarded only as the expression of the activity of our finite personalities. schopenhauer wants to avoid making "abstract" thought the principle of unity in the world, and seeks instead something which presents itself to him immediately as real. this philosopher holds that we can never solve the riddle of the world so long as we regard it as an "external" world. "in fact, the meaning for which we seek of that world which is present to us only as our idea, or the transition from the world as mere idea of the knowing subject to whatever it may be besides this, would never be found if the investigator himself were nothing more than the pure knowing subject (a winged cherub without a body). but he himself is rooted in that world: he finds himself in it as an individual, that is to say, his knowledge, which is the necessary supporter of the whole world as idea, is yet always given through the medium of a body, whose affections are, as we have shown, the starting-point for the understanding in the perception of that world. his body is, for the pure knowing subject, an idea like every other idea, an object among objects. its movements and actions are so far known to him in precisely the same way as the changes of all other perceived objects, and would be just as strange and incomprehensible to him if their meaning were not explained for him in an entirely different way.... the body is given in two entirely different ways to the subject of knowledge, who becomes an individual only through his identity with it. it is given as an idea in intelligent perception, as an object among objects and subject to the laws of objects. and it is also given in quite a different way as that which is immediately known to every one, and is signified by the word 'will.' every true act of his will is also at once and without exception a movement of his body. the act of will and the movement of the body are not two different things objectively known, which the bond of causality unites; they do not stand in the relation of cause and effect; they are one and the same, but they are given in entirely different ways--immediately, and again in perception for the understanding." (the world as will and idea, book , § .) schopenhauer considers himself entitled by these arguments to hold that the will becomes objectified in the human body. he believes that in the activities of the body he has an immediate experience of reality, of the thing-in-itself in the concrete. against these arguments we must urge that the activities of our body become known to us only through self-observation, and that, as such, they are in no way superior to other percepts. if we want to know their real nature, we can do so only by means of thought, i.e., by fitting them into the ideal system of our concepts and ideas. one of the most deeply rooted prejudices of the naïve mind is the opinion that thinking is abstract and empty of any concrete content. at best, we are told, it supplies but an "ideal" counterpart of the unity of the world, but never that unity itself. whoever holds this view has never made clear to himself what a percept apart from concepts really is. let us see what this world of bare percepts is. a mere juxtaposition in space, a mere succession in time, a chaos of disconnected particulars--that is what it is. none of these things which come and go on the stage of perception has any connection with any other. the world is a multiplicity of objects without distinctions of value. none plays any greater part in the nexus of the world than any other. in order to realise that this or that fact has a greater importance than another we must go to thought. as long as we do not think, the rudimentary organ of an animal which has no significance in its life, appears equal in value to its more important limbs. the particular facts reveal their meaning, in themselves and in their relations with other parts of the world, only when thought spins its threads from thing to thing. this activity of thinking has always a content. for it is only through a perfectly definite concrete content that i can know why the snail belongs to a lower type of organisation than the lion. the mere appearance, the percept, gives me no content which could inform me as to the degree of perfection of the organisation. thought contributes this content to the percept from the world of concepts and ideas. in contrast with the content of perception which is given to us from without, the content of thought appears within our minds. the form in which thought first appears in consciousness we will call "intuition." intuition is to thoughts what observation is to percepts. intuition and observation are the sources of our knowledge. an external object which we observe remains unintelligible to us, until the corresponding intuition arises within us which adds to the reality those sides of it which are lacking in the percept. to anyone who is incapable of supplying the relevant intuitions, the full nature of the real remains a sealed book. just as the colour-blind person sees only differences of brightness without any colour qualities, so the mind which lacks intuition sees only disconnected fragments of percepts. to explain a thing, to make it intelligible, means nothing else than to place it in the context from which it has been torn by the peculiar organisation of our minds, described above. nothing can possibly exist cut off from the universe. hence all isolation of objects has only subjective validity for minds organised like ours. for us the universe is split up into above and below, before and after, cause and effect, object and idea, matter and force, object and subject, etc. the objects which, in observation, appear to us as separate, become combined, bit by bit, through the coherent, unified system of our intuitions. by thought we fuse again into one whole all that perception has separated. an object presents riddles to our understanding so long as it exists in isolation. but this is an abstraction of our own making and can be unmade again in the world of concepts. except through thought and perception nothing is given to us directly. the question now arises as to the interpretation of percepts on our theory. we have learnt that the proof which critical idealism offers for the subjective nature of percepts collapses. but the exhibition of the falsity of the proof is not, by itself, sufficient to show that the doctrine itself is an error. critical idealism does not base its proof on the absolute nature of thought, but relies on the argument that naïve realism, when followed to its logical conclusion, contradicts itself. how does the matter appear when we recognise the absoluteness of thought? let us assume that a certain percept, e.g., red, appears in consciousness. to continued observation, the percept shows itself to be connected with other percepts, e.g., a certain figure, temperature, and touch-qualities. this complex of percepts i call an object in the world of sense. i can now ask myself: over and above the percepts just mentioned, what else is there in the section of space in which they are? i shall then find mechanical, chemical, and other processes in that section of space. i next go further and study the processes which take place between the object and my sense-organs. i shall find oscillations in an elastic medium, the character of which has not the least in common with the percepts from which i started. i get the same result if i trace further the connection between sense-organs and brain. in each of these inquiries i gather new percepts, but the connecting thread which binds all these spatially and temporally separated percepts into one whole, is thought. the air vibrations which carry sound are given to me as percepts just like the sound. thought alone links all these percepts one to the other and exhibits them in their reciprocal relations. we have no right to say that over and above our immediate percepts there is anything except the ideal nexus of precepts (which thought has to reveal). the relation of the object perceived to the perceiving subject, which relation transcends the bare percept, is therefore purely ideal, i.e., capable of being expressed only through concepts. only if it were possible to perceive how the object of perception affects the perceiving subject, or, alternatively, only if i could watch the construction of the perceptual complex through the subject, could we speak as modern physiology, and the critical idealism which is based on it, speak. their theory confuses an ideal relation (that of the object to the subject) with a process of which we could speak only if it were possible to perceive it. the proposition, "no colour without a colour-sensing eye," cannot be taken to mean that the eye produces the colour, but only that an ideal relation, recognisable by thought, subsists between the percept "colour" and the percept "eye." to empirical science belongs the task of ascertaining how the properties of the eye and those of the colours are related to one another; by means of what structures the organ of sight makes possible the perception of colours, etc. i can trace how one percept succeeds another and how one is related to others in space, and i can formulate these relations in conceptual terms, but i can never perceive how a percept originates out of the non-perceptible. all attempts to seek any relations between percepts other than conceptual relations must of necessity fail. what then is a percept? this question, asked in this general way, is absurd. a percept appears always as a perfectly determinate, concrete content. this content is immediately given and is completely contained in the given. the only question one can ask concerning the given content is, what it is apart from perception, that is, what it is for thought. the question concerning the "what" of a percept can, therefore, only refer to the conceptual intuition which corresponds to the percept. from this point of view, the problem of the subjectivity of percepts, in the sense in which the critical idealists debate it, cannot be raised at all. only that which is experienced as belonging to the subject can be termed "subjective." to form a link between subject and object is impossible for any real process, in the naïve sense of the word "real," in which it means a process which can be perceived. that is possible only for thought. for us, then, "objective" means that which, for perception, presents itself as external to the perceiving subject. as subject of perception i remain perceptible to myself after the table which now stands before me has disappeared from my field of observation. the perception of the table has produced a modification in me which persists like myself. i preserve an image of the table which now forms part of my self. modern psychology terms this image a "memory-idea." now this is the only thing which has any right to be called the idea of the table. for it is the perceptible modification of my own mental state through the presence of the table in my visual field. moreover, it does not mean a modification in some "ego-in-itself" behind the perceiving subject, but the modification of the perceiving subject itself. the idea is, therefore, a subjective percept, in contrast with the objective percept which occurs when the object is present in the perceptual field. the false identification of the subjective with this objective percept leads to the misunderstanding of idealism: the world is my idea. our next task must be to define the concept of "idea" more nearly. what we have said about it so far does not give us the concept, but only shows us where in the perceptual field ideas are to be found. the exact concept of "idea" will also make it possible for us to obtain a satisfactory understanding of the relation of idea and object. this will then lead us over the border-line, where the relation of subject to object is brought down from the purely conceptual field of knowledge into concrete individual life. once we know how we are to conceive the world, it will be an easy task to adapt ourselves to it. only when we know to what object we are to devote our activity can we put our whole energy into our actions. addition to the revised edition ( ). the view which i have here outlined may be regarded as one to which man is led as it were spontaneously, as soon as he begins to reflect about his relation to the world. he then finds himself caught in a system of thoughts which dissolves for him as fast as he frames it. the thoughts which form this system are such that the purely theoretical refutation of them does not exhaust our task. we have to live through them, in order to understand the confusion into which they lead us, and to find the way out. they must figure in any discussion of the relation of man to the world, not for the sake of refuting others whom one believes to be holding mistaken views about this relation, but because it is necessary to understand the confusion in which all first efforts at reflection about such a relation are apt to issue. one needs to learn by experience how to refute oneself with respect to these first reflections. this is the point of view from which the arguments of the preceding chapter are to be understood. whoever tries to work out for himself a theory of the relation of man to the world, becomes aware of the fact that he creates this relation, at least in part, by forming ideas about the things and events in the world. in consequence, his attention is deflected from what exists outside in the world and directed towards his inner world, the realm of his ideas. he begins to say to himself, it is impossible for me to stand in relation to any thing or event, unless an idea appears in me. from this fact, once noticed, it is but a step to the theory: all that i experience is only my ideas; of the existence of a world outside i know only in so far as it is an idea in me. with this theory, man abandons the standpoint of naïve realism which he occupies prior to all reflection about his relation to the world. so long as he stands there, he believes that he is dealing with real things, but reflection about himself drives him away from this position. reflection does not reveal to his gaze a real world such as naïve consciousness claims to have before it. reflection reveals to him only his ideas; they interpose themselves between his own nature and a supposedly real world, such as the naïve point of view confidently affirms. the interposition of the world of ideas prevents man from perceiving any longer such a real world. he must suppose that he is blind to such a reality. thus arises the concept of a "thing-in-itself" which is inaccessible to knowledge. so long as we consider only the relation to the world into which man appears to enter through the stream of his ideas, we can hardly avoid framing this type of theory. yet we cannot remain at the point of view of naïve realism except at the price of closing our minds artificially to the desire for knowledge. the existence of this desire for knowledge about the relation of man to the world proves that the naïve point of view must be abandoned. if the naïve point of view yielded anything which we could acknowledge as truth, we could not experience this desire. but mere abandonment of the naïve point of view does not lead to any other view which we could regard as true, so long as we retain, without noticing it, the type of theory which the naïve point of view imposes on us. this is the mistake made by the man who says, i experience only my ideas, and though i think that i am dealing with real things, i am actually conscious of nothing but my ideas of real things. i must, therefore, suppose that genuine realities, "things-in-themselves," exist only outside the boundary of my consciousness; that they are inaccessible to my immediate knowledge; but that they somehow come into contact with me and influence me so as to make a world of ideas arise in me. whoever thinks thus, duplicates in thought the world before him by adding another. but, strictly he ought to begin his whole theorising over again with regard to this second world. for the unknown "thing-in-itself," in its relation to man's own nature, is conceived in exactly the same way as is the known thing of the naïvely realistic point of view. there is only one way of escaping from the confusion into which one falls, by critical reflection on this naïve point of view. this is to observe that, at the very heart of everything we can experience, be it within the mind or outside in the world of perception, there is something which does not share the fate of an idea interposing itself between the real event and the contemplating mind. this something is thinking. with regard to thinking we can maintain the point of view of naïve realism. if we mistakenly abandon it, it is only because we have learnt that we must abandon it for other mental activities, but overlook that what we have found to be true for other activities, does not apply to thinking. when we realise this, we gain access to the further insight that, in thinking and through thinking, man necessarily comes to know the very thing to which he appears to blind himself by interposing between the world and himself the stream of his ideas. a critic highly esteemed by the author of this book has objected that this discussion of thinking stops at a naïvely realistic theory of thinking, as shown by the fact that the real world and the world of ideas are held to be identical. however, the author believes himself to have shown in this very discussion that the validity of "naïve realism," as applied to thinking, results inevitably from an unprejudiced study of thinking; and that naïve realism, in so far as it is invalid for other mental activities, is overcome through the recognition of the true nature of thinking. vi human individuality philosophers have found the chief difficulty in the explanation of ideas in the fact that we are not identical with the external objects, and yet our ideas must have a form corresponding to their objects. but on closer inspection it turns out that this difficulty does not really exist. we certainly are not identical with the external things, but we belong together with them to one and the same world. the stream of the universal cosmic process passes through that segment of the world which, to my perception, is myself as subject. so far as my perception goes, i am, in the first instance, confined within the limits bounded by my skin. but all that is contained within the skin belongs to the cosmos as a whole. hence, for a relation to subsist between my organism and an object external to me, it is by no means necessary that something of the object should slip into me, or make an impression on my mind, like a signet-ring on wax. the question, how do i gain knowledge of that tree ten feet away from me, is utterly misleading. it springs from the view that the boundaries of my body are absolute barriers, through which information about external things filters into me. the forces which are active within my body are the same as those which exist outside. i am, therefore, really identical with the objects; not, however, i in so far as i am subject of perception, but i in so far as i am a part within the universal cosmic process. the percept of the tree belongs to the same whole as my self. the universal cosmic process produces alike, here the percept of the tree, and there the percept of my self. were i a world-creator instead of a world-knower, subject and object (percept and self) would originate in one act. for they condition one another reciprocally. as world-knower i can discover the common element in both, so far as they are complementary aspects of the world, only through thought which by means of concepts relates the one to the other. the most difficult to drive from the field are the so-called physiological proofs of the subjectivity of our percepts. when i exert pressure on the skin of my body, i experience it as a pressure sensation. this same pressure can be sensed as light by the eye, as sound by the ear. i experience an electrical shock by the eye as light, by the ear as sound, by the nerves of the skin as touch, and by the nose as a smell of phosphorus. what follows from these facts? only this: i experience an electrical shock, or, as the case may be, a pressure followed by a light, or a sound, or, it may be, a certain smell, etc. if there were no eye present, then no light quality would accompany the perception of the mechanical vibrations in my environment; without the presence of the ear, no sound, etc. but what right have we to say that in the absence of sense-organs the whole process would not exist at all? all those who, from the fact that an electrical process causes a sensation of light in the eye, conclude that what we sense as light is only a mechanical process of motion, forget that they are only arguing from one percept to another, and not at all to something altogether transcending percepts. just as we can say that the eye perceives a mechanical process of motion in its surroundings as light, so we can affirm that every change in an object, determined by natural law, is perceived by us as a process of motion. if i draw twelve pictures of a horse on the circumference of a rotating disc, reproducing exactly the positions which the horse's body successively assumes in movement, i can, by rotating the disc, produce the illusion of movement. i need only look through an opening in such a way that, at regular intervals, i perceive the successive positions of the horse. i perceive, not separate pictures of twelve horses, but one picture of a single galloping horse. the above-mentioned physiological facts cannot, therefore, throw any light on the relation of percept to idea. hence, we must seek a relation some other way. the moment a percept appears in my field of consciousness, thought, too, becomes active in me. a member of my thought-system, a definite intuition, a concept, connects itself with the percept. when, next, the percept disappears from my field of vision, what remains? the intuition, with the reference to the particular percept which it acquired in the moment of perception. the degree of vividness with which i can subsequently recall this reference depends on the manner in which my mental and bodily organism is working. an idea is nothing but an intuition related to a particular percept; it is a concept which was once connected with a certain percept, and which retains this reference to the percept. my concept of a lion is not constructed out of my percepts of a lion; but my idea of a lion is formed under the guidance of the percepts. i can teach someone to form the concept of a lion without his ever having seen a lion, but i can never give him a living idea of it without the help of his own perception. an idea is therefore nothing but an individualised concept. and now we can see how real objects can be represented to us by ideas. the full reality of a thing is present to us in the moment of observation through the combination of concept and percept. the concept acquires by means of the percept an individualised form, a relation to this particular percept. in this individualised form which carries with it, as an essential feature, the reference to the percept, it continues to exist in us and constitutes the idea of the thing in question. if we come across a second thing with which the same concept connects itself, we recognise the second as being of the same kind as the first; if we come across the same thing twice, we find in our conceptual system, not merely a corresponding concept, but the individualised concept with its characteristic relation to this same object, and thus we recognise the object again. the idea, then, stands between the percept and the concept. it is the determinate concept which points to the percept. the sum of my ideas may be called my experience. the man who has the greater number of individualised concepts will be the man of richer experience. a man who lacks all power of intuition is not capable of acquiring experience. the objects simply disappear again from the field of his consciousness, because he lacks the concepts which he ought to bring into relation with them. on the other hand, a man whose faculty of thought is well developed, but whose perception functions badly owing to his clumsy sense-organs, will be no better able to gain experience. he can, it is true, by one means and another acquire concepts; but the living reference to particular objects is lacking to his intuitions. the unthinking traveller and the student absorbed in abstract conceptual systems are alike incapable of acquiring a rich experience. reality presents itself to us as the union of percept and concept; and the subjective representation of this reality presents itself to us as idea. if our personality expressed itself only in cognition, the totality of all that is objective would be contained in percept, concept and idea. however, we are not satisfied merely to refer percepts, by means of thinking, to concepts, but we relate them also to our private subjectivity, our individual ego. the expression of this relation to us as individuals is feeling, which manifests itself as pleasure and pain. thinking and feeling correspond to the two-fold nature of our being to which reference has already been made. by means of thought we take an active part in the universal cosmic process. by means of feeling we withdraw ourselves into the narrow precincts of our own being. thought links us to the world; feeling leads us back into ourselves and thus makes us individuals. were we merely thinking and perceiving beings, our whole life would flow along in monotonous indifference. could we only know ourselves as selves, we should be totally indifferent to ourselves. it is only because with self-knowledge we experience self-feeling, and with the perception of objects pleasure and pain, that we live as individuals whose existence is not exhausted by the conceptual relations in which they stand to the rest of the world, but who have a special value in themselves. one might be tempted to regard the life of feeling as something more richly saturated with reality than the apprehension of the world by thought. but the reply to this is that the life of feeling, after all, has this richer meaning only for my individual self. for the universe as a whole my feelings can be of value only if, as percepts of myself, they enter into connection with a concept and in this roundabout way become links in the cosmos. our life is a continual oscillation between our share in the universal world-process and our own individual existence. the farther we ascend into the universal nature of thought where the individual, at last, interests us only as an example, an instance, of the concept, the more the character of something individual, of the quite determinate, unique personality, becomes lost in us. the farther we descend into the depths of our own private life and allow the vibrations of our feelings to accompany all our experiences of the outer world, the more we cut ourselves off from the universal life. true individuality belongs to him whose feelings reach up to the farthest possible extent into the region of the ideal. there are men in whom even the most general ideas still bear that peculiar personal tinge which shows unmistakably their connection with their author. there are others whose concepts come before us as devoid of any trace of individual colouring as if they had not been produced by a being of flesh and blood at all. even ideas give to our conceptual life an individual stamp. each one of us has his special standpoint from which he looks out on the world. his concepts link themselves to his percepts. he has his own special way of forming general concepts. this special character results for each of us from his special standpoint in the world, from the way in which the range of his percepts is dependent on the place in the whole where he exists. the conditions of individuality here indicated, we call the milieu. this special character of our experience must be distinguished from another which depends on our peculiar organisation. each of us, as we know, is organised as a unique, fully determined individual. each of us combines special feelings, and these in the most varying degrees of intensity, with his percepts. this is just the individual element in the personality of each of us. it is what remains over when we have allowed fully for all the determining factors in our milieu. a life of feeling, wholly devoid of thought, would gradually lose all connection with the world. but man is meant to be a whole, and knowledge of objects will go hand-in-hand for him with the development and education of the feeling-side of his nature. feeling is the means whereby, in the first instance, concepts gain concrete life. vii are there any limits to knowledge? we have established that the elements for the explanation of reality are to be taken from the two spheres of perception and thought. it is due, as we have seen, to our organisation that the full totality of reality, including our own selves as subjects, appears at first as a duality. knowledge transcends this duality by fusing the two elements of reality, the percept and the concept, into the complete thing. let us call the manner in which the world presents itself to us, before by means of knowledge it has taken on its true nature, "the world of appearance," in distinction from the unified whole composed of percept and concept. we can then say, the world is given to us as a duality (dualism), and knowledge transforms it into a unity (monism). a philosophy which starts from this basal principle may be called a monistic philosophy, or monism. opposed to this is the theory of two worlds, or dualism. the latter does not, by any means, assume merely that there are two sides of a single reality, which are kept apart by our organisation, but that there are two worlds totally distinct from one another. it then tries to find in one of these two worlds the principle of explanation for the other. dualism rests on a false conception of what we call knowledge. it divides the whole of reality into two spheres, each of which has its own laws, and it leaves these two worlds standing outside one another. it is from a dualism such as this that there arises the distinction between the object of perception and the thing-in-itself, which kant introduced into philosophy, and which, to the present day, we have not succeeded in expelling. according to our interpretation, it is due to the nature of our organisation that a particular object can be given to us only as a percept. thought transcends this particularity by assigning to each percept its proper place in the world as a whole. as long as we determine the separate parts of the cosmos as percepts, we are simply following, in this sorting out, a law of our subjective constitution. if, however, we regard all percepts, taken together, merely as one part, and contrast with this a second part, viz., the things-in-themselves, then our philosophy is building castles-in-the-air. we are then engaged in mere playing with concepts. we construct an artificial opposition, but we can find no content for the second of these opposites, seeing that no content for a particular thing can be found except in perception. every kind of reality which is assumed to exist outside the sphere of perception and conception must be relegated to the limbo of unverified hypotheses. to this category belongs the "thing-in-itself." it is, of course, quite natural that a dualistic thinker should be unable to find the connection between the world-principle which he hypothetically assumes and the facts that are given in experience. for the hypothetical world-principle itself a content can be found only by borrowing it from experience and shutting one's eyes to the fact of the borrowing. otherwise it remains an empty and meaningless concept, a mere form without content. in this case the dualistic thinker generally asserts that the content of this concept is inaccessible to our knowledge. we can know only that such a content exists, but not what it is. in either case it is impossible to transcend dualism. even though one were to import a few abstract elements from the world of experience into the content of the thing-in-itself, it would still remain impossible to reduce the rich concrete life of experience to those few elements, which are, after all, themselves taken from experience. du bois-reymond lays it down that the imperceptible atoms of matter produce sensation and feeling by means of their position and motion, and then infers from this premise that we can never find a satisfactory explanation of how matter and motion produce sensation and feeling, for "it is absolutely and for ever unintelligible that it should be other than indifferent to a number of atoms of carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen, etc., how they lie and move, how they lay or moved, or how they will lie and will move. it is in no way intelligible how consciousness can come into existence through their interaction." this conclusion is characteristic of the whole tendency of this school of thought. position and motion are abstracted from the rich world of percepts. they are then transferred to the fictitious world of atoms. and then we are astonished that we fail to evolve concrete life out of this principle of our own making, which we have borrowed from the world of percepts. that the dualist, working as he does with a completely empty concept of the thing-in-itself, can reach no explanation of the world, follows from the very definition of his principle which has been given above. in any case, the dualist finds it necessary to set impassable barriers to our faculty of knowledge. a follower of the monistic theory of the world knows that all he needs to explain any given phenomenon in the world is to be found within this world itself. what prevents him from finding it can be only chance limitations in space and time, or defects of his organisation, i.e., not of human organisation in general, but only of his own. it follows from the concept of knowledge, as defined by us, that there can be no talk of any limits of knowledge. knowledge is not a concern of the universe in general, but one which men must settle for themselves. external things demand no explanation. they exist and act on one another according to laws which thought can discover. they exist in indivisible unity with these laws. but we, in our self-hood, confront them, grasping at first only what we have called percepts. however, within ourselves we find the power to discover also the other part of reality. only when the self has combined for itself the two elements of reality which are indivisibly bound up with one another in the world, is our thirst for knowledge stilled. the self is then again in contact with reality. the presuppositions for the development of knowledge thus exist through and for the self. it is the self which sets itself the problems of knowledge. it takes them from thought, an element which in itself is absolutely clear and transparent. if we set ourselves questions which we cannot answer, it must be because the content of the questions is not in all respects clear and distinct. it is not the world which sets questions to us, but we who set them to ourselves. i can imagine that it would be quite impossible for me to answer a question which i happened to find written down somewhere, without knowing the universe of discourse from which the content of the question is taken. in knowledge we are concerned with questions which arise for us through the fact that a world of percepts, conditioned by time, space, and our subjective organisation, stands over against a world of concepts expressing the totality of the universe. our task consists in the assimilation to one another of these two spheres, with both of which we are familiar. there is no room here for talking about limits of knowledge. it may be that, at a particular moment, this or that remains unexplained because, through chance obstacles, we are prevented from perceiving the things involved. what is not found to-day, however, may easily be found to-morrow. the limits due to these causes are only contingent, and must be overcome by the progress of perception and thought. dualism makes the mistake of transferring the opposition of subject and object, which has meaning only within the perceptual world, to pure conceptual entities outside this world. now the distinct and separate things in the perceptual world remain separated only so long as the perceiver refrains from thinking. for thought cancels all separation and reveals it as due to purely subjective conditions. the dualist, therefore, transfers to entities transcending the perceptual world abstract determinations which, even in the perceptual world, have no absolute, but only relative, validity. he thus divides the two factors concerned in the process of knowledge, viz., percept and concept, into four: ( ) the object in itself; ( ) the percept which the subject has of the object; ( ) the subject; ( ) the concept which relates the percept to the object in itself. the relation between subject and object is "real"; the subject is really (dynamically) influenced by the object. this real process does not appear in consciousness. but it evokes in the subject a response to the stimulation from the object. the result of this response is the percept. this, at length, appears in consciousness. the object has an objective (independent of the subject) reality, the percept a subjective reality. this subjective reality is referred by the subject to the object. this reference is an ideal one. dualism thus divides the process of knowledge into two parts. the one part, viz., the production of the perceptual object by the thing-in-itself, he conceives of as taking place outside consciousness, whereas the other, the combination of percept with concept and the latter's reference to the thing-in-itself, takes place, according to him, in consciousness. with such presuppositions, it is clear why the dualist regards his concepts merely as subjective representations of what is really external to his consciousness. the objectively real process in the subject by means of which the percept is produced, and still more the objective relations between things-in-themselves, remain for the dualist inaccessible to direct knowledge. according to him, man can get only conceptual representations of the objectively real. the bond of unity which connects things-in-themselves with one another, and also objectively with the individual minds (as things-in-themselves) of each of us, exists beyond our consciousness in a divine being of whom, once more, we have merely a conceptual representation. the dualist believes that the whole world would be dissolved into a mere abstract scheme of concepts, did he not posit the existence of real connections beside the conceptual ones. in other words, the ideal principles which thinking discovers are too airy for the dualist, and he seeks, in addition, real principles with which to support them. let us examine these real principles a little more closely. the naïve man (naïve realist) regards the objects of sense-experience as realities. the fact that his hands can grasp, and his eyes see, these objects is for him sufficient guarantee of their reality. "nothing exists that cannot be perceived" is, in fact, the first axiom of the naïve man; and it is held to be equally valid in its converse: "everything which is perceived exists." the best proof for this assertion is the naïve man's belief in immortality and in ghosts. he thinks of the soul as a fine kind of matter perceptible by the senses which, in special circumstances, may actually become visible to the ordinary man (belief in ghosts). in contrast with this, his real, world, the naïve realist regards everything else, especially the world of ideas, as unreal, or "merely ideal." what we add to objects by thinking is merely thoughts about the objects. thought adds nothing real to the percept. but it is not only with reference to the existence of things that the naïve man regards perception as the sole guarantee of reality, but also with reference to the existence of processes. a thing, according to him, can act on another only when a force actually present to perception issues from the one and acts upon the other. the older physicists thought that very fine kinds of substances emanate from the objects and penetrate through the sense-organs into the soul. the actual perception of these substances is impossible only because of the coarseness of our sense-organs relatively to the fineness of these substances. in principle, the reason for attributing reality to these substances was the same as that for attributing it to the objects of the sensible world, viz., their kind of existence, which was conceived to be analogous to that of perceptual reality. the self-contained being of ideas is not thought of by the naïve mind as real in the same sense. an object conceived "merely in idea" is regarded as a chimera until sense-perception can furnish proof of its reality. in short, the naïve man demands, in addition to the ideal evidence of his thinking, the real evidence of his senses. in this need of the naïve man lies the ground for the origin of the belief in revelation. the god whom we apprehend by thought remains always merely our idea of god. the naïve consciousness demands that god should manifest himself in ways accessible to the senses. god must appear in the flesh, and must attest his godhead to our senses by the changing of water into wine. even knowledge itself is conceived by the naïve mind as a process analogous to sense-perception. things, it is thought, make an impression on the mind, or send out copies of themselves which enter through our senses, etc. what the naïve man can perceive with his senses he regards as real, and what he cannot perceive (god, soul, knowledge, etc.) he regards as analogous to what he can perceive. on the basis of naïve realism, science can consist only in an exact description of the content of perception. concepts are only means to this end. they exist to provide ideal counterparts of percepts. with the things themselves they have nothing to do. for the naïve realist only the individual tulips, which we can see, are real. the universal idea of tulip is to him an abstraction, the unreal thought-picture which the mind constructs for itself out of the characteristics common to all tulips. naïve realism, with its fundamental principle of the reality of all percepts, contradicts experience, which teaches us that the content of percepts is of a transitory nature. the tulip i see is real to-day; in a year it will have vanished into nothingness. what persists is the species "tulip." this species is, however, for the naïve realist merely an idea, not a reality. thus this theory of the world finds itself in the paradoxical position of seeing its realities arise and perish, while that which, by contrast with its realities, it regards as unreal endures. hence naïve realism is compelled to acknowledge the existence of something ideal by the side of percepts. it must include within itself entities which cannot be perceived by the senses. in admitting them, it escapes contradicting itself by conceiving their existence as analogous to that of objects of sense. such hypothetical realities are the invisible forces by means of which the objects of sense-perception act on one another. another such reality is heredity, the effects of which survive the individual, and which is the reason why from the individual a new being develops which is similar to it, and by means of which the species is maintained. the soul, the life-principle permeating the organic body, is another such reality which the naïve mind is always found conceiving in analogy to realities of sense-perception. and, lastly, the divine being, as conceived by the naïve mind, is such a hypothetical entity. the deity is thought of as acting in a manner exactly corresponding to that which we can perceive in man himself, i.e., the deity is conceived anthropomorphically. modern physics traces sensations back to the movements of the smallest particles of bodies and of an infinitely fine substance, called ether. what we experience, e.g., as warmth is a movement of the parts of a body which causes the warmth in the space occupied by that body. here again something imperceptible is conceived on the analogy of what is perceptible. thus, in terms of perception, the analogon to the concept "body" is, say, the interior of a room, shut in on all sides, in which elastic balls are moving in all directions, impinging one on another, bouncing on and off the walls, etc. without such assumptions the world of the naïve realist would collapse into a disconnected chaos of percepts, without mutual relations, and having no unity within itself. it is clear, however, that naïve realism can make these assumptions only by contradicting itself. if it would remain true to its fundamental principle, that only what is perceived is real, then it ought not to assume a reality where it perceives nothing. the imperceptible forces of which perceptible things are the bearers are, in fact, illegitimate hypotheses from the standpoint of naïve realism. but because naïve realism knows no other realities, it invests its hypothetical forces with perceptual content. it thus transfers a form of existence (the existence of percepts) to a sphere where the only means of making any assertion concerning such existence, viz., sense-perception, is lacking. this self-contradictory theory leads to metaphysical realism. the latter constructs, beside the perceptible reality, an imperceptible one which it conceives on the analogy of the former. metaphysical realism is, therefore, of necessity dualistic. wherever the metaphysical realist observes a relation between perceptible things (mutual approach through movement, the entrance of an object into consciousness, etc.), there he posits a reality. however, the relation of which he becomes aware cannot be perceived but only expressed by means of thought. the ideal relation is thereupon arbitrarily assimilated to something perceptible. thus, according to this theory, the world is composed of the objects of perception which are in ceaseless flux, arising and disappearing, and of imperceptible forces by which the perceptible objects are produced, and which are permanent. metaphysical realism is a self-contradictory mixture of naïve realism and idealism. its forces are imperceptible entities endowed with the qualities proper to percepts. the metaphysical realist has made up his mind to acknowledge in addition to the sphere for the existence of which he has an instrument of knowledge in sense-perception, the existence of another sphere for which this instrument fails, and which can be known only by means of thought. but he cannot make up his mind at the same time to acknowledge that the mode of existence which thought reveals, viz., the concept (or idea), has equal rights with percepts. if we are to avoid the contradiction of imperceptible percepts, we must admit that, for us, the relations which thought traces between percepts can have no other mode of existence than that of concepts. if one rejects the untenable part of metaphysical realism, there remains the concept of the world as the aggregate of percepts and their conceptual (ideal) relations. metaphysical realism, then, merges itself in a view of the world according to which the principle of perceptibility holds for percepts, and that of conceivability for the relations between the percepts. this view of the world has no room, in addition to the perceptual and conceptual worlds, for a third sphere in which both principles, the so-called "real" principle and the "ideal" principle, are simultaneously valid. when the metaphysical realist asserts that, beside the ideal relation between the perceived object and the perceiving subject, there must be a real relation between the percept as "thing-in-itself" and the subject as "thing-in-itself" (the so-called individual mind), he is basing his assertion on the false assumption of a real process, imperceptible but analogous to the processes in the world of percepts. further, when the metaphysical realist asserts that we stand in a conscious ideal relation to our world of percepts, but that to the real world we can have only a dynamic (force) relation, he repeats the mistake we have already criticised. we can talk of a dynamic relation only within the world of percepts (in the sphere of the sense of touch), but not outside that world. let us call the view which we have just characterised, and into which metaphysical realism merges when it discards its contradictory elements, monism, because it combines one-sided realism and idealism into a higher unity. for naïve realism, the real world is an aggregate of percepts; for metaphysical realism, reality belongs not only to percepts but also to imperceptible forces; monism replaces forces by ideal relations which are supplied by thought. these relations are the laws of nature. a law of nature is nothing but the conceptual expression for the connection of certain percepts. monism is never called upon to ask whether there are any principles of explanation for reality other than percepts and concepts. the monist knows that in the whole realm of the real there is no occasion for this question. in the perceptual world, as immediately apprehended, he sees one-half of reality; in the union of this world with the world of concepts he finds full reality. the metaphysical realist might object that, relatively to our organisation, our knowledge may be complete in itself, that no part may be lacking, but that we do not know how the world appears to a mind organised differently from our own. to this the monist will reply, maybe there are intelligences other than human; and maybe also that their percepts are different from ours, if they have perception at all. but this is irrelevant to me for the following reasons. through my perceptions, i.e., through this specifically human mode of perception, i, as subject, am confronted with the object. the nexus of things is thereby broken. the subject reconstructs the nexus by means of thought. in doing so it re-inserts itself into the context of the world as a whole. as it is only through the self, as subject, that the whole appears rent in two between percept and concept, the reunion of those two factors will give us complete knowledge. for beings with a different perceptual world (e.g., if they had twice our number of sense-organs) the nexus would appear broken in another place, and the reconstruction would accordingly have to take a form specifically adapted to such beings. the question concerning the limits of knowledge troubles only naïve and metaphysical realism, both of which see in the contents of mind only ideal representations of the real world. for, to these theories, whatever falls outside the subject is something absolute, a self-contained whole, and the subject's mental content is a copy which is wholly external to this absolute. the completeness of knowledge depends on the greater or lesser degree of resemblance between the representation and the absolute object. a being with fewer senses than man will perceive less of the world, one with more senses will perceive more. the former's knowledge will, therefore, be less complete than the latter's. for monism, the situation is different. the point where the unity of the world appears to be rent asunder into subject and object depends on the organisation of the percipient. the object is not absolute but merely relative to the nature of the subject. the bridging of the gap, therefore, can take place only in the quite specific way which is characteristic of the human subject. as soon as the self, which in perception is set over against the world, is again re-inserted into the world-nexus by constructive thought, all further questioning ceases, having been but a result of the separation. a differently constituted being would have a differently constituted knowledge. our own knowledge suffices to answer the questions which result from our own mental constitution. metaphysical realism must ask, what is it that gives us our percepts? what is it that stimulates the subject? monism holds that percepts are determined by the subject. but in thought the subject has, at the same time, the instrument for transcending this determination of which it is itself the author. the metaphysical realist is faced by a further difficulty when he seeks to explain the similarity of the world-views of different human individuals. he has to ask himself, how is it that my theory of the world, built up out of subjectively determined percepts and out of concepts, turns out to be the same as that which another individual is also building up out of these same two subjective factors? how, in any case, is it possible for me to argue from my own subjective view of the world to that of another human being? the metaphysical realist thinks he can infer the similarity of the subjective world-views of different human beings from their ability to get on with one another in practical life. from this similarity of world-views he infers further the likeness to one another of individual minds, meaning by "individual mind" the "i-in-itself" underlying each subject. we have here an inference from a number of effects to the character of the underlying causes. we believe that after we have observed a sufficiently large number of instances, we know the connection sufficiently to know how the inferred causes will act in other instances. such an inference is called an inductive inference. we shall be obliged to modify its results, if further observation yields some unexpected fact, because the character of our conclusion is, after all, determined only by the particular details of our actual observations. the metaphysical realist asserts that this knowledge of causes, though restricted by these conditions, is quite sufficient for practical life. inductive inference is the fundamental method of modern metaphysical realism. at one time it was thought that out of concepts we could evolve something that would no longer be a concept. it was thought that the metaphysical reals, which metaphysical realism after all requires, could be known by means of concepts. this method of philosophising is now out of date. instead it is thought that from a sufficiently large number of perceptual facts we can infer the character of the thing-in-itself which lies behind these facts. formerly it was from concepts, now it is from percepts, that the realist seeks to evolve the metaphysically real. because concepts are before the mind in transparent clearness, it was thought that we might deduce from them the metaphysically real with absolute certainty. percepts are not given with the same transparent clearness. each fresh one is a little different from others of the same kind which preceded it. in principle, therefore, anything inferred from past experience is somewhat modified by each subsequent experience. the character of the metaphysically real thus obtained can therefore be only relatively true, for it is open to correction by further instances. the character of von hartmann's metaphysics depends on this methodological principle. the motto on the title-page of his first important book is, "speculative results gained by the inductive method of science." the form which the metaphysical realist at the present day gives to his things-in-themselves is obtained by inductive inferences. consideration of the process of knowledge has convinced him of the existence of an objectively-real world-nexus, over and above the subjective world which we know by means of percepts and concepts. the nature of this reality he thinks he can determine by inductive inferences from his percepts. addition to the revised edition ( ). the unprejudiced study of experience, in perceiving and conceiving, such as we have attempted to describe it in the preceding chapters, is liable to be interfered with again and again by certain ideas which spring from the soil of natural science. thus, taking our stand on science, we say that the eye perceives in the spectrum colours from red to violet. but beyond violet there lie rays within the compass of the spectrum to which corresponds, not a colour perceived by the eye, but a chemical effect. similarly, beyond the rays which make us perceive red, there are rays which have only heat effects. these and similar phenomena lead, on reflection, to the view that the range of man's perceptual world is defined by the range of his senses, and that he would perceive a very different world if he had additional, or altogether different, senses. those who like to indulge in far-roaming fancies in this direction, for which the brilliant discoveries of recent scientific research provide a highly tempting occasion, may well be led to confess that nothing enters the field of man's observation except what can affect his senses, as these have been determined by his whole organisation. man has no right to regard his percepts, limited as these are by his organisation, as in any way a standard to which reality must conform. every new sense would confront him with a different picture of reality. within its proper limits, this is a wholly justified view. but if anyone lets himself be confused by this view in the unprejudiced study of the relation of percept and concept, as set forth in these chapters, he blocks the path for himself to a knowledge of man and the world which is rooted in reality. the experience of the essential nature of thought, i.e., the active construction of the world of concepts, is something wholly different from the experience of a perceptible object through the senses. whatever additional senses man might have, not one would give him reality, if his thinking did not organise with its concepts whatever he perceived by means of such a sense. every sense, whatever its kind, provided only it is organised by thought, enables man to live right in the real. the fancy-picture of other perceptual worlds, made possible by other senses, has nothing to do with the problem of how it is that man stands in the midst of reality. we must clearly understand that every perceptual picture of the world owes its form to the physical organisation of the percipient, but that only the percepts which have been organised by the living labour of thought lead us into reality. fanciful speculations concerning the way the world would appear to other than human souls, can give us no occasion to want to understand man's relation to the world. such a desire comes only with the recognition that every percept presents only a part of the reality it contains, and that, consequently, it leads us away from its own proper reality. this recognition is supplemented by the further one that thinking leads us into the part of reality which the percept conceals in itself. another difficulty in the way of the unprejudiced study of the relation we have here described, between percept and concept as elaborated by thought, may be met with occasionally, when in the field of physics the necessity arises of speaking, not of immediately perceptible elements, but of non-perceptible magnitudes, such as, e.g., lines of electric or magnetic force. it may seem as if the elements of reality of which physicists speak, had no connection either with what is perceptible, or with the concepts which active thinking has elaborated. yet such a view would depend on self-deception. the main point is that all the results of physical research, except illegitimate hypotheses which ought to be excluded, have been gained through perceiving and conceiving. entities which are seemingly non-perceptible, are referred by the physicists' sound instinct for knowledge to the field in which actual percepts lie, and they are dealt with in thought by means of the concepts which are commonly applied in this field. the magnitudes in a field of electric or magnetic force are reached, in their essence, by no other cognitive process than the one which connects percept and concept.--an increase or a modification of human senses would yield a different perceptual picture, an enrichment or a modification of human experience. but genuine knowledge could be gained out of this new experience only through the mutual co-operation of concept and percept. the deepening of knowledge depends on the powers of intuition which express themselves in thinking (see page ). intuition may, in those experiences in which thinking expresses itself, dive either into deeper or shallower levels of reality. an expansion of the perceptual picture may supply stimuli for, and thus indirectly promote, this diving of intuition. but this diving into the depth, through which we attain reality, ought never to be confused with the contrast between a wider and a narrower perceptual picture, which always contains only half of reality, as that is conditioned by the structure of the knower's organism. those who do not lose themselves in abstractions will understand how for a knowledge of human nature the fact is relevant, that physics must infer the existence, in the field of percepts, of elements to which no sense is adapted as it is to colour or sound. human nature, taken concretely, is determined not only by what, in virtue of his physical organisation, man opposes to himself as immediate percept, but also by all else which he excludes from this immediate percept. just as life needs unconscious sleep alongside of conscious waking experience, so man's experience of himself needs over and above the sphere of his sense-perception another sphere--and a much bigger one--of non-perceptible elements belonging to the same field from which the percepts of the senses come. implicitly all this was already laid down in the original argument of this book. the author adds the present amplification of the argument, because he has found by experience that some readers have not read attentively enough. it is to be remembered, too, that the idea of perception, developed in this book, is not to be confused with the idea of external sense-perception which is but a special case of the former. the reader will gather from what has preceded, but even more from what will be expounded later, that everything is here taken as "percept" which sensuously or spiritually enters into man's experience, so long as it has not yet been seized upon by the actively constructed concept. no "senses," as we ordinarily understand the term, are necessary in order to have percepts of a psychical or spiritual kind. it may be urged that this extension of ordinary usage is illegitimate. but the extension is absolutely indispensable, unless we are to be prevented by the current sense of a word from enlarging our knowledge of certain realms of facts. if we use "percept" only as meaning "sense-percept," we shall never advance beyond sense-percepts to a concept fit for the purposes of knowledge. it is sometimes necessary to enlarge a concept in order that it may get its appropriate meaning within a narrower field. again, it is at times necessary to add to the original content of a concept, in order that the original thought may be justified or, perhaps, readjusted. thus we find it said here in this book: "an idea is nothing but an individualised concept." it has been objected that this is a solecism. but this terminology is necessary if we are to find out what an idea really is. how can we expect any progress in knowledge, if every one who finds himself compelled to readjust concepts, is to be met by the objection: "this is a solecism"? the reality of freedom viii the factors of life let us recapitulate the results gained in the previous chapters. the world appears to man as a multiplicity, as an aggregate of separate entities. he himself is one of these entities, a thing among things. of this structure of the world we say simply that it is given, and inasmuch as we do not construct it by conscious activity, but simply find it, we say that it consists of percepts. within this world of percepts we perceive ourselves. this percept of self would remain merely one among many other percepts, did it not give rise to something which proves capable of connecting all percepts one with another and, therefore, the aggregate of all other percepts with the percept of self. this something which emerges is no longer a mere percept; neither is it, like percepts, simply given. it is produced by our activity. it appears, in the first instance, bound up with what each of us perceives as his self. in its inner significance, however, it transcends the self. it adds to the separate percepts ideal determinations, which, however, are related to one another, and which are grounded in a whole. what self-perception yields is ideally determined by this something in the same way as all other percepts, and placed as subject, or "i," over against the objects. this something is thought, and the ideal determinations are the concepts and ideas. thought, therefore, first manifests itself in connection with the percept of self. but it is not merely subjective, for the self characterises itself as subject only with the help of thought. this relation of the self to itself by means of thought is one of the fundamental determinations of our personal lives. through it we lead a purely ideal existence. by means of it we are aware of ourselves as thinking beings. this determination of our lives would remain a purely conceptual (logical) one, if it were not supplemented by other determinations of our selves. our lives would then exhaust themselves in establishing ideal connections between percepts themselves, and between them and ourselves. if we call this establishment of an ideal relation an "act of cognition," and the resulting condition of ourselves "knowledge," then, assuming the above supposition to be true, we should have to consider ourselves as beings who merely apprehend or know. the supposition is, however, untrue. we relate percepts to ourselves not merely ideally, through concepts, but also, as we have already seen, through feeling. in short, the content of our lives is not merely conceptual. the naïve realist holds that the personality actually lives more genuinely in the life of feeling than in the purely ideal activity of knowledge. from his point of view he is quite right in interpreting the matter in this way. feeling plays on the subjective side exactly the part which percepts play on the objective side. from the principle of naïve realism, that everything is real which can be perceived, it follows that feeling is the guarantee of the reality of one's own personality. monism, however, must bestow on feeling the same supplementation which it considers necessary for percepts, if these are to stand to us for reality in its full nature. for monism, feeling is an incomplete reality, which, in the form in which it first appears to us, lacks as yet its second factor, the concept or idea. this is why, in actual life, feelings, like percepts, appear prior to knowledge. at first, we have merely a feeling of existence; and it is only in the course of our gradual development, that we attain to the point at which the concept of self emerges from within the blind mass of feelings which fills our existence. however, what for us does not appear until later, is from the first indissolubly bound up with our feelings. this is how the naïve man comes to believe that in feeling he grasps existence immediately, in knowledge only mediately. the development of the affective life, therefore, appears to him more important than anything else. not until he has grasped the unity of the world through feeling will he believe that he has comprehended it. he attempts to make feeling rather than thought the instrument of knowledge. now a feeling is entirely individual, something equivalent to a percept. hence a philosophy of feeling makes a cosmic principle out of something which has significance only within my own personality. anyone who holds this view attempts to infuse his own self into the whole world. what the monist strives to grasp by means of concepts the philosopher of feeling tries to attain through feeling, and he looks on his own felt union with objects as more immediate than knowledge. the tendency just described, the philosophy of feeling, is mysticism. the error in this view is that it seeks to possess by immediate experience what must be known, that it seeks to develop feeling, which is individual, into a universal principle. a feeling is a purely individual activity. it is the relation of the external world to the subject, in so far as this relation finds expression in a purely subjective experience. there is yet another expression of human personality. the self, through thought, takes part in the universal world-life. through thought it establishes purely ideal (conceptual) relations between percepts and itself, and between itself and percepts. in feeling, it has immediate experience of the relation of objects to itself as subject. in will, the opposite is the case. in volition, we are concerned once more with a percept, viz., that of the individual relation of the self to what is objective. whatever in the act of will is not an ideal factor, is just as much mere object of perception as is any object in the external world. nevertheless, the naïve realist believes here again that he has before him something far more real than can ever be attained by thought. he sees in the will an element in which he is immediately aware of an activity, a causation, in contrast with thought which afterwards grasps this activity in conceptual form. on this view, the realisation by the self of its will is a process which is experienced immediately. the adherent of this philosophy believes that in the will he has really got hold of one end of reality. whereas he can follow other occurrences only from the outside by means of perception, he is confident that in his will he experiences a real process quite immediately. the mode of existence presented to him by the will within himself becomes for him the fundamental reality of the universe. his own will appears to him as a special case of the general world-process; hence the latter is conceived as a universal will. the will becomes the principle of reality just as, in mysticism, feeling becomes the principle of knowledge. this kind of theory is called voluntarism (thelism). it makes something which can be experienced only individually the dominant factor of the world. voluntarism can as little be called scientific as can mysticism. for both assert that the conceptual interpretation of the world is inadequate. both demand, in addition to a principle of being which is ideal, also a principle which is real. but as perception is our only means of apprehending these so-called real principles, the assertion of mysticism and voluntarism coincides with the view that we have two sources of knowledge, viz., thought and perception, the latter finding individual expression as will and feeling. since the immediate experiences which flow from the one source cannot be directly absorbed into the thoughts which flow from the other, perception (immediate experience) and thought remain side by side, without any higher form of experience to mediate between them. beside the conceptual principle to which we attain by means of knowledge, there is also a real principle which must be immediately experienced. in other words, mysticism and voluntarism are both forms of naïve realism, because they subscribe to the doctrine that the immediately perceived (experienced) is real. compared with naïve realism in its primitive form, they are guilty of the yet further inconsistency of accepting one definite form of perception (feeling, respectively will) as the exclusive means of knowing reality. yet they can do this only so long as they cling to the general principle that everything that is perceived is real. they ought, therefore, to attach an equal value to external perception for purposes of knowledge. voluntarism turns into metaphysical realism, when it asserts the existence of will also in those spheres of reality in which will can no longer, as in the individual subject, be immediately experienced. it assumes hypothetically that a principle holds outside subjective experience, for the existence of which, nevertheless, subjective experience is the sole criterion. as a form of metaphysical realism, voluntarism is open to the criticism developed in the preceding chapter, a criticism which makes it necessary to overcome the contradictory element in every form of metaphysical realism, and to recognise that the will is a universal world-process only in so far as it is ideally related to the rest of the world. addition to the revised edition ( ). the difficulty of seizing the essential nature of thinking by observation lies in this, that it has generally eluded the introspecting mind all too easily by the time that the mind tries to bring it into the focus of attention. nothing but the lifeless abstract, the corpse of living thought, then remains for inspection. when we consider only this abstract, we find it hard, by contrast, to resist yielding to the mysticism of feeling, or, again, to the metaphysics of will, both of which are "full of life." we are tempted to regard it as odd that anyone should want to seize the essence of reality in "mere thoughts." but if we once succeed in really holding fast the living essence of thinking, we learn to understand that the self-abandonment to feelings, or the intuiting of the will, cannot even be compared with the inward wealth of this life of thinking, which we experience as within itself ever at rest, yet at the same time ever in movement. still less is it possible to rank will and feeling above thinking. it is owing precisely to this wealth, to this inward abundance of experience, that the image of thinking which presents itself to our ordinary attitude of mind, should appear lifeless and abstract. no other activity of the human mind is so easily misapprehended as thinking. will and feeling still fill the mind with warmth even when we live through them again in memory. thinking all too readily leaves us cold in recollection; it is as if the life of the mind had dried out. but this is really nothing but the strongly marked shadow thrown by its luminous, warm nature penetrating deeply into the phenomena of the world. this penetration is effected by the activity of thinking with a spontaneous outpouring of power--a power of spiritual love. there is no room here for the objection that thus to perceive love in the activity of thinking is to endow thinking with a feeling and a love which are not part of it. this objection is, in truth, a confirmation of the view here advocated. if we turn towards the essential nature of thinking, we find in it both feeling and will, and both these in their most profoundly real forms. if we turn away from thinking and towards "mere" feeling and will, these lose for us their genuine reality. if we are willing to make of thinking an intuitive experience, we can do justice, also, to experiences of the type of feeling and will. but the mysticism of feeling and the metaphysics of will do not know how to do justice to the penetration of reality which partakes at once of intuition and of thought. they conclude but too readily that they themselves are rooted in reality, but that the intuitive thinker, untouched by feeling, blind to reality, forms out of "abstract thoughts" a shadowy, chilly picture of the world. ix the idea of freedom the concept "tree" is conditioned for our knowledge by the percept "tree." there is only one determinate concept which i can select from the general system of concepts and apply to a given percept. the connection of concept and percept is mediately and objectively determined by thought in conformity with the percept. the connection between a percept and its concept is recognised after the act of perception, but the relevance of the one to the other is determined by the character of each. very different is the result when we consider knowledge, and, more particularly, the relation of man to the world which occurs in knowledge. in the preceding chapters the attempt has been made to show that an unprejudiced examination of this relation is able to throw light on its nature. a correct understanding of this examination leads to the conclusion that thinking may be intuitively apprehended in its unique, self-contained nature. those who find it necessary, for the explanation of thinking as such, to invoke something else, e.g., physical brain-processes, or unconscious spiritual processes lying behind the conscious thinking which they observe, fail to grasp the facts which an unprejudiced examination yields. when we observe our thinking, we live during the observation immediately within the essence of a spiritual, self-sustaining activity. indeed, we may even affirm that if we want to grasp the essential nature of spirit in the form in which it immediately presents itself to man, we need but look at our own self-sustaining thinking. for the study of thinking two things coincide which elsewhere must always appear apart, viz., concept and percept. if we fail to see this, we shall be unable to regard the concepts which we have elaborated in response to percepts as anything but shadowy copies of these percepts, and we shall take the percepts as presenting to us reality as it really is. we shall, further, build up for ourselves a metaphysical world after the pattern of the world of percepts. we shall, each according to his habitual ideas, call this world a world of atoms, or of will, or of unconscious spirit, and so on. and we shall fail to notice that all the time we have been doing nothing but erecting hypothetically a metaphysical world modeled on the world we perceive. but if we clearly apprehend what thinking consists in, we shall recognise that percepts present to us only a portion of reality, and that the complementary portion which alone imparts to reality its full character as real, is experienced by us in the organisation of percepts by thought. we shall regard all thought, not as a shadowy copy of reality, but as a self-sustaining spiritual essence. we shall be able to say of it, that it is revealed to us in consciousness through intuition. intuition is the purely spiritual conscious experience of a purely spiritual content. it is only through intuition that we can grasp the essence of thinking. to win through, by means of unprejudiced observation, to the recognition of this truth of the intuitive essence of thinking requires an effort. but without this effort we shall not succeed in clearing the way for a theory of the psycho-physical organisation of man. we recognise that this organisation can produce no effect whatever on the essential nature of thinking. at first sight this seems to be contradicted by patent and obvious facts. for ordinary experience, human thinking occurs only in connection with, and by means of, such an organisation. this dependence on psycho-physical organisation is so prominent that its true bearing can be appreciated by us only if we recognise, that in the essential nature of thinking this organisation plays no part whatever. once we appreciate this, we can no longer fail to notice how peculiar is the relation of human organisation to thought. for this organisation contributes nothing to the essential nature of thought, but recedes whenever thought becomes active. it suspends its own activity, it yields ground. and the ground thus set free is occupied by thought. the essence which is active in thought has a two-fold function: first it restricts the human organisation in its own activity; next, it steps into the place of that organisation. yes, even the former, the restriction of human organisation, is an effect of the activity of thought, and more particularly of that part of it which prepares the manifestation of thinking. this explains the sense in which thinking has its counterpart in the organisation of the body. once we perceive this, we can no longer misapprehend the significance for thinking of this physical counterpart. when we walk over soft ground our feet leave deep tracks in the soil. we shall not be tempted to say that the forces of the ground, from below, have formed these tracks. we shall not attribute to these forces any share in the production of the tracks. just so, if with open minds we observe the essential nature of thinking, we shall not attribute any share in that nature to the traces in the physical organism which thinking produces in preparing its manifestation through the body. [ ] an important question, however, confronts us here. if human organisation has no part in the essential nature of thinking, what is its function within the whole nature of man? well, the effects of thinking upon this organisation have no bearing upon the essence of thinking, but they have a bearing upon the origin of the "i," or ego-consciousness, through thinking. thinking, in its unique character, constitutes the real ego, but it does not constitute, as such, the ego-consciousness. to see this we have but to study thinking with an open mind. the ego is to be found in thinking. the ego-consciousness arises through the traces which, in the sense above explained, the activity of thinking impresses upon our general consciousness. the ego-consciousness thus arises through the physical organisation. this view must not, however, be taken to imply that the ego-consciousness, once it has arisen, remains dependent on the physical organisation. on the contrary, once it exists it is taken up into thought and shares henceforth thought's spiritual self-subsistence. the ego-consciousness is built upon human organisation. the latter is the source of all acts of will. following out the direction of the preceding exposition, we can gain insight into the connection of thought, conscious ego, and act of will, only by studying first how an act of will issues from human organisation. [ ] in a particular act of will we must distinguish two factors: the motive and the spring of action. the motive is a factor of the nature of concept or idea; the spring of action is the factor in will which is directly determined in the human organisation. the conceptual factor, or motive, is the momentary determining cause of an act of will; the spring of action is the permanent determining factor in the individual. the motive of an act of will can be only a pure concept, or else a concept with a definite relation to perception, i.e., an idea. universal and individual concepts (ideas) become motives of will by influencing the human individual and determining him to action in a particular direction. one and the same concept, however, or one and the same idea, influence different individuals differently. they determine different men to different actions. an act of will is, therefore, not merely the outcome of a concept or an idea, but also of the individual make-up of human beings. this individual make-up we will call, following eduard von hartmann, the "characterological disposition." the manner in which concept and idea act on the characterological disposition of a man gives to his life a definite moral or ethical stamp. the characterological disposition consists of the more or less permanent content of the individual's life, that is, of his habitual ideas and feelings. whether an idea which enters my mind at this moment stimulates me to an act of will or not, depends on its relation to my other ideal contents, and also to my peculiar modes of feeling. my ideal content, in turn, is conditioned by the sum total of those concepts which have, in the course of my individual life, come in contact with percepts, that is, have become ideas. this, again, depends on my greater or lesser capacity for intuition, and on the range of my perception, that is, on the subjective and objective factors of my experiences, on the structure of my mind and on my environment. my affective life more especially determines my characterological disposition. whether i shall make a certain idea or concept the motive for action will depend on whether it gives me pleasure or pain. these are the factors which we have to consider in an act of will. the immediately present idea or concept, which becomes the motive, determines the end or the purpose of my will; my characterological disposition determines me to direct my activity towards this end. the idea of taking a walk in the next half-hour determines the end of my action. but this idea is raised to the level of a motive only if it meets with a suitable characterological disposition, that is, if during my past life i have formed the ideas of the wholesomeness of walking and the value of health; and, further, if the idea of walking is accompanied by a feeling of pleasure. we must, therefore, distinguish ( ) the possible subjective dispositions which are likely to turn given ideas and concepts into motives, and ( ) the possible ideas and concepts which are capable of so influencing my characterological disposition that an act of will results. the former are for morality the springs of action, the latter its ends. the springs of action in the moral life can be discovered by analysing the elements of which individual life is composed. the first level of individual life is that of perception, more particularly sense-perception. this is the stage of our individual lives in which a percept translates itself into will immediately, without the intervention of either a feeling or a concept. the spring of action here involved may be called simply instinct. our lower, purely animal, needs (hunger, sexual intercourse, etc.) find their satisfaction in this way. the main characteristic of instinctive life is the immediacy with which the percept starts off the act of will. this kind of determination of the will, which belongs originally only to the life of the lower senses, may, however, become extended also to the percepts of the higher senses. we may react to the percept of a certain event in the external world without reflecting on what we do, and without any special feeling connecting itself with the percept. we have examples of this especially in our ordinary conventional intercourse with men. the spring of this kind of action is called tact or moral good taste. the more often such immediate reactions to a percept occur, the more the agent will prove himself able to act purely under the guidance of tact; that is, tact becomes his characterological disposition. the second level of human life is feeling. definite feelings accompany the percepts of the external world. these feelings may become springs of action. when i see a hungry man, my pity for him may become the spring of my action. such feelings, for example, are modesty, pride, sense of honour, humility, remorse, pity, revenge, gratitude, piety, loyalty, love, and duty. [ ] the third and last level of life is to have thoughts and ideas. an idea or a concept may become the motive of an action through mere reflection. ideas become motives because, in the course of my life, i regularly connect certain aims of my will with percepts which recur again and again in a more or less modified form. hence it is that, with men who are not wholly without experience, the occurrence of certain percepts is always accompanied also by the consciousness of ideas of actions, which they have themselves carried out in similar cases or which they have seen others carry out. these ideas float before their minds as determining models in all subsequent decisions; they become parts of their characterological disposition. we may give the name of practical experience to the spring of action just described. practical experience merges gradually into purely tactful behaviour. that happens, when definite typical pictures of actions have become so closely connected in our minds with ideas of certain situations in life, that, in any given instance, we omit all deliberation based on experience and pass immediately from the percept to the action. the highest level of individual life is that of conceptual thought without reference to any definite perceptual content. we determine the content of a concept through pure intuition on the basis of an ideal system. such a concept contains, at first, no reference to any definite percepts. when an act of will comes about under the influence of a concept which refers to a percept, i.e., under the influence of an idea, then it is the percept which determines our action indirectly by way of the concept. but when we act under the influence of pure intuitions, the spring of our action is pure thought. as it is the custom in philosophy to call pure thought "reason," we may perhaps be justified in giving the name of practical reason to the spring of action characteristic of this level of life. the clearest account of this spring of action has been given by kreyenbühl (philosophische monatshefte, vol. xviii, no. ). in my opinion his article on this subject is one of the most important contributions to present-day philosophy, more especially to ethics. kreyenbühl calls the spring of action, of which we are treating, the practical a priori i.e., a spring of action issuing immediately from my intuition. it is clear that such a spring of action can no longer be counted in the strictest sense as part of the characterological disposition. for what is here effective in me as a spring of action is no longer something purely individual, but the ideal, and hence universal, content of my intuition. as soon as i regard this content as the valid basis and starting-point of an action, i pass over into willing, irrespective of whether the concept was already in my mind beforehand, or whether it only occurs to me immediately before the action, that is, irrespective of whether it was present in the form of a disposition in me or not. a real act of will results only when a present impulse to action, in the form of a concept or idea, acts on the characterological disposition. such an impulse thereupon becomes the motive of the will. the motives of moral conduct are ideas and concepts. there are moralists who see in feeling also a motive of morality; they assert, e.g., that the end of moral conduct is to secure the greatest possible quantity of pleasure for the agent. pleasure itself, however, can never be a motive; at best only the idea of pleasure can act as motive. the idea of a future pleasure, but not the feeling itself, can act on my characterological disposition. for the feeling does not yet exist in the moment of action; on the contrary, it has first to be produced by the action. the idea of one's own or another's well-being is, however, rightly regarded as a motive of the will. the principle of producing the greatest quantity of pleasure for oneself through one's action, that is, to attain individual happiness, is called egoism. the attainment of this individual happiness is sought either by thinking ruthlessly only of one's own good, and striving to attain it even at the cost of the happiness of other individuals (pure egoism), or by promoting the good of others, either because one anticipates indirectly a favourable influence on one's own happiness through the happiness of others, or because one fears to endanger one's own interest by injuring others (morality of prudence). the special content of the egoistical principle of morality will depend on the ideas which we form of what constitutes our own, or others', good. a man will determine the content of his egoistical striving in accordance with what he regards as one of life's good things (luxury, hope of happiness, deliverance from different evils, etc.). further, the purely conceptual content of an action is to be regarded as yet another kind of motive. this content has no reference, like the idea of one's own pleasure, solely to the particular action, but to the deduction of an action from a system of moral principles. these moral principles, in the form of abstract concepts, may guide the individual's moral life without his worrying himself about the origin of his concepts. in that case, we feel merely the moral necessity of submitting to a moral concept which, in the form of law, controls our actions. the justification of this necessity we leave to those who demand from us moral subjection, that is, to those whose moral authority over us we acknowledge (the head of the family, the state, social custom, the authority of the church, divine revelation). we meet with a special kind of these moral principles when the law is not proclaimed to us by an external authority, but comes from our own selves (moral autonomy). in this case we believe that we hear the voice, to which we have to submit ourselves, in our own souls. the name for this voice is conscience. it is a great moral advance when a man no longer takes as the motive of his action the commands of an external or internal authority, but tries to understand the reason why a given maxim of action ought to be effective as a motive in him. this is the advance from morality based on authority to action from moral insight. at this level of morality, a man will try to discover the demands of the moral life, and will let his action be determined by this knowledge. such demands are ( ) the greatest possible happiness of humanity as a whole purely for its own sake, ( ) the progress of civilisation, or the moral development of mankind towards ever greater perfection, ( ) the realisation of individual moral ends conceived by an act of pure intuition. the greatest possible happiness of humanity as a whole will naturally be differently conceived by different people. the above-mentioned maxim does not imply any definite idea of this happiness, but rather means that every one who acknowledges this principle strives to do all that, in his opinion, most promotes the good of the whole of humanity. the progress of civilisation is seen to be a special application of the moral principle just mentioned, at any rate for those to whom the goods which civilisation produces bring feelings of pleasure. however, they will have to pay the price of progress in the destruction and annihilation of many things which also contribute to the happiness of humanity. it is, however, also possible that some men look upon the progress of civilisation as a moral necessity, quite apart from the feelings of pleasure which it brings. if so, the progress of civilisation will be a new moral principle for them, different from the previous one. both the principle of the public good, and that of the progress of civilisation, alike depend on the way in which we apply the content of our moral ideas to particular experiences (percepts). the highest principle of morality which we can conceive, however, is that which contains, to start with, no such reference to particular experiences, but which springs from the source of pure intuition and does not seek until later any connection with percepts, i.e., with life. the determination of what ought to be willed issues here from a point of view very different from that of the previous two principles. whoever accepts the principle of the public good will in all his actions ask first what his ideals contribute to this public good. the upholder of the progress of civilisation as the principle of morality will act similarly. there is, however, a still higher mode of conduct which, in a given case, does not start from any single limited moral ideal, but which sees a certain value in all moral principles, always asking whether this or that principle is more important in a particular case. it may happen that a man considers in certain circumstances the promotion of the public good, in others that of the progress of civilisation, and in yet others the furthering of his own private good, to be the right course, and makes that the motive of his action. but when all other grounds of determination take second place, then we rely, in the first place, on conceptual intuition itself. all other motives now drop out of sight, and the ideal content of an action alone becomes its motive. among the levels of characterological disposition, we have singled out as the highest that which manifests itself as pure thought, or practical reason. among the motives, we have just singled out conceptual intuition as the highest. on nearer consideration, we now perceive that at this level of morality the spring of action and the motive coincide, i.e., that neither a predetermined characterological disposition, nor an external moral principle accepted on authority, influence our conduct. the action, therefore, is neither a merely stereotyped one which follows the rules of a moral code, nor is it automatically performed in response to an external impulse. rather it is determined solely through its ideal content. for such an action to be possible, we must first be capable of moral intuitions. whoever lacks the capacity to think out for himself the moral principles that apply in each particular case, will never rise to the level of genuine individual willing. kant's principle of morality: act so that the principle of your action may be valid for all men--is the exact opposite of ours. his principle would mean death to all individual action. the norm for me can never be what all men would do, but rather what it is right for me to do in each special case. a superficial criticism might urge against these arguments: how can an action be individually adapted to the special case and the special situation, and yet at the same time be ideally determined by pure intuition? this objection rests on a confusion of the moral motive with the perceptual content of an action. the latter, indeed, may be a motive, and is actually a motive when we act for the progress of culture, or from pure egoism, etc., but in action based on pure moral intuition it never is a motive. of course, my self takes notice of these perceptual contents, but it does not allow itself to be determined by them. the content is used only to construct a theoretical concept, but the corresponding moral concept is not derived from the object. the theoretical concept of a given situation which faces me, is a moral concept also only if i adopt the standpoint of a particular moral principle. if i base all my conduct on the principle of the progress of civilisation, then my way through life is tied down to a fixed route. from every occurrence which comes to my notice and attracts my interest there springs a moral duty, viz., to do my tiny share towards using this occurrence in the service of the progress of civilisation. in addition to the concept which reveals to me the connections of events or objects according to the laws of nature, there is also a moral label attached to them which contains for me, as a moral agent, ethical directions as to how i have to conduct myself. at a higher level these moral labels disappear, and my action is determined in each particular instance by my idea; and more particularly by the idea which is suggested to me by the concrete instance. men vary greatly in their capacity for intuition. in some, ideas bubble up like a spring, others acquire them with much labour. the situations in which men live, and which are the scenes of their actions, are no less widely different. the conduct of a man will depend, therefore, on the manner in which his faculty of intuition reacts to a given situation. the aggregate of the ideas which are effective in us, the concrete content of our intuitions, constitute that which is individual in each of us, notwithstanding the universal character of our ideas. in so far as this intuitive content has reference to action, it constitutes the moral substance of the individual. to let this substance express itself in his life is the moral principle of the man who regards all other moral principles as subordinate. we may call this point of view ethical individualism. the determining factor of an action, in any concrete instance, is the discovery of the corresponding purely individual intuition. at this level of morality, there can be no question of general moral concepts (norms, laws). general norms always presuppose concrete facts from which they can be deduced. but facts have first to be created by human action. when we look for the regulating principles (the conceptual principles guiding the actions of individuals, peoples, epochs), we obtain a system of ethics which is not a science of moral norms, but rather a science of morality as a natural fact. only the laws discovered in this way are related to human action as the laws of nature are related to particular phenomena. these laws, however, are very far from being identical with the impulses on which we base our actions. if we want to understand how man's moral will gives rise to an action, we must first study the relation of this will to the action. for this purpose we must single out for study those actions in which this relation is the determining factor. when i, or another, subsequently review my action we may discover what moral principles come into play in it. but so long as i am acting, i am influenced, not by these moral principles, but by my love for the object which i want to realise through my action. i ask no man and no moral code, whether i shall perform this action or not. on the contrary, i carry it out as soon as i have formed the idea of it. this alone makes it my action. if a man acts because he accepts certain moral norms, his action is the outcome of the principles which compose his moral code. he merely carries out orders. he is a superior kind of automaton. inject some stimulus to action into his mind, and at once the clock-work of his moral principles will begin to work and run its prescribed course, so as to issue in an action which is christian, or humane, or unselfish, or calculated to promote the progress of culture. it is only when i follow solely my love for the object, that it is i, myself, who act. at this level of morality, i acknowledge no lord over me, neither an external authority, nor the so-called voice of my conscience. i acknowledge no external principle of my action, because i have found in myself the ground for my action, viz., my love of the action. i do not ask whether my action is good or bad; i perform it, because i am in love with it. my action is "good" when, with loving intuition, i insert myself in the right way into the world-nexus as i experience it intuitively; it is "bad" when this is not the case. neither do i ask myself how another man would act in my position. on the contrary, i act as i, this unique individuality, will to act. no general usage, no common custom, no general maxim current among men, no moral norm guides me, but my love for the action. i feel no compulsion, neither the compulsion of nature which dominates me through my instincts, nor the compulsion of the moral commandments. my will is simply to realise what in me lies. those who hold to general moral norms will reply to these arguments that, if every one has the right to live himself out and to do what he pleases, there can be no distinction between a good and a bad action; every fraudulent impulse in me has the same right to issue in action as the intention to serve the general good. it is not the mere fact of my having conceived the idea of an action which ought to determine me as a moral agent, but the further examination of whether it is a good or an evil action. only if it is good ought i to carry it out. this objection is easily intelligible, and yet it had its root in what is but a misapprehension of my meaning. my reply to it is this: if we want to get at the essence of human volition, we must distinguish between the path along which volition attains to a certain degree of development, and the unique character which it assumes as it approaches its goal. it is on the path towards the goal that the norms play a legitimate part. the goal consists in the realisation of moral aims which are apprehended by pure intuition. man attains such aims in proportion as he is able to rise at all to the level at which intuition grasps the ideal content of the world. in any particular volition, other elements will, as a rule, be mixed up, as motives or springs of action, with such moral aims. but, for all that, intuition may be, wholly or in part, the determining factor in human volition. what we ought to do, that we do. we supply the stage upon which duty becomes deed. it is our own action which, as such, issues from us. the impulse, then, can only be wholly individual. and, in fact, only a volition which issues out of intuition can be individual. it is only in an age in which immature men regard the blind instincts as part of a man's individuality, that the act of a criminal can be described as living out one's individuality in the same sense, in which the embodiment in action of a pure intuition can be so described. the animal instinct which drives a man to a criminal act does not spring from intuition, and does not belong to what is individual in him, but rather to that which is most general in him, to that which is equally present in all individuals. the individual element in me is not my organism with its instincts and feelings, but rather the unified world of ideas which reveals itself through this organism. my instincts, cravings, passions, justify no further assertion about me than that i belong to the general species man. the fact that something ideal expresses itself in its own unique way through these instincts, passions, and feelings, constitutes my individuality. my instincts and cravings make me the sort of man of whom there are twelve to the dozen. the unique character of the idea, by means of which i distinguish myself within the dozen as "i," makes of me an individual. only a being other than myself could distinguish me from others by the difference in my animal nature. by thought, i.e., by the active grasping of the ideal element working itself out through my organism, i distinguish myself from others. hence it is impossible to say of the action of a criminal that it issues from the idea within him. indeed, the characteristic feature of criminal actions is precisely that they spring from the non-ideal elements in man. an act the grounds for which lie in the ideal part of my individual nature is free. every other act, whether done under the compulsion of nature or under the obligation imposed by a moral norm, is unfree. that man alone is free who in every moment of his life is able to obey only himself. a moral act is my act only when it can be called free in this sense. so far we are concerned here with the presuppositions under which an act of will is felt to be free; the sequel will show how this purely ethical concept of freedom is realised in the essential nature of man. action on the basis of freedom does not exclude, but include, the moral laws. it only shows that it stands on a higher level than actions which are dictated by these laws. why should my act serve the general good less well when i do it from pure love of it, than when i perform it because it is a duty to serve the general good? the concept of duty excludes freedom, because it will not acknowledge the right of individuality, but demands the subjection of individuality to a general norm. freedom of action is conceivable only from the standpoint of ethical individualism. but how about the possibility of social life for men, if each aims only at asserting his own individuality? this question expresses yet another objection on the part of moralism wrongly understood. the moralist believes that a social community is possible only if all men are held together by a common moral order. this shows that the moralist does not understand the community of the world of ideas. he does not realise that the world of ideas which inspires me is no other than that which inspires my fellow-men. this identity is, indeed, but a conclusion from our experience of the world. however, it cannot be anything else. for if we could recognise it in any other way than by observation, it would follow that universal norms, not individual experience, were dominant in its sphere. individuality is possible only if every individual knows others only through individual observation. i differ from my neighbour, not at all because we are living in two entirely different mental worlds, but because from our common world of ideas we receive different intuitions. he desires to live out his intuitions, i mine. if we both draw our intuitions really from the world of ideas, and do not obey mere external impulses (physical or moral), then we cannot but meet one another in striving for the same aims, in having the same intentions. a moral misunderstanding, a clash of aims, is impossible between men who are free. only the morally unfree who blindly follow their natural instincts or the commands of duty, turn their backs on their neighbours, if these do not obey the same instincts and the same laws as themselves. to live in love of action and to let live in understanding of the other's volition, this is the fundamental maxim of the free man. he knows no other "ought" than that with which his will intuitively puts itself in harmony. how he shall will in any given case, that will be determined for him by the range of his ideas. if sociability were not deeply rooted in human nature, no external laws would be able to inoculate us with it. it is only because human individuals are akin in spirit that they can live out their lives side by side. the free man lives out his life in the full confidence that all other free men belong to one spiritual world with himself, and that their intentions will coincide with his. the free man does not demand agreement from his fellow-men, but he expects it none the less, believing that it is inherent in human nature. i am not referring here to the necessity for this or that external institution. i refer to the disposition, to the state of mind, through which a man, aware of himself as one of a group of fellow-men for whom he cares, comes nearest to living up to the ideal of human dignity. there are many who will say that the concept of the free man which i have here developed, is a chimera nowhere to be found realised, and that we have got to deal with actual human beings, from whom we can expect morality only if they obey some moral law, i.e., if they regard their moral task as a duty and do not simply follow their inclinations and loves. i do not deny this. only a blind man could do that. but, if so, away with all this hypocrisy of morality! let us say simply that human nature must be compelled to act as long as it is not free. whether the compulsion of man's unfree nature is effected by physical force or through moral laws, whether man is unfree because he indulges his unmeasured sexual desire, or because he is bound tight in the bonds of conventional morality, is quite immaterial. only let us not assert that such a man can rightly call his actions his own, seeing that he is driven to them by an external force. but in the midst of all this network of compulsion, there arise free spirits who, in all the welter of customs, legal codes, religious observances, etc., learn to be true to themselves. they are free in so far as they obey only themselves; unfree in so far as they submit to control. which of us can say that he is really free in all his actions? yet in each of us there dwells something deeper in which the free man finds expression. our life is made up of free and unfree actions. we cannot, however, form a final and adequate concept of human nature without coming upon the free spirit as its purest expression. after all, we are men in the fullest sense only in so far as we are free. this is an ideal, many will say. doubtless; but it is an ideal which is a real element in us working up to the surface of our nature. it is no ideal born of mere imagination or dream, but one which has life, and which manifests itself clearly even in the least developed form of its existence. if men were nothing but natural objects, the search for ideals, that is, for ideas which as yet are not actual but the realisation of which we demand, would be an impossibility. in dealing with external objects the idea is determined by the percept. we have done our share when we have recognised the connection between idea and percept. but with a human being the case is different. the content of his existence is not determined without him. his concept of his true self as a moral being (free spirit) is not a priori united objectively with the perceptual content "man," so that knowledge need only register the fact subsequently. man must by his own act unite his concept with the percept "man." concept and percept coincide with one another in this instance, only in so far as the individual himself makes them coincide. this he can do only if he has found the concept of the free spirit, that is, if he has found the concept of his own self. in the objective world, a boundary-line is drawn by our organisation between percept and concept. knowledge breaks down this barrier. in our subjective nature this barrier is no less present. the individual overcomes it in the course of his development, by embodying his concept of himself in his outward existence. hence man's moral life and his intellectual life lead him both alike to his two-fold nature, perception (immediate experience) and thought. the intellectual life overcomes his two-fold nature by means of knowledge, the moral life succeeds through the actual realisation of the free spirit. every being has its inborn concept (the laws of its being and action), but in external objects this concept is indissolubly bound up with the percept, and separated from it only in the organisation of human minds. in human beings concept and percept are, at first, actually separated, to be just as actually reunited by them. someone might object that to our percept of a man there corresponds at every moment of his life a definite concept, just as with external objects. i can construct for myself the concept of an average man, and i may also have given to me a percept to fit this pattern. suppose now i add to this the concept of a free spirit, then i have two concepts for the same object. such an objection is one-sided. as object of perception i am subject to perpetual change. as a child i was one thing, another as a youth, yet another as a man. moreover, at every moment i am different, as percept, from what i was the moment before. these changes may take place in such a way that either it is always only the same (average) man who exhibits himself in them, or that they represent the expression of a free spirit. such are the changes which my actions, as objects of perception, undergo. in the perceptual object "man" there is given the possibility of transformation, just as in the plant-seed there lies the possibility of growth into a fully developed plant. the plant transforms itself in growth, because of the objective law of nature which is inherent in it. the human being remains in his undeveloped state, unless he takes hold of the material for transformation within him and develops himself through his own energy. nature makes of man merely a natural being; society makes of him a being who acts in obedience to law; only he himself can make a free man of himself. at a definite stage in his development nature releases man from her fetters; society carries his development a step further; he alone can give himself the final polish. the theory of free morality, then, does not assert that the free spirit is the only form in which man can exist. it looks upon the freedom of the spirit only as the last stage in man's evolution. this is not to deny that conduct in obedience to norms has its legitimate place as a stage in development. the point is that we cannot acknowledge it to be the absolute standpoint in morality. for the free spirit transcends norms, in the sense that he is insensible to them as commands, but regulates his conduct in accordance with his impulses (intuitions). when kant apostrophises duty: "duty! thou sublime and mighty name, that dost embrace nothing charming or insinuating, but requirest submission," thou that "holdest forth a law ... before which all inclinations are dumb, even though they secretly counterwork it," [ ] then the free spirit replies: "freedom! thou kindly and humane name, which dost embrace within thyself all that is morally most charming, all that insinuates itself most into my humanity, and which makest me the servant of nobody, which holdest forth no law, but waitest what my inclination itself will proclaim as law, because it resists every law that is forced upon it." this is the contrast of morality according to law and according to freedom. the philistine who looks upon the state as embodied morality is sure to look upon the free spirit as a danger to the state. but that is only because his view is narrowly focused on a limited period of time. if he were able to look beyond, he would soon find that it is but on rare occasions that the free spirit needs to go beyond the laws of his state, and that it never needs to confront them with any real contradiction. for the laws of the state, one and all, have had their origin in the intuitions of free spirits, just like all other objective laws of morality. there is no traditional law enforced by the authority of a family, which was not, once upon a time, intuitively conceived and laid down by an ancestor. similarly the conventional laws of morality are first of all established by particular men, and the laws of the state are always born in the brain of a statesman. these free spirits have set up laws over the rest of mankind, and only he is unfree who forgets this origin and makes them either divine commands, or objective moral duties, or--falsely mystical--the authoritative voice of his own conscience. he, on the other hand, who does not forget the origin of laws, but looks for it in man, will respect them as belonging to the same world of ideas which is the source also of his own moral intuitions. if he thinks his intuitions better than the existing laws, he will try to put them into the place of the latter. if he thinks the laws justified, he will act in accordance with them as if they were his own intuitions. man does not exist in order to found a moral order of the world. anyone who maintains that he does, stands in his theory of man still at that same point, at which natural science stood when it believed that a bull has horns in order that it may butt. scientists, happily, have cast the concept of objective purposes in nature into the limbo of dead theories. for ethics, it is more difficult to achieve the same emancipation. but just as horns do not exist for the sake of butting, but butting because of horns, so man does not exist for the sake of morality, but morality exists through man. the free man acts morally because he has a moral idea, he does not act in order to be moral. human individuals are the presupposition of a moral world order. the human individual is the fountain of all morality and the centre of all life. state and society exist only because they have necessarily grown out of the life of individuals. that state and society, in turn, should react upon the lives of individuals, is no more difficult to comprehend, than that the butting which is the result of the existence of horns, reacts in turn upon the further development of the horns, which would become atrophied by prolonged disuse. similarly, the individual must degenerate if he leads an isolated existence beyond the pale of human society. that is just the reason why the social order arises, viz., that it may react favourably upon the individual. x monism and the philosophy of spiritual activity the naïve man who acknowledges nothing as real except what he can see with his eyes and grasp with his hands, demands for his moral life, too, grounds of action which are perceptible to his senses. he wants some one who will impart to him these grounds of action in a manner that his senses can apprehend. he is ready to allow these grounds of action to be dictated to him as commands by anyone whom he considers wiser or more powerful than himself, or whom he acknowledges, for whatever reason, to be a power superior to himself. this accounts for the moral principles enumerated above, viz., the principles which rest on the authority of family, state, society, church, and god. the most narrow-minded man still submits to the authority of some single fellow-man. he who is a little more progressive allows his moral conduct to be dictated by a majority (state, society). in every case he relies on some power which is present to his senses. when, at last, the conviction dawns on someone that his authorities are, at bottom, human beings just as weak as himself, then he seeks refuge with a higher power, with a divine being, whom, in turn, he endows with qualities perceptible to the senses. he conceives this being as communicating to him the ideal content of his moral life by way of his senses--believing, for example, that god appears in the flaming bush, or that he moves about among men in manifest human shape, and that their ears can hear his voice telling them what they are to do and what not to do. the highest stage of development which naïve realism attains in the sphere of morality is that at which the moral law (the moral idea) is conceived as having no connection with any external being, but, hypothetically, as being an absolute power in one's own consciousness. what man first listened to as the voice of god, to that he now listens as an independent power in his own mind which he calls conscience. this conception, however, takes us already beyond the level of the naïve consciousness into the sphere where moral laws are treated as independent norms. they are there no longer made dependent on a human mind, but are turned into self-existent metaphysical entities. they are analogous to the visible-invisible forces of metaphysical realism. hence also they appear always as a corollary of metaphysical realism, which seeks reality, not in the part which human nature, through its thinking, plays in making reality what it is, but which hypothetically posits reality over and above the facts of experience. hence these extra-human moral norms always appear as corollaries of metaphysical realism. for this theory is bound to look for the origin of morality likewise in the sphere of extra-human reality. there are different possible views of its origin. if the thing-in-itself is unthinking and acts according to purely mechanical laws, as modern materialism conceives that it does, then it must also produce out of itself, by purely mechanical necessity, the human individual and all that belongs to him. on that view the consciousness of freedom can be nothing more than an illusion. for whilst i consider myself the author of my action, it is the matter of which i am composed and the movements which are going on in it that determine me. i imagine myself free, but actually all my actions are nothing but the effects of the metabolism which is the basis of my physical and mental organisation. it is only because we do not know the motives which compel us that we have the feeling of freedom. "we must emphasise that the feeling of freedom depends on the absence of external compelling motives." "our actions are as much subject to necessity as our thoughts" (ziehen, leitfaden der physiologischen psychologie, pp. , ff.). [ ] another possibility is that some one will find in a spiritual being the absolute lying behind all phenomena. if so, he will look for the spring of action in some kind of spiritual power. he will regard the moral principles which his reason contains as the manifestation of this spiritual being, which pursues in men its own special purposes. moral laws appear to the dualist, who holds this view, as dictated by the absolute, and man's only task is to discover, by means of his reason, the decisions of the absolute and to carry them out. for the dualist, the moral order of the world is the visible symbol of the higher order that lies behind it. our human morality is a revelation of the divine world-order. it is not man who matters in this moral order but reality in itself, that is, god. man ought to do what god wills. eduard von hartmann, who identifies reality, as such, with god, and who treats god's existence as a life of suffering, believes that the divine being has created the world in order to gain, by means of the world, release from his infinite suffering. hence this philosopher regards the moral evolution of humanity as a process, the function of which is the redemption of god. "only through the building up of a moral world-order on the part of rational, self-conscious individuals is it possible for the world-process to approximate to its goal." "real existence is the incarnation of god. the world-process is the passion of god who has become flesh, and at the same time the way of redemption for him who was crucified in the flesh; and morality is our co-operation in the shortening of this process of suffering and redemption" (hartmann, phänomenologie des sittlichen bewusstseins, § ). on this view, man does not act because he wills, but he must act because it is god's will to be redeemed. whereas the materialistic dualist turns man into an automaton, the action of which is nothing but the effect of causality according to purely mechanical laws, the spiritualistic dualist (i.e., he who treats the absolute, the thing-in-itself, as a spiritual something in which man with his conscious experience has no share), makes man the slave of the will of the absolute. neither materialism, nor spiritualism, nor in general metaphysical realism which infers, as true reality, an extra-human something which it does not experience, have any room for freedom. naïve and metaphysical realism, if they are to be consistent, have to deny freedom for one and the same reason, viz., because, for them, man does nothing but carry out, or execute, principles necessarily imposed upon him. naïve realism destroys freedom by subjecting man to authority, whether it be that of a perceptible being, or that of a being conceived on the analogy of perceptible beings, or, lastly, that of the abstract voice of conscience. the metaphysician, content merely to infer an extra-human reality, is unable to acknowledge freedom because, for him, man is determined, mechanically or morally, by a "thing-in-itself." monism will have to admit the partial justification of naïve realism, with which it agrees in admitting the part played by the world of percepts. he who is incapable of producing moral ideas through intuition must receive them from others. in so far as a man receives his moral principles from without he is actually unfree. but monism ascribes to the idea the same importance as to the percept. the idea can manifest itself only in human individuals. in so far as man obeys the impulses coming from this side he is free. but monism denies all justification to metaphysics, and consequently also to the impulses of action which are derived from so-called "things-in-themselves." according to the monistic view, man's action is unfree when he obeys some perceptible external compulsion; it is free when he obeys none but himself. there is no room in monism for any kind of unconscious compulsion hidden behind percept and concept. if anybody maintains of the action of a fellow-man that it has not been freely done, he is bound to produce within the visible world the thing or the person or the institution which has caused the agent to act. and if he supports his contention by an appeal to causes of action lying outside the real world of our percepts and thoughts, then monism must decline to take account of such an assertion. according to the monistic theory, then, man's action is partly free, partly unfree. he is conscious of himself as unfree in the world of percepts, and he realises in himself the spirit which is free. the moral laws which his inferences compel the metaphysician to regard as issuing from a higher power have, according to the upholder of monism, been conceived by men themselves. to him the moral order is neither a mere image of a purely mechanical order of nature nor of the divine government of the world, but through and through the free creation of men. it is not man's business to realise god's will in the world, but his own. he carries out his own decisions and intentions, not those of another being. monism does not find behind human agents a ruler of the world, determining them to act according to his will. men pursue only their own human ends. moreover, each individual pursues his own private ends. for the world of ideas realises itself, not in a community, but only in individual men. what appears as the common goal of a community is nothing but the result of the separate volitions of its individual members, and most commonly of a few outstanding men whom the rest follow as their leaders. each one of us has it in him to be a free spirit, just as every rosebud is potentially a rose. monism, then, is in the sphere of genuinely moral action the true philosophy of freedom. being also a philosophy of reality, it rejects the metaphysical (unreal) restriction of the free spirit as emphatically as it acknowledges the physical and historical (naïvely real) restrictions of the naïve man. inasmuch as it does not look upon man as a finished product, exhibiting in every moment of his life his full nature, it considers idle the dispute whether man, as such, is free or not. it looks upon man as a developing being, and asks whether, in the course of this development, he can reach the stage of the free spirit. monism knows that nature does not send forth man ready-made as a free spirit, but that she leads him up to a certain stage, from which he continues to develop still as an unfree being, until he reaches the point where he finds his own self. monism perceives clearly that a being acting under physical or moral compulsion cannot be truly moral. it regards the stages of automatic action (in accordance with natural impulses and instincts), and of obedient action (in accordance with moral norms), as a necessary propædeutic for morality, but it understands that it is possible for the free spirit to transcend both these transitory stages. monism emancipates man in general from all the self-imposed fetters of the maxims of naïve morality, and from all the externally imposed maxims of speculative metaphysicians. the former monism can as little eliminate from the world as it can eliminate percepts. the latter it rejects, because it looks for all principles of explanation of the phenomena of the world within that world and not outside it. just as monism refuses even to entertain the thought of cognitive principles other than those applicable to men (p. ), so it rejects also the concept of moral maxims other than those originated by men. human morality, like human knowledge, is conditioned by human nature, and just as beings of a higher order would probably mean by knowledge something very different from what we mean by it, so we may assume that other beings would have a very different morality. for monists, morality is a specifically human quality, and freedom the human way being moral. . addition to the revised edition ( ). in forming a judgment about the argument of the two preceding chapters, a difficulty may arise from what may appear to be a contradiction. on the one side, we have spoken of the experience of thinking as one the significance of which is universal and equally valid for every human consciousness. on the other side, we have pointed out that the ideas which we realise in moral action and which are homogeneous with those that thinking elaborates, manifest themselves in every human consciousness in a uniquely individual way. if we cannot get beyond regarding this antithesis as a "contradiction," and if we do not recognise that in the living intuition of this actually existing antithesis a piece of man's essential nature reveals itself, we shall not be able to apprehend in the true light either what knowledge is or what freedom is. those who think of concepts as nothing more than abstractions from the world of percepts, and who do not acknowledge the part which intuition plays, cannot but regard as a "pure contradiction" the thought for which we have here claimed reality. but if we understand how ideas are experienced intuitively in their self-sustaining essence, we see clearly that, in knowledge, man lives and enters into the world of ideas as into something which is identical for all men. on the other hand, when man derives from that world the intuitions for his voluntary actions, he individualises a member of the world of ideas by that same activity which he practises as a universally human one in the spiritual and ideal process of cognition. the apparent contradiction between the universal character of cognitive ideas and the individual character of moral ideas becomes, when intuited in its reality, a living concept. it is a criterion of the essential nature of man that what we intuitively apprehend of his nature oscillates, like a living pendulum, between knowledge which is universally valid, and individualised experience of this universal content. those who fail to perceive the one oscillation in its real character, will regard thinking as a merely subjective human activity. for those who are unable to grasp the other oscillation, man's activity in thinking will seem to lose all individual life. knowledge is to the former, the moral life to the latter, an unintelligible fact. both will fall back on all sorts of ideas for the explanation of the one or of the other, because both either do not understand at all how thinking can be intuitively experienced, or, else, misunderstand it as an activity which merely abstracts. . addition to the revised edition ( ). on page i have spoken of materialism. i am well aware that there are thinkers, like the above-mentioned th. ziehen, who do not call themselves materialists at all, but yet who must be called so from the point of view adopted in this book. it does not matter whether a thinker says that for him the world is not restricted to merely material being, and that, therefore, he is not a materialist. no, what matters is whether he develops concepts which are applicable only to material being. anyone who says, "our action, like our thought, is necessarily determined," lays down a concept which is applicable only to material processes, but not applicable either to what we do or to what we are. and if he were to think out what his concept implies, he would end by thinking materialistically. he saves himself from this fate only by the same inconsistency which so often results from not thinking one's thoughts out to the end. it is often said nowadays that the materialism of the nineteenth century is scientifically dead. but in truth it is not so. it is only that nowadays we frequently fail to notice that we have no other ideas than those which apply only to the material world. thus recent materialism is disguised, whereas in the second half of the nineteenth century it openly flaunted itself. towards a theory which apprehends the world spiritually the camouflaged materialism of the present is no less intolerant than the self-confessed materialism of the last century. but it deceives many who think they have a right to reject a theory of the world in terms of spirit, on the ground that the scientific world-view "has long ago abandoned materialism." xi world-purpose and life-purpose (the destiny of man) among the manifold currents in the spiritual life of humanity there is one which we must now trace, and which we may call the elimination of the concept of purpose from spheres to which it does not belong. adaptation to purpose is a special kind of sequence of phenomena. such adaptation is genuinely real only when, in contrast to the relation of cause and effect in which the antecedent event determines the subsequent, the subsequent event determines the antecedent. this is possible only in the sphere of human actions. man performs actions which he first presents to himself in idea, and he allows himself to be determined to action by this idea. the consequent, i.e., the action, influences by means of the idea the antecedent, i.e., the human agent. if the sequence is to have purposive character, it is absolutely necessary to have this circuitous process through human ideas. in the process which we can analyse into cause and effect, we must distinguish percept from concept. the percept of the cause precedes the percept of the effect. cause and effect would simply stand side by side in our consciousness, if we were not able to connect them with one another through the corresponding concepts. the percept of the effect must always be consequent upon the percept of the cause. if the effect is to have a real influence upon the cause, it can do so only by means of the conceptual factor. for the perceptual factor of the effect simply does not exist prior to the perceptual factor of the cause. whoever maintains that the flower is the purpose of the root, i.e., that the former determines the latter, can make good this assertion only concerning that factor in the flower which his thought reveals in it. the perceptual factor of the flower is not yet in existence at the time when the root originates. in order to have a purposive connection, it is not only necessary to have an ideal connection of consequent and antecedent according to law, but the concept (law) of the effect must really, i.e., by means of a perceptible process, influence the cause. such a perceptible influence of a concept upon something else is to be observed only in human actions. hence this is the only sphere in which the concept of purpose is applicable. the naïve consciousness, which regards as real only what is perceptible, attempts, as we have repeatedly pointed out, to introduce perceptible factors even where only ideal factors can actually be found. in sequences of perceptible events it looks for perceptible connections, or, failing to find them, it imports them by imagination. the concept of purpose, valid for subjective actions, is very convenient for inventing such imaginary connections. the naïve mind knows how it produces events itself, and consequently concludes that nature proceeds likewise. in the connections of nature which are purely ideal it finds, not only invisible forces, but also invisible real purposes. man makes his tools to suit his purposes. on the same principle, so the naïve realist imagines, the creator constructs all organisms. it is but slowly that this mistaken concept of purpose is being driven out of the sciences. in philosophy, even at the present day, it still does a good deal of mischief. philosophers still ask such questions as, what is the purpose of the world? what is the function (and consequently the purpose) of man? etc. monism rejects the concept of purpose in every sphere, with the sole exception of human action. it looks for laws of nature, but not for purposes of nature. purposes of nature, no less than invisible forces (p. ), are arbitrary assumptions. but even life-purposes which man does not set up for himself, are, from the standpoint of monism, illegitimate assumptions. nothing is purposive except what man has made so, for only the realisation of ideas originates anything purposive. but an idea becomes effective, in the realistic sense, only in human actions. hence life has no other purpose or function than the one which man gives to it. if the question be asked, what is man's purpose in life? monism has but one answer: the purpose which he gives to himself. i have no predestined mission in the world; my mission, at any one moment, is that which i choose for myself. i do not enter upon life's voyage with a fixed route mapped out for me. ideas are realised only by human agents. consequently, it is illegitimate to speak of the embodiment of ideas by history. all such statements as "history is the evolution of man towards freedom," or "the realisation of the moral world-order," etc., are, from a monistic point of view, untenable. the supporters of the concept of purpose believe that, in surrendering it, they are forced to surrender also all unity and order in the world. listen, for example, to robert hamerling (atomistik des willens, vol. ii, p. ): "as long as there are instincts in nature, so long is it foolish to deny purposes in nature. just as the structure of a limb of the human body is not determined and conditioned by an idea of this limb, floating somewhere in mid-air, but by its connection with the more inclusive whole, the body, to which the limb belongs, so the structure of every natural object, be it plant, animal, or man, is not determined and conditioned by an idea of it floating in mid-air, but by the formative principle of the more inclusive whole of nature which unfolds and organises itself in a purposive manner." and on page of the same volume we read: "teleology maintains only that, in spite of the thousand misfits and miseries of this natural life, there is a high degree of adaptation to purpose and plan unmistakable in the formations and developments of nature--an adaptation, however, which is realised only within the limits of natural laws, and which does not tend to the production of some imaginary fairy-land, in which life would not be confronted by death, growth by decay, with all the more or less unpleasant, but quite unavoidable, intermediary stages between them. when the critics of teleology oppose a laboriously collected rubbish-heap of partial or complete, imaginary or real, maladaptations to a world full of wonders of purposive adaptation, such as nature exhibits in all her domains, then i consider this just as amusing----" what is here meant by purposive adaptation? nothing but the consonance of percepts within a whole. but, since all percepts are based upon laws (ideas), which we discover by means of thinking, it follows that the orderly coherence of the members of a perceptual whole is nothing more than the ideal (logical) coherence of the members of the ideal whole which is contained in this perceptual whole. to say that an animal or a man is not determined by an idea floating in mid-air is a misleading way of putting it, and the view which the critic attacks loses its apparent absurdity as soon as the phrase is put right. an animal certainly is not determined by an idea floating in mid-air, but it is determined by an idea inborn in it and constituting the law of its nature. it is just because the idea is not external to the natural object, but is operative in it as its very essence, that we cannot speak here of adaptation to purpose. those who deny that natural objects are determined from without (and it does not matter, in this context, whether it be by an idea floating in mid-air or existing in the mind of a creator of the world), are the very men who ought to admit that such an object is not determined by purpose and plan from without, but by cause and law from within. a machine is produced in accordance with a purpose, if i establish a connection between its parts which is not given in nature. the purposive character of the combinations which i effect consists just in this, that i embody my idea of the working of the machine in the machine itself. in this way the machine comes into existence as an object of perception embodying a corresponding idea. natural objects have a very similar character. whoever calls a thing purposive because its form is in accordance with plan or law may, if he so please, call natural objects also purposive, provided only that he does not confuse this kind of purposiveness with that which belongs to a subjective human action. in order to have a purpose, it is absolutely necessary that the efficient cause should be a concept, more precisely a concept of the effect. but in nature we can nowhere point to concepts operating as causes. a concept is never anything but the ideal nexus of cause and effect. causes occur in nature only in the form of percepts. dualism may talk of cosmic and natural purposes. wherever for our perception there is a nexus of cause and effect according to law, there the dualist is free to assume that we have but the image of a nexus in which the absolute has realised its purposes. for monism, on the other hand, the rejection of an absolute reality implies also the rejection of the assumption of purposes in world and nature. addition to the revised edition ( ). no one who, with an open mind, has followed the preceding argument, will come to the conclusion that the author, in rejecting the concept of purpose for extra-human facts, intended to side with those thinkers who reject this concept in order to be able to regard, first, everything outside human action and, next, human action itself, as a purely natural process. against such misunderstanding the author should be protected by the fact that the process of thinking is in this book represented as a purely spiritual process. the reason for rejecting the concept of purpose even for the spiritual world, so far as it lies outside human action, is that in this world there is revealed something higher than a purpose, such as is realised in human life. and when we characterise as erroneous the attempt to conceive the destiny of the human race as purposive according to the pattern of human purposiveness, we mean that the individual adopts purposes, and that the result of the total activity of humanity is composed of these individual purposes. this result is something higher than its component parts, the purposes of individual men. xii moral imagination (darwin and morality) a free spirit acts according to his impulses, i.e., intuitions, which his thought has selected out of the whole world of his ideas. for an unfree spirit, the reason why he singles out a particular intuition from his world of ideas, in order to make it the basis of an action, lies in the perceptual world which is given to him, i.e., in his past experiences. he recalls, before making a decision, what some one else has done, or recommended as proper in an analogous case, or what god has commanded to be done in such a case, etc., and he acts on these recollections. a free spirit dispenses with these preliminaries. his decision is absolutely original. he cares as little what others have done in such a case as what commands they have laid down. he has purely ideal (logical) reasons which determine him to select a particular concept out of the sum of his concepts, and to realise it in action. but his action will belong to perceptible reality. consequently, what he achieves will coincide with a definite content of perception. his concept will have to be realised in a concrete particular event. as a concept it will not contain this event as particular. it will refer to the event only in its generic character, just as, in general, a concept is related to a percept, e.g., the concept lion to a particular lion. the link between concept and percept is the idea (cp. pp. ff). to the unfree spirit this intermediate link is given from the outset. motives exist in his consciousness from the first in the form of ideas. whenever he intends to do anything he acts as he has seen others act, or he obeys the instructions he receives in each separate case. hence authority is most effective in the form of examples, i.e., in the form of traditional patterns of particular actions handed down for the guidance of the unfree spirit. a christian models his conduct less on the teaching than on the pattern of the saviour. rules have less value for telling men positively what to do than for telling them what to leave undone. laws take on the form of universal concepts only when they forbid actions, not when they prescribe actions. laws concerning what we ought to do must be given to the unfree spirit in wholly concrete form. clean the street in front of your door! pay your taxes to such and such an amount to the tax-collector! etc. conceptual form belongs to laws which inhibit actions. thou shalt not steal! thou shalt not commit adultery! but these laws, too, influence the unfree spirit only by means of a concrete idea, e.g., the idea of the punishments attached by human authority, or of the pangs of conscience, or of eternal damnation, etc. even when the motive to an action exists in universal conceptual form (e.g., thou shalt do good to thy fellow-men! thou shalt live so that thou promotest best thy welfare!), there still remains to be found, in the particular case, the concrete idea of the action (the relation of the concept to a content of perception). for a free spirit who is not guided by any model nor by fear of punishment, etc., this translation of the concept into an idea is always necessary. concrete ideas are formed by us on the basis of our concepts by means of the imagination. hence what the free spirit needs in order to realise his concepts, in order to assert himself in the world, is moral imagination. this is the source of the free spirit's action. only those men, therefore, who are endowed with moral imagination are, properly speaking, morally productive. those who merely preach morality, i.e., those who merely excogitate moral rules without being able to condense them into concrete ideas, are morally unproductive. they are like those critics who can explain very competently how a work of art ought to be made, but who are themselves incapable of the smallest artistic production. moral imagination, in order to realise its ideas, must enter into a determinate sphere of percepts. human action does not create percepts, but transforms already existing percepts and gives them a new character. in order to be able to transform a definite object of perception, or a sum of such objects, in accordance with a moral idea, it is necessary to understand the object's law (its mode of action which one intends to transform, or to which one wants to give a new direction). further, it is necessary to discover the procedure by which it is possible to change the given law into the new one. this part of effective moral activity depends on knowledge of the particular world of phenomena with which one has got to deal. we shall, therefore, find it in some branch of scientific knowledge. moral action, then, presupposes, in addition to the faculty of moral concepts [ ] and of moral imagination, the ability to alter the world of percepts without violating the natural laws by which they are connected. this ability is moral technique. it may be learnt in the same sense in which science in general may be learnt. for, in general, men are better able to find concepts for the world as it is, than productively to originate out of their imaginations future, and as yet non-existing, actions. hence, it is very well possible for men without moral imagination to receive moral ideas from others, and to embody these skilfully in the actual world. vice versa, it may happen that men with moral imagination lack technical skill, and are dependent on the service of other men for the realisation of their ideas. in so far as we require for moral action knowledge of the objects upon which we are about to act, our action depends upon such knowledge. what we need to know here are the laws of nature. these belong to the natural sciences, not to ethics. moral imagination and the faculty of moral concepts can become objects of theory only after they have first been employed by the individual. but, thus regarded, they no longer regulate life, but have already regulated it. they must now be treated as efficient causes, like all other causes (they are purposes only for the subject). the study of them is, as it were, the natural science of moral ideas. ethics as a normative science, over and above this science, is impossible. some would maintain the normative character of moral laws at least in the sense that ethics is to be taken as a kind of dietetic which, from the conditions of the organism's life, deduces general rules, on the basis of which it hopes to give detailed directions to the body (paulsen, system der ethik). this comparison is mistaken, because our moral life cannot be compared with the life of the organism. the behaviour of the organism occurs without any volition on our part. its laws are fixed data in our world; hence we can discover them and apply them when discovered. moral laws, on the other hand, do not exist until we create them. we cannot apply them until we have created them. the error is due to the fact that moral laws are not at every moment new creations, but are handed down by tradition. those which we take over from our ancestors appear to be given like the natural laws of the organism. but it does not follow that a later generation has the right to apply them in the same way as dietetic rules. for they apply to individuals, and not, like natural laws, to specimens of a genus. considered as an organism, i am such a generic specimen, and i shall live in accordance with nature if i apply the laws of my genus to my particular case. as a moral agent i am an individual and have my own private laws. [ ] the view here upheld appears to contradict that fundamental doctrine of modern natural science which is known as the theory of evolution. but it only appears to do so. by evolution we mean the real development of the later out of the earlier in accordance with natural law. in the organic world, evolution means that the later (more perfect) organic forms are real descendants of the earlier (imperfect) forms, and have grown out of them in accordance with natural laws. the upholders of the theory of organic evolution believe that there was once a time on our earth, when we could have observed with our own eyes the gradual evolution of reptiles out of proto-amniotes, supposing that we could have been present as men, and had been endowed with a sufficiently long span of life. similarly, evolutionists suppose that man could have watched the development of the solar system out of the primordial nebula of the kant-laplace hypothesis, if he could have occupied a suitable spot in the world-ether during that infinitely long period. but no evolutionist will dream of maintaining that he could from his concept of the primordial amnion deduce that of the reptile with all its qualities, even if he had never seen a reptile. just as little would it be possible to derive the solar system from the concept of the kant-laplace nebula, if this concept of an original nebula had been formed only from the percept of the nebula. in other words, if the evolutionist is to think consistently, he is bound to maintain that out of earlier phases of evolution later ones really develop; that once the concept of the imperfect and that of the perfect have been given, we can understand the connection. but in no case will he admit that the concept formed from the earlier phases is, in itself, sufficient for deducing from it the later phases. from this it follows for ethics that, whilst we can understand the connection of later moral concepts with earlier ones, it is not possible to deduce a single new moral idea from earlier ones. the individual, as a moral being, produces his own content. this content, thus produced, is for ethics a datum, as much as reptiles are a datum for natural science. reptiles have evolved out of the proto-amniotes, but the scientist cannot manufacture the concept of reptiles out of the concept of the proto-amniotes. later moral ideas evolve out of the earlier ones, but ethics cannot manufacture out of the moral principles of an earlier age those of a later one. the confusion is due to the fact that, as scientists, we start with the facts before us, and then make a theory about them, whereas in moral action we first produce the facts ourselves, and then theorise about them. in the evolution of the moral world-order we accomplish what, at a lower level, nature accomplishes: we alter some part of the perceptual world. hence the ethical norm cannot straightway be made an object of knowledge, like a law of nature, for it must first be created. only when that has been done can the norm become an object of knowledge. but is it not possible to make the old a measure for the new? is not every man compelled to measure the deliverances of his moral imagination by the standard of traditional moral principles? if he would be truly productive in morality, such measuring is as much an absurdity as it would be an absurdity if one were to measure a new species in nature by an old one and say that reptiles, because they do not agree with the proto-amniotes, are an illegitimate (degenerate) species. ethical individualism, then, so far from being in opposition to the theory of evolution, is a direct consequence of it. haeckel's genealogical tree, from protozoa up to man as an organic being, ought to be capable of being worked out without a breach of natural law, and without a gap in its uniform evolution, up to the individual as a being with a determinate moral nature. but, whilst it is quite true that the moral ideas of the individual have perceptibly grown out of those of his ancestors, it is also true that the individual is morally barren, unless he has moral ideas of his own. the same ethical individualism which i have developed on the basis of the preceding principles, might be equally well developed on the basis of the theory of evolution. the final result would be the same; only the path by which it was reached would be different. that absolutely new moral ideas should be developed by the moral imagination is for the theory of evolution no more inexplicable than the development of one animal species out of another, provided only that this theory, as a monistic world-view, rejects, in morality as in science, every transcendent (metaphysical) influence. in doing so, it follows the same principle by which it is guided in seeking the causes of new organic forms in forms already existing, but not in the interference of an extra-mundane god, who produces every new species in accordance with a new creative idea through supernatural interference. just as monism has no use for supernatural creative ideas in explaining living organisms, so it is equally impossible for it to derive the moral world-order from causes which do not lie within the world. it cannot admit any continuous supernatural influence upon moral life (divine government of the world from the outside), nor an influence either through a particular act of revelation at a particular moment in history (giving of the ten commandments), or through god's appearance on the earth (divinity of christ [ ]). moral processes are, for monism, natural products like everything else that exists, and their causes must be looked for in nature, i.e., in man, because man is the bearer of morality. ethical individualism, then, is the crown of the edifice that darwin and haeckel have erected for natural science. it is the theory of evolution applied to the moral life. anyone who restricts the concept of the natural from the outset to an artificially limited and narrowed sphere, is easily tempted not to allow any room within it for free individual action. the consistent evolutionist does not easily fall a prey to such a narrow-minded view. he cannot let the process of evolution terminate with the ape, and acknowledge for man a supernatural origin. again, he cannot stop short at the organic reactions of man and regard only these as natural. he has to treat also the life of moral self-determination as the continuation of organic life. the evolutionist, then, in accordance with his fundamental principles, can maintain only that moral action evolves out of the less perfect forms of natural processes. he must leave the characterisation of action, i.e., its determination as free action, to the immediate observation of each agent. all that he maintains is only that men have developed out of non-human ancestors. what the nature of men actually is must be determined by observation of men themselves. the results of this observation cannot possibly contradict the history of evolution. only the assertion that the results are such as to exclude their being due to a natural world-order would contradict recent developments in the natural sciences. [ ] ethical individualism, then, has nothing to fear from a natural science which understands itself. observation yields freedom as the characteristic quality of the perfect form of human action. freedom must be attributed to the human will, in so far as the will realises purely ideal intuitions. for these are not the effects of a necessity acting upon them from without, but are grounded in themselves. when we find that an action embodies such an ideal intuition, we feel it to be free. freedom consists in this character of an action. what, then, from the standpoint of nature are we to say of the distinction, already mentioned above (p. ), between the two statements, "to be free means to be able to do what you will," and "to be able, as you please, to strive or not to strive is the real meaning of the dogma of free will"? hamerling bases his theory of free will precisely on this distinction, by declaring the first statement to be correct but the second to be an absurd tautology. he says, "i can do what i will, but to say i can will what i will is an empty tautology." whether i am able to do, i.e., to make real, what i will, i.e., what i have set before myself as my idea of action, that depends on external circumstances and on my technical skill (cp. p. ). to be free means to be able to determine by moral imagination out of oneself those ideas (motives) which lie at the basis of action. freedom is impossible if anything other than i myself (whether a mechanical process or god) determines my moral ideas. in other words, i am free only when i myself produce these ideas, but not when i am merely able to realise the ideas which another being has implanted in me. a free being is one who can will what he regards as right. whoever does anything other than what he wills must be impelled to it by motives which do not lie in himself. such a man is unfree in his action. accordingly, to be able to will, as you please, what you consider right or wrong means to be free or unfree as you please. this is, of course, just as absurd as to identify freedom with the faculty of doing what one is compelled to will. but this is just what hamerling maintains when he says, "it is perfectly true that the will is always determined by motives, but it is absurd to say that on this ground it is unfree; for a greater freedom can neither be desired nor conceived than the freedom to realise oneself in proportion to one's own power and strength of will." on the contrary, it is well possible to desire a greater freedom and that a true freedom, viz., the freedom to determine for oneself the motives of one's volitions. under certain conditions a man may be induced to abandon the execution of his will; but to allow others to prescribe to him what he shall do--in other words, to will what another and not what he himself regards as right--to this a man will submit only when he does not feel free. external powers may prevent me from doing what i will, but that is only to condemn me to do nothing or to be unfree. not until they enslave my spirit, drive my motives out of my head, and put their own motives in the place of mine, do they really aim at making me unfree. that is the reason why the church attacks not only the mere doing, but especially the impure thoughts, i.e., motives of my action. and for the church all those motives are impure which she has not herself authorised. a church does not produce genuine slaves until her priests turn themselves into advisers of consciences, i.e., until the faithful depend upon the church, i.e., upon the confessional, for the motives of their actions. addition to revised edition ( ). in these chapters i have given an account of how every one may experience in his actions something which makes him aware that his will is free. it is especially important to recognise that we derive the right to call an act of will free from the experience of an ideal intuition realising itself in the act. this can be nothing but a datum of observation, in the sense that we observe the development of human volition in the direction towards the goal of attaining the possibility of just such volition sustained by purely ideal intuition. this attainment is possible because the ideal intuition is effective through nothing but its own self-dependent essence. where such an intuition is present in the mind, it has not developed itself out of the processes in the organism (cp. pp. ff.), but the organic processes have retired to make room for the ideal processes. observation of an act of will which embodies an intuition shows that out of it, likewise, all organically necessary activity has retired. the act of will is free. no one can observe this freedom of will who is unable to see how free will consists in this, that, first, the intuitive factor lames and represses the necessary activity of the human organism, and then puts in its place the spiritual activity of a will guided by ideas. only those who are unable to observe these two factors in the free act of will believe that every act of will is unfree. those who are able to observe them win through to the recognition that man is unfree in so far as he fails to repress organic activity completely, but that this unfreedom is tending towards freedom, and that this freedom, so far from being an abstract ideal, is a directive force inherent in human nature. man is free in proportion as he succeeds in realising in his acts of will the same disposition of mind, which possesses him when he is conscious in himself of the formation of purely ideal (spiritual) intuitions. xiii the value of life (optimism and pessimism) a counterpart of the question concerning the purpose and function of life (cp. pp. ff.) is the question concerning its value. we meet here with two mutually opposed views, and between them with all conceivable attempts at compromise. one view says that this world is the best conceivable which could exist at all, and that to live and act in it is a good of inestimable value. everything that exists displays harmonious and purposive co-operation and is worthy of admiration. even what is apparently bad and evil may, from a higher point of view, be seen to be a good, for it represents an agreeable contrast with the good. we are the more able to appreciate the good when it is clearly contrasted with evil. moreover, evil is not genuinely real; it is only that we perceive as evil a lesser degree of good. evil is the absence of good, it has no positive import of its own. the other view maintains that life is full of misery and agony. everywhere pain outweighs pleasure, sorrow outweighs joy. existence is a burden, and non-existence would, from every point of view, be preferable to existence. the chief representatives of the former view, i.e., optimism, are shaftesbury and leibnitz; the chief representatives of the second, i.e., pessimism, are schopenhauer and eduard von hartmann. leibnitz says the world is the best of all possible worlds. a better one is impossible. for god is good and wise. a good god wills to create the best possible world, a wise god knows which is the best possible. he is able to distinguish the best from all other and worse possibilities. only an evil or an unwise god would be able to create a world worse than the best possible. whoever starts from this point of view will find it easy to lay down the direction which human action must follow, in order to make its contribution to the greatest good of the universe. all that man need do will be to find out the counsels of god and to act in accordance with them. if he knows what god's purposes are concerning the world and the human race, he will be able, for his part, to do what is right. and he will be happy in the feeling that he is adding his share to all the other good in the world. from this optimistic standpoint, then, life is worth living. it is such as to stimulate us to co-operate with, and enter into, it. quite different is the picture schopenhauer paints. he thinks of ultimate reality not as an all-wise and all-beneficent being, but as blind striving or will. eternal striving, ceaseless craving for satisfaction which yet is ever beyond reach, these are the fundamental characteristics of all will. for as soon as we have attained what we want, a fresh need springs up, and so on. satisfaction, when it occurs, endures always only for an infinitesimal time. the whole rest of our lives is unsatisfied craving, i.e., discontent and suffering. when at last blind craving is dulled, every definite content is gone from our lives. existence is filled with nothing but an endless ennui. hence the best we can do is to throttle all desires and needs within us and exterminate the will. schopenhauer's pessimism leads to complete inactivity; its moral aim is universal idleness. by a very different argument von hartmann attempts to establish pessimism and to make use of it for ethics. he attempts, in keeping with the fashion of our age, to base his world-view on experience. by observation of life he hopes to discover whether there is more pain or more pleasure in the world. he passes in review before the tribunal of reason whatever men consider to be happiness and a good, in order to show that all apparent satisfaction turns out, on closer inspection, to be nothing but illusion. it is illusion when we believe that in health, youth, freedom, sufficient income, love (sexual satisfaction), pity, friendship and family life, honour, reputation, glory, power, religious edification, pursuit of science and of art, hope of a life after death, participation in the advancement of civilisation--that in all these we have sources of happiness and satisfaction. soberly considered, every enjoyment brings much more evil and misery than pleasure into the world. the disagreeableness of "the morning after" is always greater than the agreeableness of intoxication. pain far outweighs pleasure in the world. no man, even though relatively the happiest, would, if asked, wish to live through this miserable life a second time. now, since hartmann does not deny the presence of an ideal factor (wisdom) in the world, but, on the contrary, grants to it equal rights with blind striving (will), he can attribute the creation of the world to his absolute being only on condition that he makes the pain in the world subserve a world-purpose that is wise. but the pain of created beings is nothing but god's pain itself, for the life of nature as a whole is identical with the life of god. an all-wise being can aim only at release from pain, and since all existence is pain, at release from existence. hence the purpose of the creation of the world is to transform existence into the non-existence which is so much better. the world-process is nothing but a continuous battle against god's pain, a battle which ends with the annihilation of all existence. the moral life for men, therefore, will consist in taking part in the annihilation of existence. the reason why god has created the world is that through the world he may free himself from his infinite pain. the world must be regarded, "as it were, as an itching eruption on the absolute," by means of which the unconscious healing power of the absolute rids itself of an inward disease; or it may be regarded "as a painful drawing-plaster which the all-one applies to itself in order first to divert the inner pain outwards, and then to get rid of it altogether." human beings are members of the world. in their sufferings god suffers. he has created them in order to split up in them his infinite pain. the pain which each one of us suffers is but a drop in the infinite ocean of god's pain (hartmann, phänomenologie des sittlichen bewusstseins, pp. ff.). it is man's duty to permeate his whole being with the recognition that the pursuit of individual satisfaction (egoism) is a folly, and that he ought to be guided solely by the task of assisting in the redemption of god by unselfish service of the world-process. thus, in contrast with the pessimism of schopenhauer, that of von hartmann leads us to devoted activity in a sublime cause. but what of the claim that this view is based on experience? to strive after satisfaction means that our activity reaches out beyond the actual content of our lives. a creature is hungry, i.e., it desires satiety, when its organic functions demand for their continuation the supply of fresh life-materials in the form of nourishment. the pursuit of honour consists in that a man does not regard what he personally does or leaves undone as valuable unless it is endorsed by the approval of others from without. the striving for knowledge arises when a man is not content with the world which he sees, hears, etc., so long as he has not understood it. the fulfilment of the striving causes pleasure in the individual who strives, failure causes pain. it is important here to observe that pleasure and pain are attached only to the fulfilment or non-fulfilment of my striving. the striving itself is by no means to be regarded as a pain. hence, if we find that, in the very moment in which a striving is fulfilled, at once a new striving arises, this is no ground for saying that pleasure has given birth to pain, because enjoyment in every case gives rise to a desire for its repetition, or for a fresh pleasure. i can speak of pain only when desire runs up against the impossibility of fulfilment. even when an enjoyment that i have had causes in me the desire for the experience of a greater, more subtle, and more exotic pleasure, i have no right to speak of this desire as a pain caused by the previous pleasure until the means fail me to gain the greater and more subtle pleasure. i have no right to regard pleasure as the cause of pain unless pain follows on pleasure as its consequence by natural law, e.g., when a woman's sexual pleasure is followed by the suffering of child-birth and the cares of nursing. if striving caused pain, then the removal of striving ought to be accompanied by pleasure. but the very reverse is true. to have no striving in one's life causes boredom, and boredom is always accompanied by displeasure. now, since it may be a long time before a striving meets with fulfilment, and since, in the interval, it is content with the hope of fulfilment, we must acknowledge that there is no connection in principle between pain and striving, but that pain depends solely on the non-fulfilment of the striving. schopenhauer, then, is wrong, in any case, in regarding desire or striving (will) as being in principle the source of pain. in truth, the very reverse of this is correct. striving (desire) is in itself pleasurable. who does not know the pleasure which is caused by the hope of a remote but intensely desired enjoyment? this pleasure is the companion of all labour, the results of which will be enjoyed by us only in the future. it is a pleasure which is wholly independent of the attainment of the end. for when the aim has been attained, the pleasure of satisfaction is added as a fresh thrill to the pleasure of striving. if anyone were to argue that the pain caused by the non-attainment of an aim is increased by the pain of disappointed hope, and that thus, in the end, the pain of non-fulfilment will still always outweigh the utmost possible pleasure of fulfilment, we shall have to reply that the reverse may be the case, and that the recollection of past pleasure at a time of unsatisfied desire will as often mitigate the displeasure of non-satisfaction. whoever at the moment when his hopes suffer shipwreck exclaims, "i have done my part," proves thereby my assertion. the blessed feeling of having willed the best within one's powers is ignored by all who make every unsatisfied desire an occasion for asserting that, not only has the pleasure of fulfilment been lost, but that the enjoyment of the striving itself has been destroyed. the satisfaction of a desire causes pleasure and its non-satisfaction causes pain. but we have no right to infer from this fact that pleasure is nothing but the satisfaction of a desire, and pain nothing but its non-satisfaction. both pleasure and pain may be experienced without being the consequence of desire. all illness is pain not preceded by any desire. if anyone were to maintain that illness is unsatisfied desire for health, he would commit the error of regarding the inevitable and unconscious wish not to fall ill as a positive desire. when some one receives a legacy from a rich relative of whose existence he had not the faintest idea, he experiences a pleasure without having felt any preceding desire. hence, if we set out to inquire whether the balance is on the side of pleasure or of pain, we must allow in our calculation for the pleasure of striving, the pleasure of the satisfaction of striving, and the pleasure which comes to us without any striving whatever. on the debit side we shall have to enter the displeasure of boredom, the displeasure of unfulfilled striving, and, lastly, the displeasure which comes to us without any striving on our part. under this last heading we shall have to put also the displeasure caused by work that has been forced upon us, not chosen by ourselves. this leads us to the question, what is the right method for striking the balance between the credit and the debit columns? eduard von hartmann asserts that reason holds the scales. it is true that he says (philosophie des unbewussten, th edition, vol. ii. p. ): "pain and pleasure exist only in so far as they are actually being felt." it follows that there can be no standard for pleasure other than the subjective standard of feeling. i must feel whether the sum of my disagreeable feelings, contrasted with my agreeable feelings, results in me in a balance of pleasure or of pain. but, notwithstanding this, von hartmann maintains that "though the value of the life of every being can be set down only according to its own subjective measure, yet it follows by no means that every being is able to compute the correct algebraic sum of all the feelings of its life--or, in other words, that its total estimate of its own life, with regard to its subjective feelings, should be correct." but this means that rational estimation of feelings is reinstated as the standard of value. [ ] it is because von hartmann holds this view that he thinks it necessary, in order to arrive at a correct valuation of life, to clear out of the way those factors which falsify our judgment about the balance of pleasure and of pain. he tries to do this in two ways: first, by showing that our desire (instinct, will) operates as a disturbing factor in the sober estimation of feeling-values; e.g., whereas we ought to judge that sexual enjoyment is a source of evil, we are beguiled by the fact that the sexual instinct is very strong in us, into pretending to experience a pleasure which does not occur in the alleged intensity at all. we are bent on indulging ourselves, hence we do not acknowledge to ourselves that the indulgence makes us suffer. secondly, von hartmann subjects feelings to a criticism designed to show, that the objects to which our feelings attach themselves reveal themselves as illusions when examined by reason, and that our feelings are destroyed from the moment that our constantly growing insight sees through the illusions. von hartmann, then, conceives the matter as follows. suppose an ambitious man wants to determine clearly whether, up to the moment of his inquiry, there has been a surplus of pleasure or of pain in his life. he has to eliminate two sources of error that may affect his judgment. being ambitious, this fundamental feature of his character will make him see all the pleasures of the public recognition of his achievements larger than they are, and all the insults suffered through rebuffs smaller than they are. at the time when he suffered the rebuffs he felt the insults just because he is ambitious, but in recollection they appear to him in a milder light, whereas the pleasures of recognition to which he is so much more susceptible leave a far deeper impression. undeniably, it is a real benefit to an ambitious man that it should be so, for the deception diminishes his pain in the moment of self-analysis. but, none the less, it falsifies his judgments. the sufferings which he now reviews as through a veil were actually experienced by him in all their intensity. hence he enters them at a wrong valuation on the debit side of his account. in order to arrive at a correct estimate, an ambitious man would have to lay aside his ambition for the time of his inquiry. he would have to review his past life without any distorting glasses before his mind's eye, else he will resemble a merchant who, in making up his books, enters among the items on the credit side his own zeal in business. but von hartmann goes even further. he says the ambitious man must make clear to himself that the public recognition which he craves is not worth having. by himself, or with the guidance of others, he must attain the insight that rational beings cannot attach any value to recognition by others, seeing that "in all matters which are not vital questions of development, or which have not been definitely settled by science," it is always as certain as anything can be "that the majority is wrong and the minority right." "whoever makes ambition the lode-star of his life puts the happiness of his life at the mercy of so fallible a judgment" (philosophie des unbewussten, vol. ii, p. ). if the ambitious man acknowledges all this to himself, he is bound to regard all the achievements of his ambition as illusions, including even the feelings which attach themselves to the satisfaction of his ambitious desires. this is the reason why von hartmann says that we must also strike out of the balance-sheet of our life-values whatever is seen to be illusory in our feelings of pleasure. what remains after that represents the sum-total of pleasure in life, and this sum is so small compared with the sum-total of pain that life is no enjoyment and non-existence preferable to existence. but whilst it is immediately evident that the interference of the instinct of ambition produces self-deception in striking the balance of pleasures and thus leads to a false result, we must none the less challenge what von hartmann says concerning the illusory character of the objects to which pleasure is attached. for the elimination, from the credit-side of life, of all pleasurable feelings which accompany actual or supposed illusions would positively falsify the balance of pleasure and of pain. an ambitious man has genuinely enjoyed the acclamations of the multitude, irrespective of whether subsequently he himself, or some other person, recognises that this acclamation is an illusion. the pleasure, once enjoyed, is not one whit diminished by such recognition. consequently the elimination of all these "illusory" feelings from life's balance, so far from making our judgment about our feelings more correct, actually cancels out of life feelings which were genuinely there. and why are these feelings to be eliminated? he who has them derives pleasure from them; he who has overcome them, gains through the experience of self-conquest (not through the vain emotion: what a noble fellow i am! but through the objective sources of pleasure which lie in the self-conquest) a pleasure which is, indeed, spiritualised, but none the less valuable for that. if we strike feelings from the credit side of pleasure in our account, on the ground that they are attached to objects which turn out to have been illusory, we make the value of life dependent, not on the quantity, but on the quality of pleasure, and this, in turn, on the value of the objects which cause the pleasure. but if i am to determine the value of life only by the quantity of pleasure or pain which it brings, i have no right to presuppose something else by which first to determine the positive or negative value of pleasure. if i say i want to compare quantity of pleasure and quantity of pain, in order to see which is greater, i am bound to bring into my account all pleasures and pains in their actual intensities, regardless of whether they are based on illusions or not. if i credit a pleasure which rests on an illusion with a lesser value for life than one which can justify itself before the tribunal of reason, i make the value of life dependent on factors other than mere quantity of pleasure. whoever, like eduard von hartmann, puts down pleasure as less valuable when it is attached to a worthless object, is like a merchant who enters the considerable profits of a toy-factory at only one-quarter of their real value on the ground that the factory produces nothing but playthings for children. if the point is simply to weigh quantity of pleasure against quantity of pain, we ought to leave the illusory character of the objects of some pleasures entirely out of account. the method, then, which von hartmann recommends, viz., rational criticism of the quantities of pleasure and pain produced by life, has taught us so far how we are to get the data for our calculation, i.e., what we are to put down on the one side of our account and what on the other. but how are we to make the actual calculation? is reason able also to strike the balance? a merchant makes a miscalculation when the gain calculated by him does not balance with the profits which he has demonstrably enjoyed from his business or is still expecting to enjoy. similarly, the philosopher will undoubtedly have made a mistake in his estimate, if he cannot demonstrate in actual feeling the surplus of pleasure or, as the case may be, of pain which his manipulation of the account may have yielded. for the present i shall not criticise the calculations of those pessimists who support their estimate of the value of the world by an appeal to reason. but if we are to decide whether to carry on the business of life or not, we shall demand first to be shown where the alleged balance of pain is to be found. here we touch the point where reason is not in a position by itself to determine the surplus of pleasure or of pain, but where it must exhibit this surplus in life as something actually felt. for man reaches reality not through concepts by themselves, but through the interpenetration of concepts and percepts (and feelings are percepts) which thinking brings about (cp. pp. ff.). a merchant will give up his business only when the loss of goods, as calculated by his accountant, is actually confirmed by the facts. if the facts do not bear out the calculation, he asks his accountant to check the account once more. that is exactly what a man will do in the business of life. if a philosopher wants to prove to him that the pain is far greater than the pleasure, but that he does not feel it so, then he will reply: "you have made a mistake in your theorisings; repeat your analysis once more." but if there comes a time in a business when the losses are really so great that the firm's credit no longer suffices to satisfy the creditors, bankruptcy results, even though the merchant may avoid keeping himself informed by careful accounts about the state of his affairs. similarly, supposing the quantity of pain in a man's life became at any time so great that no hope (credit) of future pleasure could help him to get over the pain, the bankruptcy of life's business would inevitably follow. now the number of those who commit suicide is relatively small compared with the number of those who live bravely on. only very few men give up the business of life because of the pain involved. what follows? either that it is untrue to say that the quantity of pain is greater than the quantity of pleasure, or that we do not make the continuation of life dependent on the quantity of felt pleasure or pain. in a very curious way, eduard von hartmann's pessimism, having concluded that life is valueless because it contains a surplus of pain, yet affirms the necessity of going on with life. this necessity lies in the fact that the world-purpose mentioned above (p. ) can be achieved only by the ceaseless, devoted labour of human beings. but so long as men still pursue their egoistical appetites they are unfit for this devoted labour. it is not until experience and reason have convinced them that the pleasures which egoism pursues are incapable of attainment, that they give themselves up to their proper task. in this way the pessimistic conviction is offered as the fountain of unselfishness. an education based on pessimism is to exterminate egoism by convincing it of the hopelessness of achieving its aims. according to this view, then, the striving for pleasure is fundamentally inherent in human nature. it is only through the insight into the impossibility of satisfaction that this striving abdicates in favour of the higher tasks of humanity. it is, however, impossible to say of this ethical theory, which expects from the establishment of pessimism a devotion to unselfish ends in life, that it really overcomes egoism in the proper sense of the word. the moral ideas are said not to be strong enough to dominate the will until man has learnt that the selfish striving after pleasure cannot lead to any satisfaction. man, whose selfishness desires the grapes of pleasure, finds them sour because he cannot attain them, and so he turns his back on them and devotes himself to an unselfish life. moral ideals, then, according to the opinion of pessimists, are too weak to overcome egoism, but they establish their kingdom on the territory which previous recognition of the hopelessness of egoism has cleared for them. if men by nature strive after pleasure but are unable to attain it, it follows that annihilation of existence and salvation through non-existence are the only rational ends. and if we accept the view that the real bearer of the pain of the world is god, it follows that the task of men consists in helping to bring about the salvation of god. to commit suicide does not advance, but hinders, the realisation of this aim. god must rationally be conceived as having created men for the sole purpose of bringing about his salvation through their action, else would creation be purposeless. every one of us has to perform his own definite task in the general work of salvation. if he withdraws from the task by suicide, another has to do the work which was intended for him. somebody else must bear in his stead the agony of existence. and since in every being it is, at bottom, god who is the ultimate bearer of all pain, it follows that to commit suicide does not in the least diminish the quantity of god's pain, but rather imposes upon god the additional difficulty of providing a substitute. this whole theory presupposes that pleasure is the standard of value for life. now life manifests itself through a number of instincts (needs). if the value of life depended on its producing more pleasure than pain, an instinct would have to be called valueless which brought to its owner a balance of pain. let us, if you please, inspect instinct and pleasure, in order to see whether the former can be measured by the latter. and lest we give rise to the suspicion that life does not begin for us below the sphere of the "aristocrats of the intellect," we shall begin our examination with a "purely animal" need, viz., hunger. hunger arises when our organs are unable to continue functioning without a fresh supply of food. what a hungry man desires, in the first instance, is to have his hunger stilled. as soon as the supply of nourishment has reached the point where hunger ceases, everything has been attained that the food-instinct craves. the pleasure which is connected with satiety consists, to begin with, in the removal of the pain which is caused by hunger. but to the mere food-instinct there is added a further need. for man does not merely desire to restore, by the consumption of food, the disturbance in the functioning of his organs, or to get rid of the pain of hunger, but he seeks to effect this to the accompaniment of pleasurable sensations of taste. when he feels hungry, and is within half an hour of a meal to which he looks forward with pleasure, he avoids spoiling his enjoyment of the better food by taking inferior food which might satisfy his hunger sooner. he needs hunger in order to get the full enjoyment out of his meal. thus hunger becomes for him at the same time a cause of pleasure. supposing all the hunger in the world could be satisfied, we should get the total quantity of pleasure which we owe to the existence of the desire for nourishment. but we should still have to add the additional pleasure which gourmets gain by cultivating the sensibility of their taste-nerves beyond the common measure. the greatest conceivable value of this quantity of pleasure would be reached, if no need remained unsatisfied which was in any way connected with this kind of pleasure, and if with the smooth of pleasure we had not at the same time to take a certain amount of the rough of pain. modern science holds the view that nature produces more life than it can maintain, i.e., that nature also produces more hunger than it is able to satisfy. the surplus of life thus produced is condemned to a painful death in the struggle for existence. granted that the needs of life are, at every moment of the world-process, greater than the available means of satisfaction, and that the enjoyment of life is correspondingly diminished, yet such enjoyment as actually occurs is not one whit reduced thereby. wherever a desire is satisfied, there the corresponding quantity of pleasure exists, even though in the creature itself which desires, or in its fellow-creatures, there are a large number of unsatisfied instincts. what is diminished is, not the quantity, but the "value" of the enjoyment of life. if only a part of the needs of a living creature find satisfaction, it experiences still a corresponding pleasure. this pleasure is inferior in value in proportion as it is inadequate to the total demand of life within a given group of desires. we might represent this value as a fraction, the numerator of which is the actually experienced pleasure, whilst the denominator is the sum-total of needs. this fraction has the value when the numerator and the denominator are equal, i.e., when all needs are also satisfied. the fraction becomes greater than when a creature experiences more pleasure than its desires demand. it becomes smaller than when the quantity of pleasure falls short of the sum-total of desires. but the fraction can never have the value so long as the numerator has any value at all, however small. if a man were to make up the account before his death and to distribute in imagination over the whole of life the quantity belonging to a particular instinct (e.g., hunger), as well as the demands of this instinct, then the total pleasure which he has experienced might have only a very small value, but this value would never become altogether nil. if the quantity of pleasure remains constant, then with every increase in the needs of the creature the value of the pleasure diminishes. the same is true for the totality of life in nature. the greater the number of creatures in proportion to those which are able fully to satisfy their instincts, the smaller is the average pleasure-value of life. the cheques on life's pleasure which are drawn in our favour in the form of our instincts, become increasingly less valuable in proportion as we cannot expect to cash them at their full face value. suppose i get enough to eat on three days and am then compelled to go hungry for another three days, the actual pleasure on the three days of eating is not thereby diminished. but i have now to think of it as distributed over six days, and this reduces its "value" for my food-instinct by half. the same applies to the quantity of pleasure as measured by the degree of my need. suppose i have hunger enough for two sandwiches and can only get one, the pleasure which this one gives me has only half the value it would have had if the eating of it had stilled my hunger. this is the way in which we determine the value of a pleasure in life. we determine it by the needs of life. our desires supply the measure; pleasure is what is measured. the pleasure of stilling hunger has value only because hunger exists, and it has determinate value through the proportion which it bears to the intensity of the hunger. unfulfilled demands of our life throw their shadow even upon fulfilled desires, and thus detract from the value of pleasurable hours. but we may speak also of the present value of a feeling of pleasure. this value is the smaller, the more insignificant the pleasure is in proportion to the duration and intensity of our desire. a quantity of pleasure has its full value for us when its duration and degree exactly coincide with our desire. a quantity of pleasure which is smaller than our desire diminishes the value of the pleasure. a quantity which is greater produces a surplus which has not been demanded and which is felt as pleasure only so long as, whilst enjoying the pleasure, we can correspondingly increase the intensity of our desire. if we are not able to keep pace in the increase of our desire with the increase in pleasure, then pleasure turns into displeasure. the object which would otherwise satisfy us, when it assails us unbidden makes us suffer. this proves that pleasure has value for us only so long as we have desires by which to measure it. an excess of pleasurable feeling turns into pain. this may be observed especially in those men whose desire for a given kind of pleasure is very small. in people whose desire for food is dulled, eating easily produces nausea. this again shows that desire is the measure of value for pleasure. now pessimism might reply that an unsatisfied desire for food produces, not only the pain of a lost enjoyment, but also positive ills, agony, and misery in the world. it appeals for confirmation to the untold misery of all who are harassed by anxieties about food, and to the vast amount of pain which for these unfortunates results indirectly from their lack of food. and if it wants to extend its assertion also to non-human nature, it can point to the agonies of animals which, in certain seasons, die from lack of food. concerning all these evils the pessimist maintains that they far outweigh the quantity of pleasure which the food-instinct brings into the world. there is no doubt that it is possible to compare pleasure and pain one with another, and determine the surplus of the one or the other as we determine commercial gain or loss. but if pessimists think that a surplus on the side of pain is a ground for inferring that life is valueless, they fall into the mistake of making a calculation which in actual life is never made. our desire, in any given case, is directed to a particular object. the value of the pleasure of satisfaction, as we have seen, will be the greater in proportion as the quantity of the pleasure is greater relatively to the intensity of our desire. [ ] it depends, further, on this intensity how large a quantity of pain we are willing to bear in order to gain the pleasure. we compare the quantity of pain, not with the quantity of pleasure, but with the intensity of our desire. he who finds great pleasure in eating will, by reason of his pleasure in better times, be more easily able to bear a period of hunger than one who does not derive pleasure from the satisfaction of the instinct for food. a woman who wants a child compares the pleasures resulting from the possession of a child, not with the quantities of pain due to pregnancy, birth, nursing, etc., but with her desire for the possession of the child. we never aim at a certain quantity of pleasure in the abstract, but at concrete satisfaction of a perfectly determinate kind. when we are aiming at a definite object or a definite sensation, it will not satisfy us to be offered some other object or some other sensation, even though they give the same amount of pleasure. if we desire satisfaction of hunger, we cannot substitute for the pleasure which this satisfaction would bring a pleasure equally great but produced by a walk. only if our desire were, quite generally, for a certain quantity of pleasure, would it have to die away at once if this pleasure were unattainable except at the price of an even greater quantity of pain. but because we desire a determinate kind of satisfaction, we experience the pleasure of realisation even when, along with it, we have to bear an even greater pain. the instincts of living beings tend in a determinate direction and aim at concrete objects, and it is just for this reason that it is impossible, in our calculations, to set down as an equivalent factor the quantities of pain which we have to bear in the pursuit of our object. provided the desire is sufficiently intense to be still to some degree in existence even after having overcome the pain--however great that pain, taken in the abstract, may be--the pleasure of satisfaction may still be enjoyed to its full extent. the desire, therefore, does not measure the pain directly against the pleasure which we attain, but indirectly by measuring the pain (proportionately) against its own intensity. the question is not whether the pleasure to be gained is greater than the pain, but whether the desire for the object at which we aim is greater than the inhibitory effect of the pain which we have to face. if the inhibition is greater than the desire, the latter yields to the inevitable, slackens, and ceases to strive. but inasmuch as we strive after a determinate kind of satisfaction, the pleasure we gain thereby acquires an importance which makes it possible, once satisfaction has been attained, to allow in our calculation for the inevitable pain only in so far as it has diminished the intensity of our desire. if i am passionately fond of beautiful views, i never calculate the amount of pleasure which the view from the mountain-top gives me as compared directly with the pain of the toilsome ascent and descent; but i reflect whether, after having overcome all difficulties, my desire for the view will still be sufficiently intense. thus pleasure and pain can be made commensurate only mediately through the intensity of the desire. hence the question is not at all whether there is a surplus of pleasure or of pain, but whether the desire for pleasure is sufficiently intense to overcome the pain. a proof for the accuracy of this view is to be found in the fact, that we put a higher value on pleasure when it has to be purchased at the price of great pain than when it simply falls into our lap like a gift from heaven. when sufferings and agonies have toned down our desire and yet after all our aim is attained, then the pleasure is all the greater in proportion to the intensity of the desire that has survived. now it is just this proportion which, as i have shown (p. ), represents the value of the pleasure. a further proof is to be found in the fact that all living creatures (including men) develop their instincts as long as they are able to bear the opposition of pains and agonies. the struggle for existence is but a consequence of this fact. all living creatures strive to expand, and only those abandon the struggle whose desires are throttled by the overwhelming magnitude of the difficulties with which they meet. every living creature seeks food until sheer lack of food destroys its life. man, too, does not turn his hand against himself until, rightly or wrongly, he believes that he cannot attain those aims in life which alone seem to him worth striving for. so long as he still believes in the possibility of attaining what he thinks worth striving for, he will battle against all pains and miseries. philosophy would have to convince man that striving is rational only when pleasure outweighs pain, for it is his nature to strive for the attainment of the objects which he desires, so long as he can bear the inevitable incidental pain, however great that may be. such a philosophy, however, would be mistaken, because it would make the human will dependent on a factor (the surplus of pleasure over pain) which, at first, is wholly foreign to man's point of view. the original measure of his will is his desire, and desire asserts itself as long as it can. if i am compelled, in purchasing a certain quantity of apples, to take twice as many rotten ones as sound ones--because the seller wishes to clear out his stock--i shall not hesitate a moment to take the bad apples as well, if i put so high a value on the smaller quantity of good apples that i am prepared, in addition to the purchase price, to bear also the expense for the transportation of the rotten goods. this example illustrates the relation between the quantities of pleasure and of pain which are caused by a given instinct. i determine the value of the good apples, not by subtracting the sum of the good from that of the bad ones, but by the fact that, in spite of the presence of the bad ones, i still attach a value to the good ones. just as i leave out of account the bad apples in the enjoyment of the good ones, so i surrender myself to the satisfaction of a desire after having shaken off the inevitable pains. supposing even pessimism were in the right with its assertion that the world contains more pain than pleasure, it would nevertheless have no influence upon the will, for living beings would still strive after such pleasure as remains. the empirical proof that pain overbalances pleasure is indeed effective for showing up the futility of that school of philosophy, which looks for the value of life in a surplus of pleasure (eudæmonism), but not for exhibiting the will, as such, as irrational. for the will is not set upon a surplus of pleasure, but on whatever quantity of pleasure remains after subtracting the pain. this remaining pleasure still appears always as an object worth pursuing. an attempt has been made to refute pessimism by asserting that it is impossible to determine by calculation the surplus of pleasure or of pain in the world. the possibility of every calculation depends on our being able to compare the things to be calculated in respect of their quantity. every pain and every pleasure has a definite quantity (intensity and duration). further, we can compare pleasurable feelings of different kinds one with another, at least approximately, with regard to their intensity. we know whether we derive more pleasure from a good cigar or from a good joke. no objection can be raised against the comparability of different pleasures and pains in respect of their intensity. the thinker who sets himself the task of determining the surplus of pleasure or pain in the world, starts from presuppositions which are undeniably legitimate. it is possible to maintain that the pessimistic results are false, but it is not possible to doubt that quantities of pleasure and pain can be scientifically estimated, and that the surplus of the one or the other can thereby be determined. it is incorrect, however, to assert that from this calculation any conclusions can be drawn for the human will. the cases in which we really make the value of our activity dependent on whether pleasure or pain shows a surplus, are those in which the objects towards which our activity is directed are indifferent to us. if it is a question whether, after the day's work, i am to amuse myself by a game or by light conversation, and if i am totally indifferent what i do so long as it amuses me, then i simply ask myself: what gives me the greatest surplus of pleasure? and i abandon the activity altogether if the scales incline towards the side of displeasure. if we are buying a toy for a child we consider, in selecting, what will give him the greatest pleasure, but in all other cases we are not determined exclusively by considerations of the balance of pleasure. hence, if pessimistic thinkers believe that they are preparing the ground for an unselfish devotion to the work of civilisation, by demonstrating that there is a greater quantity of pain than of pleasure in life, they forget altogether that the human will is so constituted that it cannot be influenced by this knowledge. the whole striving of men is directed towards the greatest possible satisfaction that is attainable after overcoming all difficulties. the hope of this satisfaction is the basis of all human activity. the work of every single individual and the whole achievement of civilisation have their roots in this hope. the pessimistic theory of ethics thinks it necessary to represent the pursuit of pleasure as impossible, in order that man may devote himself to his proper moral tasks. but these moral tasks are nothing but the concrete natural and spiritual instincts; and he strives to satisfy these notwithstanding all incidental pain. the pursuit of pleasure, then, which the pessimist sets himself to eradicate is nowhere to be found. but the tasks which man has to fulfil are fulfilled by him because from his very nature he wills to fulfil them. the pessimistic system of ethics maintains that a man cannot devote himself to what he recognises as his task in life until he has first given up the desire for pleasure. but no system of ethics can ever invent other tasks than the realisation of those satisfactions which human desires demand, and the fulfilment of man's moral ideas. no ethical theory can deprive him of the pleasure which he experiences in the realisation of what he desires. when the pessimist says, "do not strive after pleasure, for pleasure is unattainable; strive instead after what you recognise to be your task," we must reply that it is human nature to strive to do one's tasks, and that philosophy has gone astray in inventing the principle that man strives for nothing but pleasure. he aims at the satisfaction of what his nature demands, and the attainment of this satisfaction is to him a pleasure. pessimistic ethics, in demanding that we should strive, not after pleasure, but after the realisation of what we recognise as our task, lays its finger on the very thing which man wills in virtue of his own nature. there is no need for man to be turned inside out by philosophy, there is no need for him to discard his nature, in order to be moral. morality means striving for an end so long as the pain connected with this striving does not inhibit the desire for the end altogether; and this is the essence of all genuine will. ethics is not founded on the eradication of all desire for pleasure, in order that, in its place, bloodless moral ideas may set up their rule where no strong desire for pleasure stands in their way, but it is based on the strong will, sustained by ideal intuitions, which attains its end even when the path to it is full of thorns. moral ideals have their root in the moral imagination of man. their realisation depends on the desire for them being sufficiently intense to overcome pains and agonies. they are man's own intuitions. in them his spirit braces itself to action. they are what he wills, because their realisation is his highest pleasure. he needs no ethical theory first to forbid him to strive for pleasure and then to prescribe to him what he shall strive for. he will, of himself, strive for moral ideals provided his moral imagination is sufficiently active to inspire him with the intuitions, which give strength to his will to overcome all resistance. if a man strives towards sublimely great ideals, it is because they are the content of his will, and because their realisation will bring him an enjoyment compared with which the pleasure which inferior spirits draw from the satisfaction of their commonplace needs is a mere nothing. idealists delight in translating their ideals into reality. anyone who wants to eradicate the pleasure which the fulfilment of human desires brings, will have first to degrade man to the position of a slave who does not act because he wills, but because he must. for the attainment of the object of will gives pleasure. what we call the good is not what a man must do, but what he wills to do when he unfolds the fulness of his nature. anyone who does not acknowledge this must deprive man of all the objects of his will, and then prescribe to him from without what he is to make the content of his will. man values the satisfaction of a desire because the desire springs from his own nature. what he attains is valuable because it is the object of his will. if we deny any value to the ends which men do will, then we shall have to look for the ends that are valuable among objects which men do not will. a system of ethics, then, which is built up on pessimism has its root in the contempt for man's moral imagination. only he who does not consider the individual human mind capable of determining for itself the content of its striving, can look for the sum and substance of will in the craving for pleasure. a man without imagination does not create moral ideas; they must be imparted to him. physical nature sees to it that he seeks the satisfaction of his lower desires; but for the development of the whole man the desires which have their origin in the spirit are fully as necessary. only those who believe that man has no such spiritual desires at all can maintain that they must be imparted to him from without. on that view it will also be correct to say that it is man's duty to do what he does not will to do. every ethical system which demands of man that he should suppress his will in order to fulfil tasks which he does not will, works, not with the whole man, but with a stunted being who lacks the faculty of spiritual desires. for a man who has been harmoniously developed, the so-called ideas of the good lie, not without, but within the range of his will. moral action consists, not in the extirpation of one's individual will, but in the fullest development of human nature. to regard moral ideals as attainable only on condition that man destroys his individual will, is to ignore the fact that these ideals are as much rooted in man's will as the satisfaction of the so-called animal instincts. it cannot be denied that the views here outlined may easily be misunderstood. immature youths without any moral imagination like to look upon the instincts of their half-developed natures as the full substance of humanity, and reject all moral ideas which they have not themselves originated, in order that they may "live themselves out" without restriction. but it goes without saying that a theory which holds for a fully developed man does not hold for half-developed boys. anyone who still requires to be brought by education to the point where his moral nature breaks through the shell of his lower passions, cannot expect to be measured by the same standard as a mature man. but it was not my intention to set down what a half-fledged youth requires to be taught, but the essential nature of a mature man. my intention was to demonstrate the possibility of freedom, which becomes manifest, not in actions physically or psychically determined, but in actions sustained; by spiritual intuitions. every mature man is the maker of his own value. he does not aim at pleasure, which comes to him as a gift of grace on the part of nature or of the creator; nor does he live for the sake of what he recognises as duty, after he has put away from him the desire for pleasure. he acts as he wills, that is, in accordance with his moral intuitions; and he finds in the attainment of what he wills the true enjoyment of life. he determines the value of his life by measuring his attainments against his aims. an ethical system which puts "ought" in the place of "will," duty in the place of inclination, is consistent in determining the value of man by the ratio between the demands of duty and his actual achievements. it applies to man a measure that is external to his own nature. the view which i have here developed points man back to himself. it recognises as the true value of life nothing except what each individual regards as such by the measure of his own will. a value of life which the individual does not recognise is as little acknowledged by my views as a purpose of life which does not spring from the value thus recognised. my view looks upon the individual as his own master and the assessor of his own value. addition to the revised edition ( ). the argument of this chapter is open to misapprehension by those who obstinately insist on the apparent objection, that the will, as such, is the irrational factor in man, and that its irrationality should be exhibited in order to make man see, that the goal of his moral endeavour ought to be his ultimate emancipation from will. precisely such an illusory objection has been brought against me by a competent critic who urged that it is the business of the philosopher to make good what animals and most men thoughtlessly forget, viz., to strike a genuine balance of life's account. but the objection ignores precisely the main point. if freedom is to be realised, the will in human nature must be sustained by intuitive thinking. at the same time we find that the will may also be determined by factors other than intuition, and that morality and its work can have no other root than the free realisation of intuition issuing from man's essential nature. ethical individualism is well fitted to exhibit morality in its full dignity. it does not regard true morality as the outward conformity of the will to a norm. morality, for it, consists in the actions which issue from the unfolding of man's moral will as an integral part of his whole nature, so that immorality appears to man as a stunting and crippling of his nature. xiv the individual and the genus the view that man is a wholly self-contained, free individuality stands in apparent conflict with the facts, that he appears as a member of a natural whole (race, tribe, nation, family, male or female sex), and that he acts within a whole (state, church, etc.). he exhibits the general characteristics of the community to which he belongs, and gives to his actions a content which is defined by the place which he occupies within a social whole. this being so, is any individuality left at all? can we regard man as a whole in himself, in view of the fact that he grows out of a whole and fits as a member into a whole? the character and function of a member of a whole are defined by the whole. a tribe is a whole, and all members of the tribe exhibit the peculiar characteristics which are conditioned by the nature of the tribe. the character and activity of the individual member are determined by the character of the tribe. hence the physiognomy and the conduct of the individual have something generic about them. when we ask why this or that in a man is so or so, we are referred from the individual to the genus. the genus explains why something in the individual appears in the form observed by us. but man emancipates himself from these generic characteristics. he develops qualities and activities the reason for which we can seek only in himself. the generic factors serve him only as a means to develop his own individual nature. he uses the peculiarities with which nature has endowed him as material, and gives them a form which expresses his own individuality. we seek in vain for the reason of such an expression of a man's individuality in the laws of the genus. we are dealing here with an individual who can be explained only through himself. if a man has reached the point of emancipation from what is generic in him, and we still attempt to explain all his qualities by reference to the character of the genus, then we lack the organ for apprehending what is individual. it is impossible to understand a human being completely if one makes the concept of the genus the basis of one's judgment. the tendency to judge according to the genus is most persistent where differences of sex are involved. man sees in woman, woman in man, almost always too much of the generic characteristics of the other's sex, and too little of what is individual in the other. in practical life this does less harm to men than to women. the social position of women is, in most instances, so low because it is not determined by the individual characteristics of each woman herself, but by the general ideas which are current concerning the natural function and needs of woman. a man's activity in life is determined by his individual capacity and inclination, whereas a woman's activity is supposed to be determined solely by the fact that she is just a woman. woman is to be the slave of the generic, of the general idea of womanhood. so long as men debate whether woman, from her "natural disposition," is fitted for this, that, or the other profession, the so-called woman's question will never advance beyond the most elementary stage. what it lies in woman's nature to strive for had better be left to woman herself to decide. if it is true that women are fitted only for that profession which is theirs at present, then they will hardly have it in them to attain any other. but they must be allowed to decide for themselves what is conformable to their nature. to all who fear an upheaval of our social structure, should women be treated as individuals and not as specimens of their sex, we need only reply that a social structure in which the status of one-half of humanity is unworthy of a human being stands itself in great need of improvement. [ ] anyone who judges human beings according to their generic character stops short at the very point beyond which they begin to be individuals whose activity rests on free self-determination. whatever lies short of this point may naturally become matter for scientific study. thus the characteristics of race, tribe, nation, and sex are the subject-matter of special sciences. only men who are simply specimens of the genus could possibly fit the generic picture which the methods of these sciences produce. but all these sciences are unable to get as far as the unique character of the single individual. where the sphere of freedom (thinking and acting) begins, there the possibility of determining the individual according to the laws of his genus ceases. the conceptual content which man, by an act of thought, has to connect with percepts, in order to possess himself fully of reality (cp. pp. ff.), cannot be fixed by anyone once and for all, and handed down to humanity ready-made. the individual must gain his concepts through his own intuition. it is impossible to deduce from any concept of the genus how the individual ought to think; that depends singly and solely on the individual himself. so, again, it is just as impossible to determine, on the basis of the universal characteristics of human nature, what concrete ends the individual will set before himself. anyone who wants to understand the single individual must penetrate to the innermost core of his being, and not stop short at those qualities which he shares with others. in this sense every single human being is a problem. and every science which deals only with abstract thoughts and generic concepts is but a preparation for the kind of knowledge which we gain when a human individual communicates to us his way of viewing the world, and for that other kind of knowledge which each of us gains from the content of his own will. wherever we feel that here we are dealing with a man who has emancipated his thinking from all that is generic, and his will from the grooves typical of his kind, there we must cease to call in any concepts of our own making if we would understand his nature. knowledge consists in the combination by thought of a concept and a percept. with all other objects the observer has to gain his concepts through his intuition. but if the problem is to understand a free individuality, we need only to take over into our own minds those concepts by which the individual determines himself, in their pure form (without admixture). those who always mix their own ideas into their judgment on another person can never attain to the understanding of an individuality. just as the free individual emancipates himself from the characteristics of the genus, so our knowledge of the individual must emancipate itself from the methods by which we understand what is generic. a man counts as a free spirit in a human community only to the degree in which he has emancipated himself, in the way we have indicated, from all that is generic. no man is all genus, none is all individuality; but every man gradually emancipates a greater or lesser sphere of his being, both from the generic characteristics of animal life, and from the laws of human authorities which rule him despotically. in respect of that part of his nature for which man is not able to win this freedom for himself, he forms a member within the organism of nature and of spirit. he lives, in this respect, by the imitation of others, or in obedience to their command. but ethical value belongs only to that part of his conduct which springs from his intuitions. and whatever moral instincts man possesses through the inheritance of social instincts, acquire ethical value through being taken up into his intuitions. in such ethical intuitions all moral activity of men has its root. to put this differently: the moral life of humanity is the sum-total of the products of the moral imagination of free human individuals. this is monism's confession of faith. ultimate questions xv the consequences of monism an explanation of nature on a single principle, or, in other words, monism, derives from human experience all the material which it requires for the explanation of the world. in the same way, it looks for the springs of action also within the world of observation, i.e., in that human part of nature which is accessible to our self-observation, and more particularly in the moral imagination. monism declines to seek outside that world the ultimate grounds of the world which we perceive and think. for monism, the unity which reflective observation adds to the manifold multiplicity of percepts, is identical with the unity which the human desire for knowledge demands, and through which this desire seeks entrance into the physical and spiritual realms. whoever looks for another unity behind this one, only shows that he fails to perceive the coincidence of the results of thinking with the demands of the instinct for knowledge. a particular human individual is not something cut off from the universe. he is a part of the universe, and his connection with the cosmic whole is broken, not in reality, but only for our perception. at first we apprehend the human part of the universe as a self-existing thing, because we are unable to perceive the cords and ropes by which the fundamental forces of the cosmos keep turning the wheel of our life. all who remain at this perceptual standpoint see the part of the whole as if it were a truly independent, self-existing thing, a monad which gains all its knowledge of the rest of the world in some mysterious manner from without. but monism has shown that we can believe in this independence only so long as thought does not gather our percepts into the network of the conceptual world. as soon as this happens, all partial existence in the universe, all isolated being, reveals itself as a mere appearance due to perception. existence as a self-contained totality can be predicated only of the universe as a whole. thought destroys the appearances due to perception and assigns to our individual existence a place in the life of the cosmos. the unity of the conceptual world which contains all objective percepts, has room also within itself for the content of our subjective personality. thought gives us the true structure of reality as a self-contained unity, whereas the multiplicity of percepts is but an appearance conditioned by our organisation (cp. pp. ff.). the recognition of the true unity of reality, as against the appearance of multiplicity, is at all times the goal of human thought. science strives to apprehend our apparently disconnected percepts as a unity by tracing their inter-relations according to natural law. but, owing to the prejudice that an inter-relation discovered by human thought has only a subjective validity, thinkers have sought the true ground of unity in some object transcending the world of our experience (god, will, absolute spirit, etc.). further, basing themselves on this prejudice, men have tried to gain, in addition to their knowledge of inter-relations within experience, a second kind of knowledge transcending experience, which should reveal the connection between empirical inter-relations and those realities which lie beyond the limits of experience (metaphysics). the reason why, by logical thinking, we understand the nexus of the world, was thought to be that an original creator has built up the world according to logical laws, and, similarly, the ground of our actions was thought to lie in the will of this original being. it was overlooked that thinking embraces in one grasp the subjective and the objective, and that it communicates to us the whole of reality in the union which it effects between percept and concept. only so long as we contemplate the laws which pervade and determine all percepts, in the abstract form of concepts, do we indeed deal only with something purely subjective. but this subjectivity does not belong to the content of the concept which, by means of thought, is added to the percept. this content is taken, not from the subject, but from reality. it is that part of reality which is inaccessible to perception. it is experience, but not the kind of experience which comes from perception. those who cannot understand that the concept is something real, have in mind only the abstract form, in which we fix and isolate the concept. but in this isolation, the concept is as much dependent solely on our organisation as is the percept. the tree which i perceive, taken in isolation by itself, has no existence; it exists only as a member in the immense mechanism of nature, and is possible only in real connection with nature. an abstract concept, taken by itself, has as little reality as a percept taken by itself. the percept is that part of reality which is given objectively, the concept that part which is given subjectively (by intuition; cp. pp. ff.). our mental organisation breaks up reality into these two factors. the one factor is apprehended by perception, the other by intuition. only the union of the two, which consists of the percept fitted according to law into its place in the universe, is reality in its full character. if we take mere percepts by themselves, we have no reality but only a disconnected chaos. if we take the laws which determine percepts by themselves, we have nothing but abstract concepts. reality is not to be found in the abstract concept. it is revealed to the contemplative act of thought which regards neither the concept by itself nor the percept by itself, but the union of both. even the most orthodox idealist will not deny that we live in the real world (that, as real beings, we are rooted in it); but he will deny that our knowledge, by means of its ideas, is able to grasp reality as we live it. as against this view, monism shows that thought is neither subjective nor objective, but a principle which holds together both these sides of reality. the contemplative act of thought is a cognitive process which belongs itself to the sequence of real events. by thought we overcome, within the limits of experience itself, the one-sidedness of mere perception. we are not able by means of abstract conceptual hypotheses (purely conceptual speculation) to puzzle out the nature of the real, but in so far as we find for our percepts the right concepts we live in the real. monism does not seek to supplement experience by something unknowable (transcending experience), but finds reality in concept and percept. it does not manufacture a metaphysical system out of pure concepts, because it looks upon concepts as only one side of reality, viz., the side which remains hidden from perception, but is meaningless except in union with percepts. but monism gives man the conviction that he lives in the world of reality, and has no need to seek beyond the world for a higher reality. it refuses to look for absolute reality anywhere but in experience, because it recognises reality in the very content of experience. monism is satisfied with this reality, because it knows that our thought points to no other. what dualism seeks beyond the world of experience, that monism finds in this world itself. monism shows that our knowledge grasps reality in its true nature, not in a purely subjective image. it holds the conceptual content of the world to be identical for all human individuals (cp. pp. ff.). according to monistic principles, every human individual regards every other as akin to himself, because it is the same world-content which expresses itself in all. in the single conceptual world there are not as many concepts of "lion" as there are individuals who form the thought of "lion," but only one. and the concept which a adds to the percept of "lion" is identical with b's concept except so far as, in each case, it is apprehended by a different perceiving subject (cp. p. ). thought leads all perceiving subjects back to the ideal unity in all multiplicity, which is common to them all. there is but one ideal world, but it realises itself in human subjects as in a multiplicity of individuals. so long as man apprehends himself merely by self-observation, he looks upon himself as this particular being, but so soon as he becomes conscious of the ideal world which shines forth within him, and which embraces all particulars within itself, he perceives that the absolute reality lives within him. dualism fixes upon the divine being as that which permeates all men and lives in them all. monism finds this universal divine life in reality itself. the ideal content of another subject is also my content, and i regard it as a different content only so long as i perceive, but no longer when i think. every man embraces in his thought only a part of the total world of ideas, and so far, individuals are distinguished one from another also by the actual contents of their thought. but all these contents belong to a self-contained whole, which comprises within itself the thought-contents of all men. hence every man, in so far as he thinks, lays hold of the universal reality which pervades all men. to fill one's life with such thought-content is to live in reality, and at the same time to live in god. the thought of a beyond owes its origin to the misconception of those who believe that this world cannot have the ground of its existence in itself. they do not understand that, by thinking, they discover just what they demand for the explanation of the perceptual world. this is the reason why no speculation has ever produced any content which has not been borrowed from reality as it is given to us. a personal god is nothing but a human being transplanted into the beyond. schopenhauer's will is the human will made absolute. hartmann's unconscious, made up of idea and will, is but a compound of two abstractions drawn from experience. exactly the same is true of all other transcendent principles. the truth is that the human mind never transcends the reality in which it lives. indeed, it has no need to transcend it, seeing that this world contains everything that is required for its own explanation. if philosophers declare themselves finally content when they have deduced the world from principles which they borrow from experience and then transplant into an hypothetical beyond, the same satisfaction ought to be possible, if these same principles are allowed to remain in this world to which they belong anyhow. all attempts to transcend the world are purely illusory, and the principles transplanted into the beyond do not explain the world any better than the principles which are immanent in it. when thought understands itself, it does not demand any such transcendence at all, for there is no thought-content which does not find within the world a perceptual content, in union with which it can form a real object. the objects of imagination, too, are contents which have no validity, until they have been transformed into ideas that refer to a perceptual content. through this perceptual content they have their place in reality. a concept the content of which is supposed to lie beyond the world which is given to us, is an abstraction to which no reality corresponds. thought can discover only the concepts of reality; in order to find reality itself, we need also perception. an absolute being for which we invent a content, is a hypothesis which no thought can entertain that understands itself. monism does not deny ideal factors; indeed, it refuses to recognise as fully real a perceptual content which has no ideal counterpart, but it finds nothing within the whole range of thought that is not immanent within this world of ours. a science which restricts itself to a description of percepts, without advancing to their ideal complements, is, for monism, but a fragment. but monism regards as equally fragmentary all abstract concepts which do not find their complement in percepts, and which fit nowhere into the conceptual net that embraces the whole perceptual world. hence it knows no ideas referring to objects lying beyond our experience and supposed to form the content of purely hypothetical metaphysics. whatever mankind has produced in the way of such ideas monism regards as abstractions from experience, whose origin in experience has been overlooked by their authors. just as little, according to monistic principles, are the ends of our actions capable of being derived from the beyond. so far as we can think them, they must have their origin in human intuition. man does not adopt the purposes of an objective (transcendent) being as his own individual purposes, but he pursues the ends which his own moral imagination sets before him. the idea which realises itself in an action is selected by the agent from the single ideal world and made the basis of his will. consequently his action is not a realisation of commands which have been thrust into this world from the beyond, but of human intuitions which belong to this world. for monism there is no ruler of the world standing outside of us and determining the aim and direction of our actions. there is for man no transcendent ground of existence, the counsels of which he might discover, in order thence to learn the ends to which he ought to direct his action. man must rest wholly upon himself. he must himself give a content to his action. it is in vain that he seeks outside the world in which he lives for motives of his will. if he is to go at all beyond the satisfaction of the natural instincts for which mother nature has provided, he must look for motives in his own moral imagination, unless he finds it more convenient to let them be determined for him by the moral imagination of others. in other words, he must either cease acting altogether, or else act from motives which he selects for himself from the world of his ideas, or which others select for him from that same world. if he develops at all beyond a life absorbed in sensuous instincts and in the execution of the commands of others, then there is nothing that can determine him except himself. he has to act from a motive which he gives to himself and which nothing else can determine for him except himself. it is true that this motive is ideally determined in the single world of ideas; but in actual fact it must be selected by the agent from that world and translated into reality. monism can find the ground for the actual realisation of an idea through human action only in the human being himself. that an idea should pass into action must be willed by man before it can happen. such a will consequently has its ground only in man himself. man, on this view, is the ultimate determinant of his action. he is free. . addition to the revised edition ( ). in the second part of this book the attempt has been made to justify the conviction that freedom is to be found in human conduct as it really is. for this purpose it was necessary to sort out, from the whole sphere of human conduct, those actions with respect to which unprejudiced self-observation may appropriately speak of freedom. these are the actions which appear as realisations of ideal intuitions. no other actions will be called free by an unprejudiced observer. however, open-minded self-observation compels man to regard himself as endowed with the capacity for progress on the road towards ethical intuitions and their realisation. yet this open-minded observation of the ethical nature of man is, by itself, insufficient to constitute the final court of appeal for the question of freedom. for, suppose intuitive thinking had itself sprung from some other essence; suppose its essence were not grounded in itself, then the consciousness of freedom, which issues from moral conduct, would prove to be a mere illusion. but the second part of this book finds its natural support in the first part, which presents intuitive thinking as an inward spiritual activity which man experiences as such. to appreciate through experience this essence of thinking is equivalent to recognising the freedom of intuitive thinking. and once we know that this thinking is free, we know also the sphere within which will may be called free. we shall regard man as a free agent, if on the basis of inner experience we may attribute to the life of intuitive thinking a self-sustaining essence. whoever cannot do this will be unable to discover any wholly unassailable road to the belief in freedom. the experience to which we here refer reveals in consciousness intuitive thinking, the reality of which does not depend merely on our being conscious of it. freedom, too, is thereby revealed as the characteristic of all actions which issue from the intuitions of consciousness. . addition to the revised edition ( ). the argumentation of this book is built up on the fact of intuitive thinking, which may be experienced in a purely spiritual way, and which every perception inserts into reality so that reality comes thereby to be known. all that this book aimed at presenting was the result of a survey from the basis of our experience of intuitive thinking. however, the intention also was to emphasise the systematic interpretation which this thinking, as experienced by us, demands. it demands that we shall not deny its presence in cognition as a self-sustaining experience. it demands that we acknowledge its capacity for experiencing reality in co-operation with perception, and that we do not make it seek reality in a world outside experience and accessible only to inference, in the face of which human thinking would be only a subjective activity. this view characterises thinking as that factor in man through which he inserts himself spiritually into reality. (and, strictly, no one should confuse this kind of world-view, which is based on thinking as directly experienced, with mere rationalism.) but, on the other hand, the whole tenor of the preceding argumentation shows that perception yields a determination of reality for human knowledge only when it is taken hold of in thinking. outside of thinking there is nothing to characterise reality for what it is. hence we have no right to imagine that sense-perception is the only witness to reality. whatever comes to us by way of perception on our journey through life, we cannot but expect. the only point open to question would be whether, from the exclusive point of view of thinking as we intuitively experience it, we have a right to expect that over and above sensuous perception there is also spiritual perception. this expectation is justified. for, though intuitive thinking is, on the one hand, an active process taking place in the human mind, it is, on the other hand, also a spiritual perception mediated by no sense-organ. it is a perception in which the percipient is himself active, and a self-activity which is at the same time perceived. in intuitive thinking man enters a spiritual world also as a percipient. whatever within this world presents itself to him as percept in the same way in which the spiritual world of his own thinking so presents itself, that is recognised by him as constituting a world of spiritual perception. this world of spiritual perception we may suppose to be standing in the same relation to thinking as does, on the sensuous side, the world of sense-perception. man does not experience the world of spiritual perception as an alien something, because he is already familiar in his intuitive thinking with an experience of purely spiritual character. with such a world of spiritual perception a number of the writings are concerned which i have published since this present book appeared. the philosophy of spiritual activity lays the philosophical foundation for these later writings. for it attempts to show that in the very experience of thinking, rightly understood, we experience spirit. this is the reason why it appears to the author that no one will stop short of entering the world of spiritual perception who has been able to adopt, in all seriousness, the point of view of the philosophy of spiritual activity. true, logical deduction--by syllogisms--will not extract out of the contents of this book the contents of the author's later books. but a living understanding of what is meant in this book by "intuitive thinking" will naturally prepare the way for living entry into the world of spiritual perception. truth and science [ ] i preliminary observations theory of knowledge aims at being a scientific investigation of the very fact which all other sciences take for granted without examination, viz., knowing or knowledge-getting itself. to say this is to attribute to it, from the very start, the character of being the fundamental philosophical discipline. for, it is only this discipline which can tell us what value and significance belong to the insight gained by the other sciences. in this respect it is the foundation for all scientific endeavour. but, it is clear that the theory of knowledge can fulfil its task only if it works without any presuppositions of its own, so far as that is possible in view of the nature of human knowledge. this is probably conceded on all sides. and yet, a more detailed examination of the better-known epistemological systems reveals that, at the very starting-point of the inquiry, there is made a whole series of assumptions which detract considerably from the plausibility of the rest of the argument. in particular, it is noticeable how frequently certain hidden assumptions are made in the very formulation of the fundamental problems of epistemology. but, if a science begins by misstating its problems, we must despair from the start of finding the right solution. the history of the sciences teaches us that countless errors, from which whole epochs have suffered, are to be traced wholly and solely to the fact that certain problems were wrongly formulated. for illustrations there is no need to go back to aristotle or to the ars magna lulliana. there are plenty of examples in more recent times. the numerous questions concerning the purposes of the rudimentary organs of certain organisms could be correctly formulated only after the discovery of the fundamental law of biogenesis had created the necessary conditions. as long as biology was under the influence of teleological concepts, it was impossible to put these problems in a form permitting a satisfactory answer. what fantastic ideas, for example, were current concerning the purpose of the so-called pineal gland, so long as it was fashionable to frame biological questions in terms of "purpose." an answer was not achieved until the solution of the problem was sought by the method of comparative anatomy, and scientists asked whether this organ might not be merely a residual survival in man from a lower evolutionary level. or, to mention yet another example, consider the modifications in certain physical problems after the discovery of the laws of the mechanical equivalents of heat and of the conservation of energy! in short, the success of scientific investigations depends essentially upon the investigator's ability to formulate his problems correctly. even though the theory of knowledge, as the presupposition of all other sciences, occupies a position very different from theirs, we may yet expect that for it, too, successful progress in its investigations will become possible only when the fundamental questions have been put in the correct form. the following discussions aim, in the first place, at such a formulation of the problem of knowledge as will do justice to the character of the theory of knowledge as a discipline which is without any presuppositions whatever. their secondary aim is to throw light on the relation of j. g. fichte's wissenschaftslehre to such a fundamental philosophical discipline. the reason why precisely fichte's attempt to provide an absolutely certain basis for the sciences will be brought into closer relation with our own philosophical programme, will become clear of itself in the course of our investigation. ii the fundamental problem of kant's theory of knowledge it is usual to designate kant as the founder of the theory of knowledge in the modern sense. against this view it might plausibly be argued that the history of philosophy records prior to kant numerous investigations which deserve to be regarded as something more than mere beginnings of such a science. thus volkelt, in his fundamental work on the theory of knowledge, [ ] remarks that the critical treatment of this discipline took its origin already with locke. but in the writings of even older philosophers, yes, even in the philosophy of ancient greece, discussions are to be found which at the present day are usually undertaken under the heading of theory of knowledge. however, kant has revolutionised all problems under this head from their very depths up, and, following him, numerous thinkers have worked them through so thoroughly that all the older attempts at solutions may be found over again either in kant himself or else in his successors. hence, for the purposes of a purely systematic, as distinct from a historical, study of the theory of knowledge, there is not much danger of omitting any important phenomenon by taking account only of the period since kant burst upon the world with his critique of pure reason. all previous epistemological achievements are recapitulated during this period. the fundamental question of kant's theory of knowledge is, how are synthetic judgments a priori possible? let us consider this question for a moment in respect of its freedom from presuppositions. kant asks the question precisely because he believes that we can attain unconditionally certain knowledge only if we are able to prove the validity of synthetic judgments a priori. he says: "should this question be answered in a satisfactory way, we shall at the same time learn what part reason plays in the foundation and completion of those sciences which contain a theoretical a priori knowledge of objects;" [ ] and, further, "metaphysics stands and falls with the solution of this problem, on which, therefore, the very existence of metaphysics absolutely depends." [ ] are there any presuppositions in this question, as formulated by kant? yes, there are. for the possibility of a system of absolutely certain knowledge is made dependent on its being built up exclusively out of judgments which are synthetic and acquired independently of all experience. "synthetic" is kant's term for judgments in which the concept of the predicate adds to the concept of the subject something which lies wholly outside the subject, "although it stands in some connection with the subject," [ ] whereas in "analytic" judgments the predicate affirms only what is already (implicitly) contained in the subject. this is not the place for considering the acute objections which johannes rehmke [ ] brings forward against this classification of judgments. for our present purpose, it is enough to understand that we can attain to genuine knowledge only through judgments which add to one concept another the content of which was not, for us at least, contained in that of the former. if we choose to call this class of judgments, with kant, "synthetic," we may agree that knowledge in judgment form is obtainable only where the connection of predicate and subject is of this synthetic sort. but, the case is very different with the second half of kant's question, which demands that these judgments are to be formed a priori, i.e., independently of all experience. for one thing, it is altogether possible [ ] that such judgments do not occur at all. at the start of the theory of knowledge we must hold entirely open the question, whether we arrive at any judgments otherwise than by experience, or only by experience. indeed, to unprejudiced reflection the alleged independence of experience seems from the first to be impossible. for, let the object of our knowledge be what it may--it must, surely, always present itself to us at some time in an immediate and unique way; in short, it must become for us an experience. mathematical judgments, too, are known by us in no other way than by our experiencing them in particular concrete cases. even if, with otto liebmann, [ ] for example, we treat them as founded upon a certain organisation of our consciousness, this empirical character is none the less manifest. we shall then say that this or that proposition is necessarily valid, because the denial of its truth would imply the denial of our consciousness, but the content of a proposition can enter our knowledge only by its becoming an experience for us in exactly the same way in which a process in the outer world of nature does so. let the content of such a proposition include factors which guarantee its absolute validity, or let its validity be based on other grounds--in either case, i can possess myself of it only in one way and in no other: it must be presented to me in experience. this is the first objection to kant's view. the other objection lies in this, that we have no right, at the outset of our epistemological investigations, to affirm that no absolutely certain knowledge can have its source in experience. without doubt, it is easily conceivable that experience itself might contain a criterion guaranteeing the certainty of all knowledge which has an empirical source. thus, kant's formulation of the problem implies two presuppositions. the first is that we need, over and above experience, another source of cognitions. the second is that all knowledge from experience has only conditional validity. kant entirely fails to realise that these two propositions are open to doubt, that they stand in need of critical examination. he takes them over as unquestioned assumptions from the dogmatic philosophy of his predecessors and makes them the basis of his own critical inquiries. the dogmatic thinkers assume the validity of these two propositions and simply apply them in order to get from each the kind of knowledge which it guarantees. kant assumed their validity and only asks, what are the conditions of their validity? but, what if they are not valid at all? in that case, the edifice of kantian doctrine lacks all foundation whatever. the whole argumentation of the five sections which precede kant's formulation of the problem, amounts to an attempt to prove that the propositions of mathematics are synthetic. [ ] but, precisely the two presuppositions which we have pointed out are retained as mere assumptions in his discussions. in the introduction to the second edition of the critique of pure reason we read, "experience can tell us that a thing is so and so, but not that it cannot be otherwise," and, "experience never bestows on its judgments true or strict universality, but only the assumed and relative universality of induction." [ ] in prologomena, [ ] we find it said, "first, as regards the sources of metaphysics, the very concept of metaphysics implies that they cannot be empirical. the principles of metaphysics (where the term 'principles' includes, not merely its fundamental propositions, but also its fundamental concepts), can never be gained from experience, for the knowledge of the metaphysician has precisely to be, not physical, but 'metaphysical,' i.e., lying beyond the reach of experience." lastly kant says in the critique of pure reason: "the first thing to notice is, that no truly mathematical judgments are empirical, but always a priori. they carry necessity on their very face, and therefore cannot be derived from experience. should anyone demur to this, i am willing to limit my assertion to the propositions of pure mathematics, which, as everybody will admit, are not empirical judgments, but perfectly pure a priori knowledge." [ ] we may open the critique of pure reason wherever we please, we shall always find that in all its discussions these two dogmatic propositions are taken for granted. cohen [ ] and stadler [ ] attempt to prove that kant has established the a priori character of the propositions of mathematics and pure natural science. but all that kant tries to do in the critique may be summed up as follows. the fact that mathematics and pure natural science are a priori sciences implies that the "form" of all experience has its ground in the subject. hence, all that is given by experience is the "matter" of sensations. this matter is synthesised by the forms, inherent in the mind, into the system of empirical science. it is only as principles of order for the matter of sense that the formal principles of the a priori theories have function and significance. they make empirical science possible, but they cannot transcend it. these formal principles are nothing but the synthetic judgments a priori, which therefore extend, as conditions of all possible empirical knowledge, as far as that knowledge but no further. thus, the critique of pure reason, so far from proving the a priori character of mathematics and pure natural science, does but delimit the sphere of their applicability on the assumption that their principles must become known independently of experience. indeed, kant is so far from attempting a proof of the a priori character of these principles, that he simply excludes that part of mathematics (see the quotation above) in which, even according to his view, that character might be called in question, and confines himself to the part in which he thinks he can infer the a priori character from the bare concepts involved. johannes volkelt, too, comes to the conclusion that "kant starts from the explicit presupposition" that "there actually does exist knowledge which is universal and necessary." he goes on to remark, "this presupposition which kant has never explicitly questioned, is so profoundly contradictory to the character of a truly critical theory of knowledge, that the question must be seriously put whether the critique is to be accepted as critical theory of knowledge at all." volkelt does, indeed, decide that there are good grounds for answering this question in the affirmative, but still, as he says, "this dogmatic assumption does disturb the critical attitude of kant's epistemology in the most far-reaching way." [ ] in short, volkelt, too, finds that the critique of pure reason is not a theory of knowledge free from all assumptions. in substantial agreement with our view are also the views of o. liebmann, [ ] holder, [ ] windelband, [ ] ueberweg, [ ] eduard von hartmann, [ ] and kuno fischer, [ ] all of whom acknowledge that kant makes the a priori character of pure mathematics and physics the basis of his whole argumentation. the propositions that we really have knowledge which is independent of all experience, and that experience can furnish knowledge of only relative universality, could be accepted by us as valid only if they were conclusions deduced from other propositions. it would be absolutely necessary for these propositions to be preceded by an inquiry into the essential nature of experience, as well as by another inquiry into the essential nature of knowing. the former might justify the first, the latter the second, of the above two propositions. it would be possible to reply to the objections which we have urged against the critique of pure reason, as follows. it might be said that every theory of knowledge must first lead the reader to the place where the starting-point, free from all presuppositions, is to be found. for, the knowledge which we have at any given moment of our lives is far removed from this starting-point, so that we must first be artificially led back to it. now, it is true that some such mutual understanding between author and reader concerning the starting-point of the science is necessary in all theory of knowledge. but such an understanding ought on no account to go beyond showing how far the alleged starting-point of knowing is truly such. it ought to consist of purely self-evident, analytic propositions. it ought not to lay down any positive, substantial affirmations which influence, as in kant, the content of the subsequent argumentation. moreover, it is the duty of the epistemologist to show that the starting-point which he alleges is really free from all presuppositions. but all this has nothing to do with the essential nature of that starting-point. it lies wholly outside the starting-point and makes no affirmations about it. at the beginning of mathematical instruction, too, the teacher must exert himself to convince the pupil of the axiomatic character of certain principles. but no one will maintain that the content of the axioms is in any way made dependent on these prior discussions of their axiomatic character. [ ] in exactly the same way, the epistemologist, in his introductory remarks, ought to show the method by which we can reach a starting-point free from all presuppositions. but the real content of the starting-point ought to be independent of the reflections by which it is discovered. there is, most certainly, a wide difference between such an introduction to the theory of knowledge and kant's way of beginning with affirmations of quite definite, dogmatic character. iii theory of knowledge since kant kant's mistaken formulation of the problem has had a greater or lesser influence on all subsequent students of the theory of knowledge. for kant, the view that all objects which are given to us in experience are ideas in our minds is a consequence of his theory of the a priori. for nearly all his successors, it has become the first principle and starting-point of their epistemological systems. it is said that the first and most immediate truth is, simply and solely, the proposition that we know our own ideas. this has come to be a well-nigh universal conviction among philosophers. g. e. schulze maintains in his Ænesidemus, as early as , that all our cognitions are mere ideas and that we can never transcend our ideas. schopenhauer puts forward, with all the philosophical pathos which distinguishes him, the view that the permanent achievement of kant's philosophy is the thesis that "the world is my idea." to eduard von hartmann this thesis is so incontestable, that he addresses his treatise, kritische grundlegung des transcendentalen realismus, exclusively to readers who have achieved critical emancipation from the naïve identification of the world of perception with the thing-in-itself. he demands of them that they shall have made clear to themselves the absolute heterogeneity of the object of perception which through the act of representation has been given as a subjective and ideal content of consciousness, and of the thing-in-itself which is independent of the act of representation and of the form of consciousness and which exists in its own right. his readers are required to be thoroughly convinced that the whole of what is immediately given to us consists of ideas. [ ] in his latest work on theory of knowledge, hartmann does, indeed, attempt to give reasons for this view. what value should be attached to these reasons by an unprejudiced theory of knowledge will appear in the further course of our discussions. otto liebmann posits as the sacrosanct first principle of the theory of knowledge the proposition, "consciousness cannot transcend itself." [ ] volkelt has called the proposition that the first and most immediate truth is the limitation of all our knowledge, in the first instance, to our own ideas exclusively, the positivistic principle of knowledge. he regards only those theories of knowledge as "in the fullest sense critical" which "place this principle, as the only fixed starting-point of philosophy, at the head of their discussions and then consistently think out its consequences." [ ] other philosophers place other propositions at the head of the theory of knowledge, e.g., the proposition that its real problem concerns the relation between thought and being, and the possibility of a mediation between them; [ ] or that it concerns the way in which being becomes an object of consciousness; [ ] and many others. kirchmann starts from two epistemological axioms, "whatever is perceived is," and, "whatever is self-contradictory, is not." [ ] according to e. l. fischer, knowledge is the science of something actual, something real, [ ] and he criticises this dogma as little as does goering who asserts similarly, "to know means always to know something which is. this is a fact which cannot be denied either by scepticism or by kant's critical philosophy." [ ] these two latter thinkers simply lay down the law: this is what knowledge is. they do not trouble to ask themselves with what right they do it. but, even if these various propositions were correct, or led to correct formulations of the problem, it would still be impossible to discuss them at the outset of the theory of knowledge. for, they all belong, as positive and definite cognitions, within the realm of knowledge. to say that my knowledge extends, in the first instance, only to my ideas, is to express in a perfectly definite judgment something which i know. in this judgment i qualify the world which is given to me by the predicate "existing in the form of idea." but how am i to know, prior to all knowledge, that the objects given to me are ideas? the best way to convince ourselves of the truth of the assertion that this proposition has no right to be put at the head of the theory of knowledge, is to retrace the way which the human mind must follow in order to reach this proposition, which has become almost an integral part of the whole modern scientific consciousness. the considerations which have led to it are systematically summarised, with approximate exhaustiveness, in part i of eduard von hartmann's treatise, das grundproblem der erkenntnistheorie. his statement, there, may serve as a sort of guiding-thread for us in our task of reviewing the reasons which may lead to the acceptance of this proposition. these reasons are physical, psycho-physical, physiological, and properly philosophical. the physicist is led by observation of the phenomena which occur in our environment when, e.g., we experience a sensation of sound, to the view that there is nothing in these phenomena which in the very least resembles what we perceive immediately as sound. outside, in the space which surrounds us, nothing is to be found except longitudinal oscillations of bodies and of the air. thence it is inferred that what in ordinary life we call "sound" or "tone" is nothing but the subjective reaction of our organism to these wave-like oscillations. similarly, it is inferred that light and colour and heat are purely subjective. the phenomena of colour-dispersion, of refraction, of interference, of polarisation, teach us that to the just-mentioned sensations there correspond in the outer space certain transverse oscillations which we feel compelled to ascribe, in part to the bodies, in part to an immeasurably fine, elastic fluid, the "ether." further, the physicist is driven by certain phenomena in the world of bodies to abandon the belief in the continuity of objects in space, and to analyse them into systems of exceedingly minute particles (molecules, atoms), the size of which, relatively to the distances between them, is immeasurably small. thence it is inferred that all action of bodies on each other is across the empty intervening space, and is thus a genuine actio in distans. the physicist believes himself justified in holding that the action of bodies on our senses of touch and temperature does not take place through direct contact, because there must always remain a definite, if small, distance between the body and the spot on the skin which it is said to "touch." thence it is said to follow that what we sense as hardness or heat in bodies is nothing but the reactions of the end-organs of our touch- and temperature-nerves to the molecular forces of bodies which act upon them across empty space. these considerations from the sphere of physics are supplemented by the psycho-physicists with their doctrine of specific sense-energies. j. müller has shown that every sense can be affected only in its own characteristic way as determined by its organisation, and that its reaction is always of the same kind whatever may be the external stimulus. if the optical nerve is stimulated, light-sensations are experienced by us regardless of whether the stimulus was pressure, or an electric current, or light. on the other hand, the same external phenomena produce quite different sensations according as they are perceived by different senses. from these facts the inference has been drawn that there occurs only one sort of phenomenon in the external world, viz., motions, and that the variety of qualities of the world we perceive is essentially a reaction of our senses to these motions. according to this view, we do not perceive the external world as such, but only the subjective sensations which it evokes in us. physiology adds its quota to the physical arguments. physics deals with the phenomena which occur outside our organisms and which correspond to our percepts. physiology seeks to investigate the processes which go on in man's own body when a certain sensation is evoked in him. it teaches us that the epidermis is wholly insensitive to the stimuli in the external world. thus, e.g., if external stimuli are to affect the end-organs of our touch-nerves on the surface of our bodies, the oscillations which occur outside our bodies have to be transmitted through the epidermis. in the case of the senses of hearing and of sight, the external motions have, in addition, to be modified by a number of structures in the sense-organs, before they reach the nerves. the nerves have to conduct the effects produced in the end-organs up to the central organ, and only then can take place the process by means of which purely mechanical changes in the brain produce sensations. it is clear that the stimulus which acts upon the sense-organs is so completely changed by the transformations which it undergoes, that every trace of resemblance between the initial impression on the sense-organs and the final sensation in consciousness must be obliterated. hartmann sums up the outcome of these considerations in these words: "this content of consciousness consists, originally, of sensations which are the reflex responses of the soul to the molecular motions in the highest cortical centres, but which have not the faintest resemblance to the molecular motions by which they are elicited." if we think this line of argument through to the end, we must agree that, assuming it to be correct, there survives in the content of our consciousness not the least element of what may be called "external existence." to the physical and physiological objections against so-called "naïve realism" hartmann adds some further objections which he describes as philosophical in the strict sense. a logical examination of the physical and physiological objections reveals that, after all, the desired conclusion can be reached only if we start from the existence and nexus of external objects, just as these are assumed by the ordinary naïve consciousness, and then inquire how this external world can enter the consciousness of beings with organisms such as ours. we have seen that every trace of such an external world is lost on the way from the impression on the sense-organ to the appearance of the sensation in our consciousness, and that in the latter nothing survives except our ideas. hence, we have to assume that the picture of the external world which we actually have, has been built up by the soul on the basis of the sensations given to it. first, the soul constructs out of the data of the senses of touch and sight a picture of the world in space, and then the sensations of the other senses are fitted into this space-system. when we are compelled to think of a certain complex of sensations as belonging together, we are led to the concept of substance and regard substance as the bearer of sense-qualities. when we observe that some sense-qualities disappear from a substance and that others appear in their place, we ascribe this event in the world of phenomena to a change regulated by the law of causality. thus, according to this view, our whole world-picture is composed of subjective sensations which are ordered by the activity of our own souls. hartmann says, "what the subject perceives is always only modifications of its own psychic states and nothing else." [ ] now let us ask ourselves, how do we come by such a view? the bare skeleton of the line of thought which leads to it is as follows. supposing an external world exists, we do not perceive it as such but transform it through our organisation into a world of ideas. this is a supposition which, when consistently thought out, destroys itself. but is this reflection capable of supporting any positive alternative? are we justified in regarding the world, which is given to us, as the subjective content of ideas because the assumptions of the naïve consciousness, logically followed out, lead to this conclusion? our purpose is, rather, to exhibit these assumptions themselves as untenable. yet, so far we should have found only that it is possible for a premise to be false and yet for the conclusion drawn from it to be true. granted that this may happen, yet we can never regard the conclusion as proved by means of that premise. it is usual to apply the title of "naïve realism" to the theory which accepts as self-evident and indubitable the reality of the world-picture which is immediately given to us. the opposite theory, which regards this world as merely the content of our consciousness, is called "transcendental idealism." hence, we may sum up the outcome of the above discussion by saying, "transcendental idealism demonstrates its own truth, by employing the premises of the naïve realism which it seeks to refute." transcendental idealism is true, if naïve realism is false. but the falsity of the latter is shown only by assuming it to be true. once we clearly realise this situation, we have no choice but to abandon this line of argument and to try another. but are we to trust to good luck, and experiment about until we hit by accident upon the right line? this is eduard von hartmann's view when he believes himself to have shown the validity of his own epistemological standpoint, on the ground that his theory explains the phenomena whereas its rivals do not. according to his view, the several philosophical systems are engaged in a sort of struggle for existence in which the fittest is ultimately accepted as victor. but this method appears to us to be unsuitable, if only for the reason that there may well be several hypotheses which explain the phenomena equally satisfactorily. hence, we had better keep to the above line of thought for the refutation of naïve realism, and see where precisely its deficiency lies. for, after all, naïve realism is the view from which we all start out. for this reason alone it is advisable to begin by setting it right. when we have once understood why it must be defective, we shall be led upon the right path with far greater certainty than if we proceed simply at haphazard. the subjectivism which we have sketched above is the result of the elaboration of certain facts by thought. thus, it takes for granted that, from given facts as starting-point, we can by consistent thinking, i.e., by logical combination of certain observations, gain correct conclusions. but our right thus to employ our thinking remains unexamined. there, precisely, lies the weakness of this method. whereas naïve realism starts from the unexamined assumption that the contents of our perceptual experience have objective reality, the idealism just described starts from the no less unexamined conviction that by the use of thought we can reach conclusions which are scientifically valid. in contrast to naïve realism, we may call this point of view "naïve rationalism." in order to justify this term, it may be well to insert here a brief comment on the concept of the "naïve." a. döring, in his essay Über den begriff des naiven realismus, [ ] attempts a more precise determination of this concept. he says, "the concept of the naïve marks as it were the zero-point on the scale of our reflection upon our own activity. in content the naïve may well coincide with the true, for, although the naïve is unreflecting and, therefore, uncritical or a-critical, yet this lack of reflection and criticism excludes only the objective assurance of truth. it implies the possibility and the danger of error, but it does not imply the necessity of error. there are naïve modes of feeling and willing as there are naïve modes of apprehending and thinking, in the widest sense of the latter term. further, there are naïve modes of expressing these inward states in contrast with their repression or modification through consideration for others and through reflection. naïve activity is not influenced, at least not consciously, by tradition, education, or imposed rule. it is in all spheres (as its root nativus, brings out), unconscious, impulsive, instinctive, dæmonic activity." starting from this account, we will try to determine the concept of the naïve still more precisely. in every activity we may consider two aspects--the activity itself and our consciousness of its conformity to a law. we may be wholly absorbed in the former, without caring at all for the latter. the artist is in this position, who does not know in reflective form the laws of his creative activity but yet practises these laws by feeling and sense. we call him "naïve." but there is a kind of self-observation which inquires into the laws of one's own activity and which replaces the naïve attitude, just described, by the consciousness of knowing exactly the scope and justification of all one does. this we will call "critical." this account seems to us best to hit off the meaning of this concept which, more or less clearly understood, has since kant acquired citizen-rights in the world of philosophy. critical reflection is, thus, the opposite of naïve consciousness. we call an attitude "critical" which makes itself master of the laws of its own activity in order to know how far it can rely on them and what are their limits. theory of knowledge can be nothing if not a critical science. its object is precisely the most subjective activity of man--knowing. what it aims at exhibiting is the laws to which knowing conforms. hence, the naïve attitude is wholly excluded from this science. its claim to strength lies precisely in that it achieves what many minds, interested in practice rather than in theory, pride themselves on never having attempted, viz., "thinking about thought." iv the starting-points of the theory of knowledge at the beginning of an epistemological inquiry we must, in accordance with the conclusions we have reached, put aside everything which we have come to know. for, knowledge is something which man has produced, something which he has originated by his activity. if the theory of knowledge is really to extend the light of its explanation over the whole field of what we know, it must set out from a point which has remained wholly untouched by cognitive activity--indeed which rather furnishes the first impulse for this activity. the point at which we must start lies outside of what we know. it cannot as yet itself be an item of knowledge. but we must look for it immediately prior to the act of cognition, so that the very next step which man takes shall be a cognitive act. the method for determining this absolutely first starting-point must be such that nothing enters into it which is already the result of cognitive activity. there is nothing but the immediately-given world-picture with which we can make a start of this sort. this means the picture of the world which is presented to man before he has in any way transformed it by cognitive activity, i.e., before he has made the very least judgment about it or submitted it to the very smallest determination by thinking. what thus passes initially through our minds and what our minds pass through--this incoherent picture which is not yet differentiated into particular elements, in which nothing seems distinguished from, nothing related to, nothing determined by, anything else, this is the immediately-given. on this level of existence--if the phrase is permissible--no object, no event, is as yet more important or more significant than any other. the rudimentary organ of an animal, which, in the light of the knowledge belonging to a higher level of existence, is perhaps seen to be without any importance whatever for the development and life of the animal, comes before us with the same claim to our attention as the noblest and most necessary part of the organism. prior to all cognitive activity nothing in our picture of the world appears as substance, nothing as quality, nothing as cause or as effect. the contrasts of matter and spirit, of body and soul, have not yet arisen. every other predicate, too, must be kept away from the world-picture presented at this level. we may think of it neither as reality nor as appearance, neither as subjective nor as objective, neither as necessary nor as contingent. we cannot decide at this stage whether it is "thing-in-itself" or mere "idea." for, we have seen already that the conclusions of physics and physiology, which lead us to subsume the given under one or other of the above heads, must not be made the basis on which to build the theory of knowledge. suppose a being with fully-developed human intelligence were to be suddenly created out of nothing and confronted with the world, the first impression made by the world on his senses and his thought would be pretty much what we have here called the immediately-given world-picture. of course, no actual man at any moment of his life has nothing but this original world-picture before him. in his mental development there is nowhere a sharp line between pure, passive reception of the given from without and the cognitive apprehension of it by thought. this fact might suggest critical doubts concerning our method of determining the starting-point of the theory of knowledge. thus, e.g., eduard von hartmann remarks: "we do not ask what is the content of consciousness of a child just awakening to conscious life, nor of an animal on the lowest rung of the ladder of organisms. for, of these things philosophising man has no experience, and, if he tries to reconstruct the content of consciousness of beings on primitive biogenetic or ontogenetic levels, he cannot but base his conclusions on his own personal experience. hence, our first task is to determine what is the content of consciousness which philosophising man discovers in himself when he begins his philosophical reflection." [ ] but, the objection to this view is that the picture of the world with which we begin philosophical reflection, is already qualified by predicates which are the results solely of knowledge. we have no right to accept these predicates without question. on the contrary, we must carefully extract them from out of the world-picture, in order that it may appear in its purity without any admixture due to the process of cognition. in general, the dividing line between what is given and what is added by cognition cannot be identified with any single moment of human development, but must be drawn artificially. but this can be done at every level of development, provided only we divide correctly what is presented to us prior to cognition, without any determination by thinking, from what is made of it by cognition. now, it may be objected that we have already piled up a whole host of thought-determinations in the very process of extracting the alleged primitive world-picture out of the complete picture into which man's cognitive elaboration has transformed it. but, in defence we must urge that all our conceptual apparatus was employed, not for the characterisation of the primitive world-picture, nor for the determination of its qualities, but solely for the guidance of our analysis, in order to lead it to the point where knowledge recognises that it began. hence, there can be no question of the truth or error, correctness or incorrectness, of the reflections which, according to our view, precede the moment which brings us to the starting-point of the theory of knowledge. their purpose is solely to guide us conveniently to that point. nobody who is about to occupy himself with epistemological problems, stands at the same time at what we have rightly called the starting-point of knowledge, for his knowledge is already, up to a certain degree, developed. nothing but analysis with the help of concepts enables us to eliminate from our developed knowledge all the gains of cognitive activity and to determine the starting-point which precedes all such activity. but the concepts thus employed have no cognitive value. they have the purely negative task to eliminate out of our field of vision whatever is the result of cognitive activity and to lead us to the point where this activity first begins. the present discussions point the way to those primitive beginnings upon which the cognitive activity sets to work, but they form no part of such activity. thus, whatever theory of knowledge has to say in the process of determining the starting-point, must be judged, not as true or false, but only as fit or unfit for this purpose. error is excluded, too, from that starting-point itself. for, error can begin only with the activity of cognition; prior to this, it cannot occur. this last proposition is compatible only with the kind of theory of knowledge which sets out from our line of thought. for, a theory which sets out from some object (or subject) with a definite conceptual determination is liable to error from the very start, viz., in this very determination. whether this determination is justified or not, depends on the laws which the cognitive act establishes. this is a question to which only the course of the epistemological inquiry itself can supply the answer. all error is excluded only when i can say that i have eliminated all conceptual determinations which are the results of my cognitive activity, and that i retain nothing but what enters the circle of my experience without any activity on my part. where, on principle, i abstain from every positive affirmation, there i cannot fall into error. from the epistemological point of view, error can occur only within the sphere of cognitive activity. an illusion of the senses is no error. the fact that the rising moon appears to us bigger than the moon overhead is not an error, but a phenomenon fully explained by the laws of nature. an error would result only, if thought, in ordering the data of perception, were to put a false interpretation on the "bigger" or "smaller" size of the moon. but such an interpretation would lie within the sphere of cognitive activity. if knowledge is really to be understood in its essential nature, we must, without doubt, begin our study of it at the point where it originates, where it starts. moreover, it is clear that whatever precedes its starting-point has no legitimate place in any explanatory theory of knowledge, but must simply be taken for granted. it is the task of science, in its several branches, to study the essential nature of all that we are here taking for granted. our aim, here, is not to acquire specific knowledge of this or that, but to investigate knowledge as such. we must first understand the act of cognition, before we can judge what significance to attach to the affirmations about the content of the world which come to be made in the process of getting to know that content. for this reason, we abstain from every attempt to determine what is immediately-given, so long as we are ignorant of the relation of our determinations to what is determined by them. not even the concept of the "immediately-given" affirms any positive determination of what precedes cognition. its only purpose is to point towards the given, to direct our attention upon it. here, at the starting-point of the theory of knowledge, the term merely expresses, in conceptual form, the initial relation of the cognitive activity to the world-content. the choice of this term allows even for the case that the whole world-content should turn out to be nothing but a figment of our own "ego," i.e., that the most extreme subjectivism should be right. for, of course, subjectivism does not express a fact which is given. it can, at best, be only the result of theoretical considerations. its truth, in other words, needs to be established by the theory of knowledge. it cannot serve as the presupposition of that theory. this immediately-given world-content includes everything which can appear within the horizon of our experience, in the widest sense of this term, viz., sensations, percepts, intuitions, feelings, volitions, dreams, fancies, representations, concepts, ideas. illusions, too, and hallucinations stand at this level exactly on a par with other elements of the world-content. only theoretical considerations can teach us in what relations illusions, etc., stand to other percepts. a theory of knowledge which starts from the assumption that all the experiences just enumerated are contents of our consciousness, finds itself confronted at once by the question: how do we transcend our consciousness so as to apprehend reality? where is the jumping-board which will launch us from the subjective into the trans-subjective? for us, the situation is quite different. for us, consciousness and the idea of the "ego" are, primarily, only items in the immediately-given, and the relation of the latter to the two former has first to be discovered by knowledge. we do not start from consciousness in order to determine the nature of knowledge, but, vice versa, we start from knowledge in order to determine consciousness and the relation of subject to object. seeing that, at the outset, we attach no predicates whatever to the given, we are bound to ask: how is it that we are able to determine it at all? how is it possible to start knowledge anywhere at all? how do we come to designate one item of the world-content, as, e.g., percept, another as concept, a third as reality, others as appearance, as cause, as effect? how do we come to differentiate ourselves from what is "objective," and to contrast "ego" and "non-ego?" we must discover the bridge which leads from the picture of the world as given to the picture of it which our cognitive activity unfolds. but the following difficulty confronts us. so long as we do nothing but passively gaze at the given, we can nowhere find a point which knowledge can take hold of and from which it can develop its interpretations. somewhere in the given we must discover the spot where we can get to work, where something homogeneous to cognition meets us. if everything were merely given, we should never get beyond the bare gazing outwards into the external world and a no less bare gazing inwards into the privacy of our inner world. we should, at most, be able to describe, but never to understand, the objects outside of us. our concepts would stand in a purely external, not in an internal, relation to that to which they apply. if there is to be knowledge, everything depends on there being, somewhere within the given, a field in which our cognitive activity does not merely presuppose the given, but is at work in the very heart of the given itself. in other words, the very strictness with which we hold fast the given, as merely given, must reveal that not everything is given. our demand for the given turns out to have been one which, in being strictly maintained, partially cancels itself. we have insisted on the demand, lest we should arbitrarily fix upon some point as the starting-point of the theory of knowledge, instead of making a genuine effort to discover it. in our sense of the word "given," everything may be given, even what in its own innermost nature is not given. that is to say, the latter presents itself, in that case, to us purely formally as given, but reveals itself, on closer inspection, for what it really is. the whole difficulty in understanding knowledge lies in that we do not create the world-content out of ourselves. if we did so create it, there would be no knowledge at all. only objects which are given can occasion questions for me. objects which i create receive their determinations by my act. hence, i do not need to ask whether these determinations are true or false. this, then, is the second point in our theory of knowledge. it consists in the postulate that there must, within the sphere of the given, be a point at which our activity does not float in a vacuum, at which the world-content itself enters into our activity. we have already determined the starting-point of the theory of knowledge by assigning it a place wholly antecedent to all cognitive activity, lest we should distort that activity by some prejudice borrowed from among its own results. now we determine the first step in the development of our knowledge in such a way that, once more, there can be no question of error or incorrectness. for, we affirm no judgment about anything whatsoever, but merely state the condition which must be fulfilled if knowledge is to be acquired at all. it is all-important that we should, with the most complete critical self-consciousness, keep before our minds the fact that we are postulating the very character which that part of the world-content must possess on which our cognitive activity can begin to operate. nothing else is, in fact, possible. as given, the world-content is wholly without determinations. no part of it can by itself furnish the impulse for order to begin to be introduced into the chaos. hence, cognitive activity must issue its edict and declare what the character of that part is to be. such an edict in no way infringes the character of the given as such. it introduces no arbitrary affirmation into science. for, in truth, it affirms nothing. it merely declares that, if the possibility of knowledge is to be explicable at all, we need to look for a field like the one above described. if there is such a field, knowledge can be explained; if not, not. we began our theory of knowledge with the "given" as a whole; now we limit our requirement to the singling out of a particular field within the given. let us come to closer grips with this requirement. where within the world-picture do we find something which is not merely given, but is given only in so far as it is at the same time created by the cognitive activity? we need to be absolutely clear that this creative activity must, in its turn, be given to us in all its immediacy. no inferences must be required in order to know that it occurs. thence it follows, at once, that sense-data do not meet our requirement. for, the fact that they do not occur without our activity is known to us, not immediately, but as an inference from physical and physiological arguments. on the other hand, we do know immediately that it is only in and through the cognitive act that concepts and ideas enter into the sphere of the immediately-given. hence, no one is deceived concerning the character of concepts and ideas. it is possible to mistake a hallucination for an object given from without, but no one is ever likely to believe that his concepts are given without the activity of his own thinking. a lunatic will regard as real, though they are in fact unreal, only things and relations which have attached to them the predicate of "actuality," but he will never say of his concepts and ideas that they have come into the world without his activity. everything else in our world-picture is such that it must be given, if it is to be experienced by us. only of our concepts and ideas is the opposite true: they must be produced by us, if they are to be experienced. they, and only they, are given in a way which might be called intellectual intuition. kant and the modern philosophers who follow him deny altogether that man possesses this kind of intuition, on the ground that all our thinking refers solely to objects and is absolutely impotent to produce anything out of itself, whereas in intellectual intuition form and matter must be given together. but, is not precisely this actually the case with pure concepts and ideas? [ ] to see this, we must consider them purely in the form in which, as yet, they are quite free from all empirical content. in order, e.g., to comprehend the pure concept of causality, we must go, not to a particular instance of causality nor to the sum of all instances, but to the pure concept itself. particular causes and effects must be discovered by investigation in the world, but causality as a form of thought must be created by ourselves before we can discover causes in the world. if we hold fast to kant's thesis that concepts without percepts are empty, it becomes unintelligible how the determination of the given by concepts is to be possible. for, suppose there are given two items of the world-content, a and b. in order to find a relation between them, i must be guided in my search by a rule of determinate content. such a rule i can only create in the act of cognition itself. i cannot derive it from the object, because it is only with the help of the rule that the object is to receive its determinations. such a rule, therefore, for the determination of the real has its being wholly in purely conceptual form. before passing on, we must meet a possible objection. it might seem as if in our argument we had unconsciously assigned a prominent part to the idea of the "ego," or the "personal subject," and as if we employed this idea in the development of our line of thought, without having established our right to do so. for example, we have said that "we produce concepts," or that "we make this or that demand." but these are mere forms of speech which play no part in our argument. that the cognitive act is the act of, and originates in, an "ego," can, as we have already pointed out, be affirmed only as an inference in the process of knowledge itself. strictly, we ought at the outset to speak only of cognitive activity without so much as mentioning a cognitive agent. for, all that has been established so far amounts to no more than this, ( ) that something is "given," and ( ) that at a certain point within the "given" there originates the postulate set forth above; also, that concepts and ideas are the entities which answer to that postulate. this is not to deny that the point at which the postulate originates is the "ego." but, in the first instance, we are content to establish these two steps in the theory of knowledge in their abstract purity. v knowledge and reality concepts and ideas, then, though themselves part of the given, yet at the same time take us beyond the given. thus, they make it possible to determine also the nature of the other modes of cognitive activity. by means of a postulate, we have selected a special part out of the given world-picture, because it is the very essence of knowledge to proceed from a part with just this character. thus, we have made the selection solely in order to be able to understand knowledge. but, we must clearly confess to ourselves that by this selection we have artificially torn in two the unity of the given world-picture. we must bear in mind that the part which we have divorced from the given still continues, quite apart from our postulate and independently of it, to stand in a necessary connection with the world as given. this fact determines the next step forward in the theory of knowledge. it will consist in restoring the unity which we have destroyed in order to show how knowledge is possible. this restoration will consist in thinking about the world as given. the act of thinking about the world actually effects the synthesis of the two parts of the given world-content--of the given which we survey up to the horizon of our experience, and of the part which, in order to be also given, must be produced by us in the activity of cognition. the cognitive act is the synthesis of these two factors. in every single cognitive act the one factor appears as something produced in the act itself and as added to the other factor which is the pure datum. it is only at the very start of the theory of knowledge that the factor which otherwise appears as always produced, appears also as given. to think about the world is to transmute the given world by means of concepts and ideas. thinking, thus, is in very truth the act which brings about knowledge. knowledge can arise only if thinking, out of itself, introduces order into the content of the world as given. thinking is itself an activity which produces a content of its own in the moment of cognition. hence, the content cognised, in so far as it has its origin solely in thinking, offers no difficulty to cognition. we need only observe it, for in its essential nature it is immediately given to us. the description of thinking is also the science of thinking. in fact, logic was never anything but a description of the forms of thinking, never a demonstrative science. for, demonstration occurs only when there is a synthesis of the products of thinking with a content otherwise given. hence, gideon spicker is quite right when he says in his book, lessing's weltanschauung (p. ): "we have no means of knowing, either empirically or logically, whether the results of thinking, as such, are true." we may add that, since demonstration already presupposes thinking, thinking itself cannot be demonstrated. we can demonstrate a particular fact, but we cannot demonstrate the process of demonstrating itself. we can only describe what a demonstration is. all logical theory is wholly empirical. logic is a science which consists only of observation. but if we want to get to know anything over and above our thinking, we can do so only with the help of thinking. that is to say, our thinking must apply itself to something given and transform its chaotic into a systematic connection with the world-picture. thinking, then, in its application to the world as given, is a formative principle. the process is as follows. first, thinking selects certain details out of the totality of the given. for, in the given, there are strictly no individual details, but only an undifferentiated continuum. next, thinking relates the selected details to each other according to the forms which it has itself produced. and, lastly, it determines what follows from this relation. the act of relating two distinct items of the world-content to each other does not imply that thinking arbitrarily determines something about them. thinking waits and sees what is the spontaneous consequence of the relation established. with this consequence we have at last some degree of knowledge of the two selected items of the world-content. suppose the world-content reveals nothing of its nature in response to the establishment of such a relation, then the effort of thinking must miscarry, and a fresh effort must take its place. all cognitions consist in this, that two or more items of the given are brought into relation with each other by us and that we apprehend what follows from this relation. without doubt, many of our efforts of thinking miscarry, not only in the sciences, as is amply proved by their history, but also in ordinary life. but in the simple cases of mistake which are, after all, the commonest, the correct thought so rapidly replaces the incorrect, that the latter is never, or rarely, noticed. kant, in his theory of the "synthetic unity of apperception," had an inkling of this activity of thought in the systematic organisation of the world-content, as we have here developed it. but his failure to appreciate clearly the real function of thinking is revealed by the fact, that he believes himself able to deduce the a priori laws of pure natural science from the rules according to which this synthetic activity proceeds. kant has overlooked that the synthetic activity of thinking is merely the preparation for the discovery of natural laws properly so-called. suppose we select two items, a and b, from the given. for knowledge to arise of a nexus according to law between a and b, the first requirement is that thinking should so relate a and b, that the relation may appear to us as given. thus, the content proper of the law of nature is derived from what is given, and the sole function of thinking is to establish such relations between the items of the world-picture that the laws to which they are subject become manifest. the pure synthetic activity of thinking is not the source of any objective laws whatever. we must inquire what part thinking plays in the formation of our scientific world-picture as distinct from the merely given one. it follows from our account that thinking supplies the formal principle of the conformity of phenomena to law. suppose, in our example above, that a is the cause, b the effect. unless thinking were able to produce the concept of causality, we should never be able to know that a and b were causally connected. but, in order that we may know, in the given case, that a is the cause and b the effect, it is necessary for a and b to possess the characteristics which we mean when we speak of cause and effect. a similar analysis applies to the other categories of thought. it will be appropriate to notice here in a few words hume's discussion of causality. according to hume, the concepts of cause and effect have their origin solely in custom. we observe repeatedly that one event follows another and become accustomed to think of them as causally connected, so that we expect the second to occur as soon as we have observed the first. this theory, however, springs from a totally mistaken view of the causal relation. suppose for several days running i observe the same person whenever i step out of the door of my house, i shall gradually form the habit of expecting the temporal sequence of the two events. but, it will never occur to me to think that there is any causal connection between my own appearance and that of the other person at the same spot. i shall call in aid essentially other items of the world-content in order to explain the coincidence of these events. in short, we determine the causal nexus of two events, not according to their temporal sequence, but according to the essential character of the items of the world-content which we call, respectively, cause and effect. from this purely formal activity of our thinking in the construction of the scientific picture of the world, it follows that the content of every cognition cannot be fixed a priori in advance of observation (in which thinking comes to grips with the given), but must be derived completely and exhaustively from observation. in this sense, all our cognitions are empirical. nor is it possible to see how it could be otherwise. for, kant's judgments a priori are at bottom, not cognitions, but postulates. on kant's principles, all we can ever say is only this, that if a thing is to become the object of possible experience, it must conform to these laws. they are, therefore, rules which the subject prescribes to all objects. but, we should rather expect cognitions of the given to have their source, not in the constitution of the subject, but in that of the object. thinking makes no a priori affirmations about the given. but it creates the forms, on the basis of which the conformity of phenomena to law becomes manifest a posteriori. from our point of view, it is impossible to determine anything a priori about the degree of certainty belonging to a judgment which embodies knowledge thus gained. for, certainty, too, derives from nothing other than the given. perhaps it will be objected that observation never establishes anything except that a certain nexus of phenomena actually occurs, but not that it must occur, and will always occur, in like conditions. but, this suggestion, too, is in error. for any nexus which i apprehend between elements in the world-picture is, on our principles, nothing but what is grounded in these elements themselves. it is not imported into these elements by thinking, but belongs to them essentially, and must, therefore, necessarily exist whenever they themselves exist. only a view which regards all scientific research as nothing but the endeavour to correlate the facts of experience by means of principles which are subjective and external to the facts, can hold that the nexus of a and b may to-day obey one law and to-morrow another (j. s. mill). on the other hand, if we see clearly that the laws of nature have their source in the given, and that, therefore, the nexus of phenomena essentially depends upon, and is determined by, them, we shall never think of talking of a "merely relative universality" of the laws which are derived from observation. this is, of course, not to assert that any given law which we have once accepted as correct, must be absolutely valid. but when, later, a negative instance overthrows a law, the reason is, not that the law from the first could be inferred only with relative universality, but that it had not at first been inferred correctly. a genuine law of nature is nothing but the formulation of a nexus in the given world-picture, and it exists as little without the facts which it determines, as these exist without it. above, we have laid down that it is the essence of the cognitive activity to transmute, by thinking, the given world-picture by means of concepts and ideas. what follows from this fact? if the immediately-given were a totality complete in itself, the work which thinking does upon it in cognition would be both impossible and unnecessary. we should simply accept the given, as it is, and be satisfied with it as such. cognitive activity is possible only because in the given something lies hidden which does not yet reveal itself so long as we gaze at the given in its immediacy, but which becomes manifest with the aid of the order which thinking introduces. prior to the work of thinking, the given does not possess the fulness of its own complete nature. this point becomes still more obvious by considering in greater detail the two factors involved in the act of cognition. the first factor is the given. "being given" is not a quality of the given, but merely a term expressing its relation to the second factor in the act of cognition. this second factor, viz., the conceptual content of the given, is found by our thought in the act of cognition to be necessarily connected with the given. two questions arise: ( ) where are the given and the concept differentiated? ( ) where are they united? the answer to these two questions is to be found, beyond any doubt, in the preceding discussions. they are differentiated solely in the act of cognition. they are united in the given. thence it follows necessarily that the conceptual content is but a part of the given, and that the act of cognition consists in re-uniting with each other the two parts of the world-picture which are, at first, given to it in separation. the given world-picture thus attains its completion only through that mediate kind of givenness which thinking brings about. in its original immediacy the world-picture is altogether incomplete. if the conceptual content were from the first united with the given in our world-picture, there would be no cognition. for, no need could ever arise of transcending the given. so, again, if by thinking and in thinking we could create the whole world-content, once more there would be no cognition. for, what we create ourselves we do not need to cognise. hence, cognition exists because the world-content is given to us originally in a form which is incomplete, which does not contain it as a whole, but which, over and above what it presents immediately, owns another, no less essential, aspect. this second aspect of the world-content--an aspect not originally given--is revealed by cognition. pure thinking presents in the abstract, not empty forms, but a sum of determinations (categories) which serve as forms for the rest of the world-content. the world-content can be called reality only in the form which it acquires through cognition and in which both aspects of it are united. vi theory of knowledge without presuppositions versus fichte's theory of science so far, we have determined the idea of knowledge. this idea is given immediately in the human consciousness whenever it functions cognitively. to the "ego," as the centre [ ] of consciousness, are given immediately external and internal perceptions, as well as its own existence. the ego feels impelled to find more in the given than it immediately contains. over against the given world, a second world, the world of thinking, unfolds itself for the ego and the ego unites these two by realising, of its own free will, the idea of knowledge which we have determined. this accounts for the fundamental difference between the way in which in the objects of human consciousness itself the concept and the immediately-given unite to form reality in its wholeness, and the way in which their union obtains in the rest of the world-content. for every other part of the world-content we must assume that the union of the two factors is original and necessary from the first, and that it is only for cognition, when cognition begins, that an artificial separation has supervened, but that cognition in the end undoes the separation in keeping with the original and essential unity of the object-world. for consciousness the case is quite otherwise. here the union exists only when it is achieved by the living activity of consciousness itself. with every other kind of object, the separation of the two factors is significant, not for the object, but only for knowledge. their union is here original, their separation derivative. cognition effects a separation only because it must first separate before it can achieve union by its own methods. but, for consciousness, the concept and the given are originally separate. union is here derivative, and that is why cognition has the character which we have described. just because in consciousness idea and given appear in separation, does the whole of reality split itself for consciousness into these two factors. and, again, just because consciousness can bring about the union of the two factors only by its own activity, can it reach full reality only by performing the act of cognition. the remaining categories (ideas) would be necessarily united with the corresponding lands of the given, even if they were not taken up into cognition. but the idea of cognition can be united with the given which corresponds to it, only by the activity of consciousness. real consciousness exists only in realising itself. with these remarks we believe ourselves to be sufficiently equipped for laying bare the root-error of fichte's wissenschaftslehre and, at the same time, for supplying the key to the understanding of it. fichte is among all kant's successors the one who has felt most vividly that nothing but a theory of consciousness can supply the foundation for all the sciences. but he never clearly understood why this is so. he felt that the act which we have called the second step in the theory of knowledge and which we have formulated as a postulate, must really be performed by the "ego." this may be seen, e.g., from the following passage. "the theory of science, then, arises, as itself a systematic discipline, just as do all possible sciences in so far as they are systematic, through a certain act of freedom, the determinate function of which is, more particularly, to make us conscious of the characteristic activity of intelligence as such. the result of this free act is that the necessary activity of intelligence, which in itself already is form, is further taken up as matter into a fresh form of cognition or consciousness." [ ] what does fichte here mean by the activity of the "intelligence," when we translate what he has obscurely felt into clear concepts? nothing but the realisation of the idea of knowledge, taking place in consciousness. had this been perfectly clear to fichte, he ought to have expressed his view simply by saying, "it is the task of the theory of science to bring cognition, in so far as it is still an unreflective activity of the 'ego,' into reflective consciousness; it has to show that the realisation of the idea of cognition in actual fact is a necessary activity of the 'ego.'" fichte tries to determine the activity of the "ego." he declares "that the being, the essence of which consists solely in this that it posits itself as existing, is the ego as absolute subject." [ ] this positing of the ego is for fichte the original, unconditioned act "which lies at the basis of all the rest of consciousness." [ ] it follows that the ego, in fichte's sense, can likewise begin all its activity only through an absolute fiat of the will. but, it is impossible for fichte to supply any sort of content for this activity which his "ego" absolutely posits. for, fichte can name nothing upon which this activity might direct itself, or by which it might be determined. his ego is supposed to perform an act. yes, but what is it to do? fichte failed to define the concept of cognition which the ego is to realise, and, in consequence, he struggled in vain to find any way of advancing from his absolute act to the detailed determinations of the ego. nay, in the end he declares that the inquiry into the manner of this advance lies outside the scope of his theory. in his deduction of the idea of cognition he starts neither from an absolute act of the ego, nor from one of the non-ego, but from a state of being determined which is, at the same time, an act of determining. his reason for this is that nothing else either is, or can be, immediately contained in consciousness. his theory leaves it wholly vague what determines, in turn, this determination. and it is this vagueness which drives us on beyond fichte's theory into the practical part of the wissenschaftslehre. [ ] but, by this turn fichte destroys all knowledge whatsoever. for, the practical activity of the ego belongs to quite a different sphere. the postulate which we have put forward above can, indeed, be realised--so much is clear--only by a free act of the ego. but, if this act is to be a cognitive act, the all-important point is that its voluntary decision should be to realise the idea of cognition. it is, no doubt, true that the ego by its own free will can do many other things as well. but, what matters for the epistemological foundation of the sciences is not a definition of what it is for the ego to be free, but of what it is to know. fichte has allowed himself to be too much influenced by his subjective tendency to present the freedom of human personality in the brightest light. harms, in his address on the philosophy of fichte (p. ), rightly remarks, "his world-view is predominantly and exclusively ethical, and the same character is exhibited by his theory of knowledge." knowledge would have absolutely nothing to do, if all spheres of reality were given in their totality. but, seeing that the ego, so long as it has not been, by thinking, inserted into its place in the systematic whole of the world-picture, exists merely as an immediately-given something, it is not enough merely to point out what it does. fichte, however, believes that all we need to do concerning the ego is to seek and find it. "we have to seek and find the absolutely first, wholly unconditioned principle of all human knowledge. being absolutely first, this principle admits neither of proof nor of determination." [ ] we have seen that proof and determination are out of place solely as applied to the content of pure logic. but the ego is a part of reality, and this makes it necessary to establish that this or that category is actually to be found in the given. fichte has failed to do this. and this is the reason why he has given such a mistaken form to his theory of science. zeller remarks [ ] that the logical formulæ by means of which fichte seeks to reach the concept of the ego, do but ill disguise his predetermined purpose at any price to reach this starting-point for his theory. this comment applies to the first form ( ) which fichte gave to his wissenschaftslehre. taking it, then, as established that fichte, in keeping with the whole trend of his philosophical thinking, could not, in fact, rest content with any other starting-point for knowledge than an absolute and arbitrary act, we have the choice between only two ways of making this start intelligible. the one way was to seize upon some one among the empirical activities of consciousness and to strip off, one by one, all the characteristics of it which do not follow originally from its essential nature, until the pure concept of the ego had been crystallised out. the other way was to begin, straightway, with the original activity of the ego, and to exhibit its nature by introspection and reflection. fichte followed the first way at the outset of his philosophical thinking, but in the course of it he gradually switched over to the other. basing himself upon kant's "synthesis of transcendental apperception," fichte concluded that the whole activity of the ego in the synthesis of the matter of experience proceeds according to the forms of the judgment. to judge is to connect a predicate with a subject--an act of which the purely formal expression is a = a. this proposition would be impossible if the x which connects predicate and subject, did not rest upon a power to affirm unconditionally. for, the proposition does not mean, "a exists"; it means, "if a exists, then there exists a." thus, a is most certainly not affirmed absolutely. hence, if there is to be an absolute, unconditionally valid affirmation, there is no alternative but to declare the act of affirming itself to be absolute. whereas a is conditioned, the affirming of a is unconditioned. this affirming is the act of the ego which, thus, possesses the power to affirm absolutely and without conditions. in the proposition, a = a, the one a is affirmed only on condition of the other being presupposed. moreover, the affirming is an act of the ego. "if a is affirmed in the ego, it is affirmed." [ ] this connection is possible only on condition that there is in the ego something always self-identical, which effects the transition from the one a to the other. the above-mentioned x is this self-identical aspect of the ego. the ego which affirms the one a is the same ego as that which affirms the other a. this is to say ego = ego. but this proposition, expressed in judgment-form, "if the ego is, it is," is meaningless. for, the ego is not affirmed on condition of another ego having been presupposed, but it presupposes itself. in short, the ego is absolute and unconditioned. the hypothetical judgment-form which is the form of all judgments, so long as the absolute ego is not presupposed, changes for the ego into the form of the categorical affirmation of existence, "i am unconditionally." fichte has another way of putting this: "the ego originally affirms its own existence." [ ] clearly, this whole deduction is nothing but a sort of elementary school-drill by means of which fichte tries to lead his readers to the point at which they will perceive for themselves the unconditioned activity of the ego. his aim is to put clearly before their eyes that fundamental activity of the ego in the absence of which there is no such thing as an ego at all. let us now look back, once more, over fichte's line of thought. on closer inspection, it becomes obvious that it contains a leap--a leap, moreover, which throws grave doubts upon the correctness of his theory of the original act of the ego. what precisely is it that is absolute in the affirmation of the ego? take the judgment, "if a exists, then there exists a." the a is affirmed by the ego. so far there is no room for doubt. but, though the act is unconditioned, yet the ego must affirm something in particular. it cannot affirm an "activity in general and as such"; it can affirm only a particular, determinate activity. in short, the affirmation must have a content. but, it cannot derive this content from itself, for else we should get nothing but affirmations of acts of affirmation in infinitum. hence, there must be something which is realised by this affirming, by this absolute activity of the ego. if the ego does not seize upon something given in order to affirm it, it can do nothing at all, and, consequently, it cannot affirm either. this is proved, too, by fichte's proposition, "the ego affirms its own existence." "existence," here, is a category. thus, we are back at our own position: the activity of the ego consists in that it affirms, of its own free will, the concepts and ideas inherent in the given. if fichte had not unconsciously been determined to exhibit the ego as "existing," he would have got nowhere at all. if, instead, he had built up the concept of cognition, he would have reached the true starting-point of the theory of knowledge, viz., "the ego affirms the act of cognition." because fichte failed to make clear to himself what determines the activity of the ego, he fixed simply upon the affirmation of its own existence as the character of that activity. but, this is at once to restrict the absolute activity of the ego. for, if nothing is unconditioned except the ego's affirmation of its own existence, then every other activity of the ego is conditioned. moreover, the way is cut off for passing from the unconditioned to the conditioned. if the ego is unconditioned only in the affirmation of its own existence, then at once there is cut off all possibility of affirming by an original act anything other than its own existence. hence, the necessity arises to assign a ground for all the other activities of the ego. but fichte, as we have seen above, sought for such a ground in vain. this is the reason why he shifted to the second of the two ways, indicated above, for the deduction of the ego. already in , in his erste einleitung in die wissenschaftslehre, he recommends self-observation as the right method for studying the ego in its true, original character. "observe and watch thyself, turn thy eye away from all that surrounds thee and look into thyself--this is the first demand which philosophy makes upon its disciple. the topic of our discourse, is, not anything outside thyself, but thyself alone." [ ] this introduction to the theory of science is, in truth, in one way much superior to the other. for, self-observation does not make us acquainted with the activity of the ego one-sidedly in a fixed direction. it exhibits that activity, not merely as affirming its own existence, but as striving, in its many-sided development, to comprehend by thinking the world-content which is immediately-given. to self-observation, the ego reveals itself as engaged in building up its world-picture by the synthesis of the given with concepts. but, anyone who has not accompanied us in our line of thought above, and who, consequently, does not know that the ego can grasp the whole content of reality only on condition of applying its thought-forms to the given, is liable to regard cognition as a mere process of spinning the world out of the ego itself. hence, for fichte the world-picture tends increasingly to become a construction of the ego. he emphasises more and more that the main point in the wissenschaftslehre is to awaken the sense which is able to watch the ego in this constructing of its world. he who is able thus to watch stands, for fichte, on a higher level of knowledge than he who has eyes only for the finished construct, the ready-made world. if we fix our eyes only on the world of objects, we fail to perceive that, but for the creative activity of the ego, that world would not exist. if, on the other hand, we watch the ego in its constructive activity, we understand the ground of the finished world-picture. we know how it has come to be what it is. we understand it as the conclusion for which we have the premises. the ordinary consciousness sees only what has been affirmed, what has been determined thus or thus. it lacks the insight into the premises, into the grounds why an affirmation is just as it is and not otherwise. to mediate the knowledge of these premises is, according to fichte, the task of a wholly new sense. this is expressed most clearly in the einleitungsvorlesungen in die wissenschaftslehre. [ ] "my theory presupposes a wholly novel inward sense-organ, by means of which a new world is given which does not exist for the ordinary man at all." or, again, "the world of this novel sense, and thereby this sense itself, are hereby for the present clearly determined: it is the world in which we see the premises on which is grounded the judgment, 'something exists'; it is the ground of existence which, just because it is the ground of existence, cannot, in its turn, be said to be or to be an existence." [ ] but, here, too, fichte lacks clear insight into the activity of the ego. he has never worked his way through to it. that is why his wissenschaftslehre could not become what else, from its whole design, it ought to have become, viz., a theory of knowledge as the fundamental discipline of philosophy. for, after it had once been recognised that the activity of the ego must be affirmed by the ego itself, it was very easy to think that the activity receives its determination also from the ego. but how else can this happen except we assign a content to the purely formal activity of the ego? if the ego is really to import a content into its activity which, else, is wholly undetermined, then the nature of that content must also be determined. for, failing this, it could at best be realised only by some "thing-in-itself" in the ego, of which the ego would be the instrument, but not by the ego itself. if fichte had attempted to furnish this determination, he would have been led to the concept of cognition which it is the task of the ego to realise. fichte's wissenschaftslehre proves that even the acutest thinker fails to make fruitful contributions to any philosophical discussion, unless he lays hold of the correct thought-form (category, idea) which, supplemented by the given, yields reality. such a thinker is like a man who fails to hear the most glorious melodies which are being played for him, because he has no ear for tunes. if we are to determine the nature of consciousness, as given, we must be able to rise to, and make our own, the "idea of consciousness." at one point fichte is actually quite close to the true view. he declares, in the einleitungen zur wissenschaftslehre ( ), that there are two theoretical systems, viz., dogmatism, for which the ego is determined by the objects, and idealism, for which the objects are determined by the ego. both are, according to him, established as possible theories of the world; both can be developed into self-consistent systems. but, if we throw in our lot with dogmatism, we must abandon the independence of the ego and make it dependent on the "thing-in-itself." if we do not want to do this, we must adopt idealism. the philosopher's choice between these two systems is left by fichte wholly to the preference of the ego. but he adds that if the ego desires to preserve its independence, it will give up the belief in external things and surrender itself to idealism. but, what fichte forgot was the consideration that the ego cannot make any genuine, well-grounded decision or choice, unless something is presupposed which helps the ego to choose. all the ego's attempts at determination remain empty and without content, if the ego does not find something wholly determinate and full of content, which enables it to determine the given, and thereby also to choose between idealism and dogmatism. this "something wholly determinate and full of content" is, precisely, the world of thought. and the determination of the given by thinking is, precisely, what we call cognition. we may take fichte where we please--everywhere we find that his line of thought at once gets meaning and substance, as soon as we conceive his grey, empty activity of the ego to be filled and regulated by what we have called "the process of cognition." the fact that the ego is free to enter into activity out of itself, makes it possible for it, by free self-determination, to realise the category of cognition, whereas in the rest of the world all categories are connected by objective necessity with the given which corresponds to them. the investigation of the nature of free self-determination will be the task of ethics and metaphysics, based on our theory of knowledge. these disciplines, too, will have to debate the question whether the ego is able to realise other ideas, besides the idea of cognition. but, that the realisation of the idea of cognition issues from a free act has been made sufficiently clear in the course of our discussions above. for, the synthesis, effected by the ego, of the immediately-given and of the form of thought appropriate to it, which two factors of reality remain otherwise always divorced from each other in consciousness, can be brought about only by an act of freedom. moreover, our arguments throw, in another way, quite a fresh light on critical idealism. to any close student of fichte's system it will appear as if fichte cared for nothing so much as for the defence of the proposition, that nothing can enter the ego from without, that nothing can appear in the ego which was not the ego's own original creation. now, it is beyond all dispute that no type of idealism will ever be able to derive from within the ego that form of the world-content which we have called "the immediately-given." for, this form can only be given; it can never be constructed by thinking. in proof of this, it is enough to reflect that, even if the whole series of colours were given to us except one, we should not be able to fill in that one out of the bare ego. we can form an image of the most remote countries, though we have never seen them, provided we have once personally experienced, as given, the details which go to form the image. we then build up the total picture, according to the instructions supplied to us, out of the particular facts which we have ourselves experienced. but we shall strive in vain to invent out of ourselves even a single perceptual element which has never appeared within the sphere of what has been given to us. it is one thing to be merely acquainted with the world; it is another to have knowledge of its essential nature. this nature, for all that it is closely identified with the world-content, does not become clear to us unless we build up reality ourselves out of the given and the forms of thought. the real "what" of the given comes to be affirmed for the ego only through the ego itself. the ego would have no occasion to affirm the nature of the given for itself, if it did not find itself confronted at the outset by the given in wholly indeterminate form. thus, the essential nature of the world is affirmed, not apart from, but through, the ego. the true form of reality is not the first form in which it presents itself to the ego, but the last form which it receives through the activity of the ego. that first form is, in fact, without any importance for the objective world and counts only as the basis for the process of cognition. hence, it is not the form given to the world by theory which is subjective, but rather the form in which the world is originally given to the ego. if, following volkelt and others, we call the given world "experience," our view amounts to saying: the world-picture presents itself, owing to the constitution of our consciousness, in subjective form as experience, but science completes it and makes its true nature manifest. our theory of knowledge supplies the basis for an idealism which, in the true sense of the word, understands itself. it supplies good grounds for the conviction that thinking brings home to us the essential nature of the world. nothing but thinking can exhibit the relations of the parts of the world-content, be it the relation of the heat of the sun to the stone which it warms, or the relation of the ego to the external world. thinking alone has the function of determining all things in their relations to each other. the objection might still be urged by the followers of kant, that the determination, above-described, of the given holds, after all, only for the ego. our reply must be, consistently with our principles, that the distinction between ego and outer world, too, holds only within the given, and that, therefore, it is irrelevant to insist on the phrase, "for the ego," in the face of the activity of thinking which unites all opposites. the ego, as divorced from the outer world, disappears completely in the process of thinking out the nature of the world. hence it becomes meaningless still to talk of determinations which hold only for the ego. vii concluding remarks: epistemological we have laid the foundations of the theory of knowledge as the science of the significance of all human knowledge. it alone clears up for us the relation of the contents of the separate sciences to the world. it enables us, with the help of the sciences, to attain to a philosophical world-view. positive knowledge is acquired by us through particular cognitions; what the value of our knowledge is, considered as knowledge of reality, we learn through the theory of knowledge. by holding fast strictly to this principle, and by employing no particular cognitions in our argumentation, we have transcended all one-sided world-views. one-sidedness, as a rule, results from the fact that the inquiry, instead of concentrating on the process of cognition itself, busies itself about some object of that process. if our arguments are sound, dogmatism must abandon its "thing-in-itself" as fundamental principle, and subjective idealism its "ego," for both these owe their determinate natures in their relation to each other first to thinking. scepticism must give up its doubts whether the world can be known, for there is no room for doubt with reference to the "given," because it is as yet untouched by any of the predicates which cognition confers on it. on the other hand, if scepticism were to assert that thinking can never apprehend things as they are, its assertion, being itself possible only through thinking, would be self-contradictory. for, to justify doubt by thinking is to admit by implication that thinking can produce grounds sufficient to establish certainty. lastly, our theory of knowledge transcends both one-sided empiricism and one-sided rationalism in uniting both at a higher level. thus it does justice to both. it justifies empiricism by showing that all positive knowledge about the given is obtainable only through direct contact with the given. and rationalism, too, receives its due in our argument, seeing that we hold thinking to be the necessary and exclusive instrument of knowledge. the world-view which has the closest affinity to ours, as we have here built it up on epistemological foundations, is that of a. e. biedermann. [ ] but biedermann requires for the justification of his point of view dogmatic theses which are quite out of place in theory of knowledge. thus, e.g., he works with the concepts of being, substance, space, time, etc., without having first analysed the cognitive process by itself. instead of establishing the fact that the cognitive process consists, to begin with, only of the two elements, the given and thought, he talks of the kinds of being of the real. for example, in section , he says: "every content of consciousness includes within itself two fundamental facts--it presents to us, as given, two kinds of being which we contrast with each other as sensuous and spiritual, thing-like and idea-like, being." and in section : "whatever has a spatio-temporal existence, exists materially; that which is the ground of all existence and the subject of life has an idea-like existence, is real as having an ideal being." this sort of argument belongs, not to the theory of knowledge, but to metaphysics, which latter presupposes theory of knowledge as its foundation. we must admit that biedermann's doctrine has many points of similarity with ours; but our method has not a single point of contact with his. hence, we have had no occasion to compare our position directly with his. biedermann's aim is to gain an epistemological standpoint with the help of a few metaphysical axioms. our aim is to reach, through an analysis of the process of cognition, a theory of reality. and we believe that we have succeeded in showing, that all the disputes between philosophical systems result from the fact that their authors have sought to attain knowledge about some object or other (thing, self, consciousness, etc.), without having first given close study to that which alone can throw light on whatever else we know, viz., the nature of knowledge itself. viii concluding remarks: practical the aim of the preceding discussions has been to throw light on the relation of our personality, as knower, to the objective world. what does it signify for us to possess knowledge and science? this was the question to which we sought the answer. we have seen that it is just in our knowing that the innermost kernel of the world manifestly reveals itself. the harmony, subject to law, which reigns throughout the whole world, reveals itself precisely in human cognition. it is, therefore, part of the destiny of man to elevate the fundamental laws of the world, which do indeed regulate the whole of existence but which would never become existent in themselves, into the realm of realities which appear. this precisely is the essential nature of knowledge that in it the world-ground is made manifest which in the object-world can never be discovered. knowing is--metaphorically speaking--a continual merging of one's life into the world-ground. such a view is bound to throw light also on our practical attitude towards life. our conduct is, in its whole character, determined by our moral ideals. these are the ideas we have of our tasks in life, or, in other words, of the ends which we set ourselves to achieve by our action. our conduct is a part of the total world-process. consequently, it, too, is subject to the universal laws which regulate this process. now, every event in the universe has two sides which must be distinguished: its external sequence in time and space, and its internal conformity to law. the apprehension of this conformity of human conduct to law is but a special case of knowledge. hence, the conclusions at which we have arrived concerning the nature of knowledge must apply to this sort of knowledge, too. to apprehend oneself as a person who acts is to possess the relevant laws of conduct, i.e., the moral concepts and ideals, in the form of knowledge. it is this knowledge of the conformity of our conduct to law which makes our conduct truly ours. for, in that case, the conformity is given, not as external to the object in which the action appears, but as the very substance of the object engaged in living activity. the "object," here, is our own ego. if the ego has with its knowledge really penetrated the essential nature of conduct, then it feels that it is thereby master of its conduct. short of this, the laws of conduct confront us as something external. they master us. what we achieve, we achieve under the compulsion which they wield over us. but this compulsion ceases, as soon as their alien character has been transformed into the ego's very own activity. thereafter, the law no longer rules over us, but rules in us over the actions which issue from our ego. to perform an act in obedience to a law which is external to the agent is to be unfree. to perform it in obedience to the agent's own law is to be free. to gain knowledge of the laws of one's own conduct is to become conscious of one's freedom. the process of cognition is, thus, according to our arguments, the process of the development of freedom. not all human conduct has this character. there are many cases in which we do not know the laws of our conduct. this part of our conduct is the unfree part of our activity. over against it stands the part the laws of which we make completely our own. this is the realm of freedom. it is only in so far as our life falls into this realm that it can be called moral. to transform the actions which are unfree into actions which are free--this is the task of self-development for every individual, this is likewise the task of the whole human race. thus, the most important problem for all human thinking is to conceive man as a personality grounded upon itself and free. appendices appendix i addition to the revised edition of "the philosophy of freedom," . various criticisms on the part of philosophers with which this book met immediately upon its publication, induce me to add to this revised edition the following brief statement. i can well understand that there are readers who are interested in the rest of the book, but who will look upon what follows as a tissue of abstract concepts which to them is irrelevant and makes no appeal. they may, if they choose, leave this brief statement unread. but in philosophy problems present themselves which have their origin rather in certain prejudices on the thinker's part than in the natural progression of normal human thinking. with the main body of this book it seems to me to be the duty of every one to concern himself, who is striving for clearness about the essential nature of man and his relation to the world. what follows is rather a problem the discussion of which certain philosophers demand as necessary to a treatment of the topics of this book, because these philosophers, by their whole way of thinking, have created certain difficulties which do not otherwise occur. if i were to pass by these problems entirely, certain people would be quick to accuse me of dilettantism, etc. the impression would thus be created that the author of the views set down in this book has not thought out his position with regard to these problems because he has not discussed them in his book. the problem to which i refer is this: there are thinkers who find a particular difficulty in understanding how another mind can act on one's own. they say: the world of my consciousness is a closed circle within me; so is the world of another's consciousness within him. i cannot look into the world of another's mind. how, then, do i know that he and i are in a common world? the theory according to which we can from the conscious world infer an unconscious world which never can enter consciousness, attempts to solve this difficulty as follows. the world, it says, which i have in my consciousness is the representation in me of a real world to which my consciousness has no access. in this transcendent world exist the unknown agents which cause the world in my consciousness. in it, too, exists my own real self, of which likewise i have only a representation in my consciousness. in it, lastly, exists the essential self of the fellow-man who confronts me. whatever passes in the consciousness of my fellow-man corresponds to a reality in his transcendent essence which is independent of his consciousness. his essential nature acts in that realm which, on this theory, is equally beyond consciousness. thus an impression is made in my consciousness which represents there what is present in another's consciousness and wholly beyond the reach of my direct awareness. clearly the point of this theory is to add to the world accessible to my consciousness an hypothetical world which is to my immediate experience inaccessible. this is done to avoid the supposed alternative of having to say that the external world, which i regard as existing before me, is nothing but the world of my consciousness, with the absurd--solipsistic--corollary that other persons likewise exist only within my consciousness. several epistemological tendencies in recent speculation have joined in creating this problem. but it is possible to attain to clearness about it by surveying the situation from the point of view of spiritual perception which underlies the exposition of this book. what is it that, in the first instance, i have before me when i confront another person? to begin with, there is the sensuous appearance of the other's body, as given in perception. to this we might add the auditory perception of what he is saying, and so forth. all this i apprehend, not with a passive stare, but by the activity of my thinking which is set in motion. through the thinking with which i now confront the other person, the percept of him becomes, as it were, psychically transparent. as my thinking apprehends the percept, i am compelled to judge that what i perceive is really quite other than it appears to the outer senses. the sensuous appearance, in being what it immediately is, reveals something else which it is mediately. in presenting itself to me as a distinct object, it, at the same time, extinguishes itself as a mere sensuous appearance. but in thus extinguishing itself it reveals a character which, so long as it affects me, compels me as a thinking being to extinguish my own thinking and to put its thinking in the place of mine. its thinking is then apprehended by my thinking as an experience like my own. thus i have really perceived another's thinking. for the immediate percept, in extinguishing itself as sensuous appearance, is apprehended by my thinking. it is a profess which passes wholly in my consciousness and consists in this, that the other's thinking takes the place of my thinking. the self-extinction of the sensuous appearance actually abolishes the separation between the spheres of the two consciousnesses. in my own consciousness this fusion manifests itself in that, so long as i experience the contents of the other's consciousness, i am aware of my own consciousness as little as i am aware of it in dreamless sleep. just as my waking consciousness is eliminated from the latter, so are the contents of my own consciousness eliminated from my perception of the contents of another's consciousness. two things tend to deceive us about the true facts. the first is that, in perceiving another person, the extinction of the contents of one's own consciousness is replaced not, as in sleep, by unconsciousness, but by the contents of the other's consciousness. the other is that my consciousness of my own self oscillates so rapidly between extinction and recurrence, that these alternations usually escape observation. the whole problem is to be solved, not through artificial construction of concepts, involving an inference from what is in consciousness to what always must transcend consciousness, but through genuine experience of the connection between thinking and perceiving. the same remark applies to many other problems which appear in philosophical literature. philosophers should seek the road to unprejudiced spiritual observation, instead of hiding reality behind an artificial frontage of concepts. in a monograph by eduard von hartmann on "the ultimate problems of epistemology and metaphysics" (in the zeitschrift für philosophie und philosophische kritik, vol. , p. ), my philosophy of spiritual activity has been classed with the philosophical tendency which seeks to build upon an "epistemological monism." eduard von hartmann rejects this position as untenable, for the following reasons. according to the point of view maintained in his monograph, there are only three possible positions in the theory of knowledge. the first consists in remaining true to the naïve point of view, which regards objects of sense-perception as real things existing outside the human mind. this, urges von hartmann, implies a lack of critical reflection. i fail to realise that with all my contents of consciousness i remain imprisoned in my own consciousness. i fail to perceive that i am dealing, not with a "table-in-itself," but only with a phenomenon in my own consciousness. if i stop at this point of view, or if for whatever reasons i return to it, i am a naïve realist. but this whole position is untenable, for it ignores that consciousness has no other objects than its own contents. the second position consists in appreciating this situation and confessing it to oneself. as a result, i become a transcendental idealist. as such, says von hartmann, i am obliged to deny that a "thing-in-itself" can ever appear in any way within the human mind. but, if developed with unflinching consistency, this view ends in absolute illusionism. for the world which confronts me is now transformed into a mere sum of contents of consciousness, and, moreover, of contents of my private consciousness. the objects of other human minds, too, i am then compelled to conceive--absurdly enough--as present solely in my own consciousness. hence, the only tenable position, according to von hartmann, is the third, viz., transcendental realism. on this view, there are "things-in-themselves," but consciousness can have no dealings with them by way of immediate experience. existing beyond the sphere of human consciousness, they cause, in a way of which we remain unconscious, the appearance of objects in consciousness. these "things-in-themselves" are known only by inference from the contents of consciousness, which are immediately experienced but for that very reason, purely ideal. eduard von hartmann maintains in the monograph cited above, that "epistemological monism"--for such he takes my point of view to be--is bound to declare itself identical with one or other of the above three positions; and that its failure to do so is due only to its inconsistency in not drawing the actual consequences of its presuppositions. the monograph goes on to say: "if we want to find out which epistemological position a so-called epistemological monist occupies, all we have to do is to put to him certain questions and compel him to answer them. for, out of his own initiative, no monist will condescend to state his views on these points, and likewise he will seek to dodge in every way giving a straight answer to our questions, because every answer he may give will betray that epistemological monism does not differ from one or other of the three positions. our questions are the following: ( ) are things continuous or intermittent in their existence? if the answer is 'continuous,' we have before us some one of the forms of naïve realism. if the answer is 'intermittent,' we have transcendental idealism. but if the answer is: 'they are, on the one hand, continuous, viz., as contents of the absolute mind, or as unconscious ideas, or as permanent possibilities of perception, but, on the other hand, intermittent, viz., as contents of finite consciousness,' we recognise transcendental realism. ( ) when three persons are sitting at a table, how many distinct tables are there? the naïve realist answers 'one'; the transcendental idealist answers 'three'; but the transcendental realist answers 'four.' this last answer does, indeed, presuppose that it is legitimate to group together in the single question, 'how many tables?' things so unlike each other as the one table which is the 'thing-in-itself' and the three tables which are the objects of perception in the three perceivers' minds. if this seems too great a licence to anyone, he will have to answer 'one and three,' instead of 'four.' ( ) when two persons are alone together in a room, how many distinct persons are there? if you answer 'two'--you are a naïve realist. if you answer 'four,' viz., in each of the two minds one 'i' and one 'other,' you are a transcendental idealist. if you answer 'six,' viz., two persons as 'things-in-themselves' and four persons as ideal objects in the two minds, you are a transcendental realist. in order to show that epistemological monism is not one of these three positions, we should have to give other answers than the above to each of these three questions. but i cannot imagine what answers these could be." the answers of the philosophy of spiritual activity would have to be: ( ) whoever apprehends only what he perceives of a thing and mistakes these percepts for the reality of the thing, is a naïve realist. he does not realise that, strictly, he ought to regard these perceptual contents as existing only so long as he is looking at the objects, so that he ought to conceive the objects before him as intermittent. as soon, however, as it becomes clear to him that reality is to be met with only in the percepts which are organised by thinking, he attains to the insight that the percepts which appear as intermittent events, reveal themselves as continuously in existence as soon as they are interpreted by the constructions of thought. hence continuity of existence must be predicated of the contents of perception which living thought has organised. only that part which is only perceived, not thought, would have to be regarded as intermittent if--which is not the case--there were such a part. ( ) when three persons are sitting at a table, how many distinct tables are there? there is only one table. but so long as the three persons stop short at their perceptual images, they ought to say: "these percepts are not the reality at all." as soon as they pass on to the table as apprehended by thinking, there is revealed to them the one real table. they are then united with their three contents of consciousness in this one reality. ( ) when two persons are alone together in a room, how many distinct persons are there? most assuredly there are not six--not even in the sense of the transcendental realist's theory--but only two. only, at first, each person has nothing but the unreal percept of himself and of the other person. there are four such percepts, the presence of which in the minds of the two persons is the stimulus for the apprehension of reality by their thinking. in this activity of thinking each of the two persons transcends the sphere of his own consciousness. a living awareness of the consciousness of the other person as well as of his own arises in each. in these moments of living awareness the persons are as little imprisoned within their consciousness as they are in sleep. but at other moments consciousness of this identification with the other returns, so that each person, in the experience of thinking, apprehends consciously both himself and the other person. i know that a transcendental realist describes this view as a relapse into naïve realism. but, then, i have already pointed out in this book that naïve realism retains its justification for our thinking as we actually experience it. the transcendental realist ignores the true situation in the process of cognition completely. he cuts himself off from the facts by a tissue of concepts and entangles himself in it. moreover, the monism which appears in the philosophy of spiritual activity ought not to be labelled "epistemological," but, if an epithet is wanted, then a "monism of thought." all this has been misunderstood by eduard von hartmann. ignoring all that is specific in the argumentation of the philosophy of spiritual activity, he has charged me with having attempted to combine hegel's universalistic panlogism with hume's individualistic phenomenalism (zeitschrift für philosophie, vol. , p. , note). but, in truth, the philosophy of spiritual activity has nothing whatever to do with the two positions which it is accused of trying to combine. (this, too, is the reason why i could feel no interest in polemics against, e.g., the epistemological monism of johannes rehmke. the point of view of the philosophy of spiritual activity is simply quite different from what eduard von hartmann and others call "epistemological monism.") appendix ii revised introduction to "philosophy of freedom." the following chapter reproduces, in all essentials, the pages which stood as a sort of "introduction" in the first edition of this book. inasmuch as it rather reflects the mood out of which i composed this book twenty-five years ago, than has any direct bearing on its contents, i print it here as an "appendix." i do not want to omit it altogether, because the suggestion keeps cropping up that i want to suppress some of my earlier writings on account of my later works on spiritual matters. our age is one which is unwilling to seek truth anywhere but in the depths of human nature. [ ] of the following two well-known paths described by schiller, it is the second which will to-day be found most useful: wahrheit suchen wir beide, du aussen im leben, ich innen in dem herzen, und so findet sie jeder gewiss. ist das auge gesund, so begegnet es aussen dem schöpfer ist es das herz, dann gewiss spiegelt es innen die welt. [ ] a truth which comes to us from without bears ever the stamp of uncertainty. conviction attaches only to what appears as truth to each of us in our own hearts. truth alone can give us confidence in developing our powers. he who is tortured by doubts finds his powers lamed. in a world the riddle of which baffles him, he can find no aim for his activity. we no longer want to believe; we want to know. belief demands the acceptance of truths which we do not wholly comprehend. but the individuality which seeks to experience everything in the depths of its own being, is repelled by what it cannot understand. only that knowledge will satisfy us which springs from the inner life of the personality, and submits itself to no external norm. again, we do not want any knowledge which has encased itself once and for all in hide-bound formulas, and which is preserved in encyclopædias valid for all time. each of us claims the right to start from the facts that lie nearest to hand, from his own immediate experiences, and thence to ascend to a knowledge of the whole universe. we strive after certainty in knowledge, but each in his own way. our scientific theories, too, are no longer to be formulated as if we were unconditionally compelled to accept them. none of us would wish to give a scientific work a title like fichte's a pellucid account for the general public concerning the real nature of the newest philosophy. an attempt to compel the readers to understand. nowadays there is no attempt to compel anyone to understand. we claim no agreement from anyone whom a distinct individual need does not drive to a certain view. we do not seek nowadays to cram facts of knowledge even into the immature human being, the child. we seek rather to develop his faculties in such a way that his understanding may depend no longer on our compulsion, but on his will. i am under no illusion concerning the characteristics of the present age. i know how many flaunt a manner of life which lacks all individuality and follows only the prevailing fashion. but i know also that many of my contemporaries strive to order their lives in the direction of the principles i have indicated. to them i would dedicate this book. it does not pretend to offer the "only possible" way to truth, it only describes the path chosen by one whose heart is set upon truth. the reader will be led at first into somewhat abstract regions, where thought must draw sharp outlines, if it is to reach secure conclusions. but he will also be led out of these arid concepts into concrete life. i am fully convinced that one cannot do without soaring into the ethereal realm of abstraction, if one's experience is to penetrate life in all directions. he who is limited to the pleasures of the senses misses the sweetest enjoyments of life. the oriental sages make their disciples live for years a life of resignation and asceticism before they impart to them their own wisdom. the western world no longer demands pious exercises and ascetic practices as a preparation for science, but it does require a sincere willingness to withdraw oneself awhile from the immediate impressions of life, and to betake oneself into the realm of pure thought. the spheres of life are many and for each there develops a special science. but life itself is one, and the more the sciences strive to penetrate deeply into their separate spheres, the more they withdraw themselves from the vision of the world as a living whole. there must be one supreme science which seeks in the separate sciences the elements for leading men back once more to the fullness of life. the scientific specialist seeks in his studies to gain a knowledge of the world and its workings. this book has a philosophical aim: science itself is here infused with the life of an organic whole. the special sciences are stages on the way to this all-inclusive science. a similar relation is found in the arts. the composer in his work employs the rules of the theory of composition. this latter is an accumulation of principles, knowledge of which is a necessary presupposition for composing. in the act of composing, the rules of theory become the servants of life, of reality. in exactly the same way philosophy is an art. all genuine philosophers have been artists in concepts. human ideas have been the medium of their art, and scientific method their artistic technique. abstract thinking thus gains concrete individual life. ideas turn into life-forces. we have no longer merely a knowledge about things, but we have now made knowledge a real, self-determining organism. our consciousness, alive and active, has risen beyond a mere passive reception of truths. how philosophy, as an art, is related to freedom; what freedom is; and whether we do, or can, participate in it--these are the principal problems of my book. all other scientific discussions are put in only because they ultimately throw light on these questions which are, in my opinion, the most intimate that concern mankind. these pages offer a "philosophy of freedom." all science would be nothing but the satisfaction of idle curiosity did it not strive to enhance the existential value of human personality. the true value of the sciences is seen only when we are shown the importance of their results for humanity. the final aim of an individuality can never be the cultivation of any single faculty, but only the development of all capacities which slumber within us. knowledge has value only in so far as it contributes to the all-round unfolding of the whole nature of man. this book, therefore, does not conceive the relation between science and life in such a way that man must bow down before the world of ideas and devote his powers to its service. on the contrary, it shows that he takes possession of the world of ideas in order to use them for his human aims, which transcend those of mere science. man must confront ideas as master, lest he become their slave. appendix iii preface to the original edition of "truth and science" contemporary philosophy suffers from a morbid belief in kant. to help towards our emancipation from this belief is the aim of the present essay. it would indeed be criminal to try and minimise the debt which the development of german philosophy owes to kant's immortal work. but it is high time to acknowledge that the only way of laying the foundations for a truly satisfying view of the world and of human life is to put ourselves in decisive opposition to the spirit of kant. what is it that kant has achieved? he has shown that the transcendent ground of the world which lies beyond the data of our senses and the categories of our reason, and which his predecessors sought to determine by means of empty concepts, is inaccessible to our knowledge. from this he concluded that all our scientific thinking must keep within the limits of possible experience, and is incapable of attaining to knowledge of the transcendent and ultimate ground of the world, i.e., of the "thing-in-itself." but what if this "thing-in-itself," this whole transcendent ground of the world, should be nothing but a fiction? it is easy to see that this is precisely what it is. an instinct inseparable from human nature impels us to search for the innermost essence of things, for their ultimate principles. it is the basis of all scientific enquiry. but, there is not the least reason to look for this ultimate ground outside the world of our senses and of our spirit, unless a thorough and comprehensive examination of this world should reveal within it elements which point unmistakably to an external cause. the present essay attempts to prove that all the principles which we need in order to explain our world and make it intelligible, are within reach of our thought. thus, the assumption of explanatory principles lying outside our world turns out to be the prejudice of an extinct philosophy which lived on vain dogmatic fancies. this ought to have been kant's conclusion, too, if he had really enquired into the powers of human thought. instead, he demonstrated in the most complicated way that the constitution of our cognitive faculties does not permit us to reach the ultimate principles which lie beyond our experience. but we have no reason whatever for positing these principles in any such beyond. thus kant has indeed refuted "dogmatic" philosophy, but he has put nothing in its place. hence, all german philosophy which succeeded kant has evolved everywhere in opposition to him. fichte, schelling, hegel simply ignored the limits fixed by kant for our knowledge and sought the ultimate principles, not beyond, but within, the world accessible to human reason. even schopenhauer, though he does declare the conclusions of kant's critique of pure reason to be eternal and irrefutable truths, cannot avoid seeking knowledge of the ultimate grounds of the world along paths widely divergent from those of his master. but the fatal mistake of all these thinkers was that they sought knowledge of ultimate truths, without having laid the foundation for such an enterprise in a preliminary investigation of the nature of knowledge itself. hence, the proud intellectual edifices erected by fichte, schelling and hegel have no foundation to rest on. the lack of such foundations reacts most unfavourably upon the arguments of these thinkers. ignorant of the importance of the world of pure ideas and of its relation to the realm of sense-perception, they built error upon error, one-sidedness upon one-sidedness. no wonder that their over-bold systems proved unable to withstand the storms of an age which recked nothing of philosophy. no wonder that many good things in these systems were pitilessly swept away along with the errors. to remedy the defect which has just been indicated is the purpose of the following investigations. they will not imitate kant by explaining what our minds can not know: their aim is to show what our minds can know. the outcome of these investigations is that truth is not, as the current view has it, an ideal reproduction of a some real object, but a free product of the human spirit, which would not exist anywhere at all unless we ourselves produced it. it is not the task of knowledge to reproduce in conceptual form something already existing independently. its task is to create a wholly new realm which, united with the world of sense-data, ends by yielding us reality in the full sense. in this way, man's supreme activity, the creative productivity of his spirit, finds its organic place in the universal world-process. without this activity it would be impossible to conceive the world-process as a totality complete in itself. man does not confront the world-process as a passive spectator who merely copies in his mind the events which occur, without his participation, in the cosmos without. he is an active co-creator in the world-process, and his knowledge is the most perfect member of the organism of the universe. this view carries with it an important consequence for our conduct, for our moral ideals. these, too, must be regarded, not as copies of an external standard, but as rooted within us. similarly, we refuse to look upon our moral laws as the behests of any power outside us. we know no "categorical imperative" which, like a voice from the beyond, prescribes to us what to do or to leave undone. our moral ideals are our own free creations. all we have to do is to carry out what we prescribe to ourselves as the norm of our conduct. thus, the concept of truth as a free act leads to a theory of morals based on the concept of a perfectly free personality. these theses, of course, are valid only for that part of our conduct the laws of which our thinking penetrates with complete comprehension. so long as the laws of our conduct are merely natural motives or remain obscure to our conceptual thinking, it may be possible from a higher spiritual level to perceive how far they are founded in our individuality, but we ourselves experience them as influencing us from without, as compelling us to action. every time that we succeed in penetrating such a motive with clear understanding, we make a fresh conquest in the realm of freedom. the relation of these views to the theory of eduard von hartmann, who is the most significant figure in contemporary philosophy, will be made clear to the reader in detail in the course of this essay, especially as regards the problem of knowledge. a prelude to a philosophy of spiritual activity--this is what the present essay offers. that philosophy itself, completely worked out, will shortly follow. the ultimate aim of all science is to increase the value of existence for human personality. whoever does not devote himself to science with this aim in view is merely modelling himself in his own work upon some master. if he "researches," it is merely because that happens to be what he has been taught to do. but not for him is the title of a "free thinker." the sciences are seen in their true value only when philosophy explains the human significance of their results. to make a contribution to such an explanation was my aim. but, perhaps, our present-day science scorns all philosophical vindication! if so, two things are certain. one is that this essay of mine is superfluous. the other is that modern thinkers are lost in the wood and do not know what they want. in concluding this preface, i cannot omit a personal observation. up to now i have expounded all my philosophical views on the basis of goethe's world-view, into which i was first introduced by my dear and revered teacher, karl julius schröer, who to me stands in the very forefront of goethe-students, because his gaze is ever focussed beyond the particular upon the universal ideas. but, with this essay i hope to have shown that the edifice of my thought is a whole which has its foundations in itself and which does not need to be derived from goethe's world-view. my theories, as they are here set forth and as they will presently be amplified in the philosophy of spiritual activity, have grown up in the course of many years. nothing but a deep sense of gratitude leads me to add that the affectionate sympathy of the specht family in vienna, during the period when i was the tutor of its children, provided me with an environment, than which i could not have wished a better, for the development of my ideas. in the same spirit, i would add, further, that i owe to the stimulating conversations with my very dear friend, miss rosa mayreder, of vienna, the mood which i needed for putting into final form many of the thoughts which i have sketched provisionally as germs of my philosophy of spiritual activity. her own literary efforts, which express the sensitive and high-minded nature of a true artist, are likely before long to be presented to the public. vienna, december, . appendix iv introduction to original edition of "truth and science" the aim of the following discussions is to reduce the act of cognition, by analysis, to its ultimate elements and thus to discover a correct formulation of the problem of knowledge and a way to its solution. they criticise all theories of knowledge which are based on kant's line of thought, in order to show that along this road no solution of the problem of knowledge can ever be found. it is, however, due to the fundamental spade-work which volkelt has done in his thorough examination of the concept of experience, [ ] to acknowledge that without his preliminary labours the precise determination, which i have here attempted of the concept of the given would have been very much more difficult. however, we are cherishing the hope that we have laid the foundations for our emancipation from the subjectivism which attaches to all theories of knowledge that start from kant. we believe ourselves to have achieved this emancipation through showing that the subjective form, in which the picture of the world presents itself to the act of cognition, prior to its elaboration by science, is nothing but a necessary stage of transition which is overcome in the very process of knowledge itself. for us, experience, so-called, which positivism and neo-kantianism would like to represent as the only thing which is certain, is precisely the most subjective of all. in demonstrating this, we also show that objective idealism is the inevitable conclusion of a theory of knowledge which understands itself. it differs from the metaphysical and absolute idealism of hegel in this, that it seeks in the subject of knowledge the ground for the diremption of reality into given existence and concept, and that it looks for the reconciliation of this divorce, not in an objective world-dialectic, but in the subjective process of cognition. the present writer has already once before advocated this point of view in print, viz., in the outlines of a theory of knowledge (berlin and stuttgart, ). however, that book differs essentially in method from the present essay, and it also lacks the analytic reduction of knowledge to its ultimate elements. notes [ ] two souls, alas! reside within my breast, and each withdraws from, and repels, its brother. one with tenacious organs holds in love and clinging lust the world in its embraces; the other strongly sweeps, this dust above, into the high ancestral spaces. faust, part i, scene . (bayard taylor's translation.) [ ] knowledge is transcendental when it is aware that nothing can be asserted directly about the thing-in-itself but makes indirect inferences from the subjective which is known to the unknown which lies beyond the subjective (transcendental). the thing-in-itself is, according to this view, beyond the sphere of the world of immediate experience; in other words, it is transcendent. our world can, however, be transcendentally related to the transcendent. hartmann's theory is called realism because it proceeds from the subjective, the mental, to the transcendent, the real. [ ] the way in which the above view has influenced psychology, physiology, etc., in various directions has been set forth by the author in works published after this book. here he is concerned only with characterising the results of an open-minded study of thinking itself. [ ] the passage from page down to this point has been added, or rewritten, for the present revised edition. ( ). [ ] a complete catalogue of the principles of morality (from the point of view of metaphysical realism) may be found in eduard von hartmann's phänomenologie des sittlichen bewusstseins. [ ] translation by abbott, kant's theory of ethics, p. ; critique of pure practical reason, chap. iii. [ ] for the manner in which i have here spoken of "materialism," and for the justification of so speaking of it, see the addition at the end of this chapter. [ ] only a superficial critic will find in the use of the word "faculty," in this and other passages, a relapse into the old-fashioned doctrine of faculties of the soul. [ ] when paulsen, p. of the book mentioned above, says: "different natural endowments and different conditions of life demand both a different bodily and also a different mental and moral diet," he is very close to the correct view, but yet he misses the decisive point. in so far as i am an individual, i need no diet. dietetic means the art of bringing a particular specimen into harmony with the universal laws of the genus. but as an individual i am not a specimen of a genus. [ ] the editor would call the reader's attention to the fact that this book was written in . for many years dr. steiner's efforts have been chiefly concentrated in upholding the divinity of christ consistently with the broader lines of the christian churches. [ ] we are entitled to speak of thoughts (ethical ideas) as objects of observation. for, although the products of thinking do not enter the field of observation, so long as the thinking goes on, they may well become objects of observation subsequently. in this way we have gained our characterisation of action. [ ] those who want to settle by calculation whether the sum total of pleasure or that of pain is bigger, ignore that they are subjecting to calculation something which is nowhere experienced. feeling does not calculate, and what matters for the real valuing of life is what we really experience, not what results from an imaginary calculation. [ ] we disregard here the case where excessive increase of pleasure turns pleasure into pain. [ ] immediately upon the publication of this book ( ), critics objected to the above arguments that, even now, within the generic character of her sex, a woman is able to shape her life individually, just as she pleases, and far more freely than a man who is already de-individualised, first by the school, and later by war and profession. i am aware that this objection will be urged to-day, even more strongly. none the less, i feel bound to let my sentences stand, in the hope that there are readers who appreciate how violently such an objection runs counter to the concept of freedom advocated in this book, and who will interpret my sentences above by another standard than that of man's loss of individuality through school and profession. [ ] the preface and introduction to the original edition of "truth and science" are printed as appendix iii and appendix iv at the end of this volume. [ ] l.c., p. . [ ] cf. kant, critique of pure reason, intr. to nd edit., section vi. [ ] prolegomena, section v. [ ] critique of pure reason, intr., section iv. [ ] cf. his analyse der wirklichkeit, gedanken und tatsachen. [ ] "possible" here means merely conceivable. [ ] cf. die welt als wahrnehmung und begriff, pp. ff. [ ] this attempt, by the way, is one which the objections of robert zimmermann (Über kant's mathematisches vorurteil und dessen folgen) show to be, if not wholly mistaken, at least highly questionable. [ ] critique of pure reason, intr. to nd edit., section ii. [ ] cf. kant's theorie der erfahrung, pp. ff. [ ] l.c., section v. [ ] cf. kant's theorie der erfahrung, pp. ff. [ ] cf. die grundsätze der reinen erkenntnistheorie in der kantischen philosophie, p. . [ ] l.c., p. . [ ] zur analyse der wirklichkeit, pp. ff. [ ] darstellung der kantischen erkenntnistheorie, p. . [ ] vierteljahrsschrift für wissenschaftliche philosophie, , p. . [ ] system der logik, rd edit., pp. ff. [ ] kritische grundlagen des transcendentalen realismus, pp. - . [ ] geschichte der neueren philosophie, vol. v., p. . volkelt is mistaken about fischer when he says (kant's erkenntnistheorie, p. , n.) that "it is not clear from fischer's account whether, in his opinion, kant takes for granted only the psychological fact of the occurrence of universal and necessary judgments, but also their objective validity and truth." for, in the passage referred to above, fischer says that the chief difficulty of the critique of pure reason is to be found in the fact that "its fundamental positions rest on certain presuppositions" which "have to be granted if the rest is to be valid." these presuppositions consist for fischer, too, in this, that "first the fact of knowledge is affirmed," and then analysis reveals the cognitive faculties "by means of which that fact itself is explained." [ ] how far our own epistemological discussions conform to this method, will be shown in section iv, "the starting-points of the theory of knowledge." [ ] l.c., preface, p. x. [ ] zur analyse der wirklichkeit (strassburg, ), p. . [ ] kant's erkenntnistheorie, section i. [ ] a. dorner, das menschliche erkennen (berlin, ). [ ] rehmke, l.c. [ ] die lehre vom wissen (berlin, ). [ ] die grundfragen der erkenntnistheorie (mainz, ) p. . [ ] system der kritischen philosophie, i. teil, p. . [ ] das grundproblem der erkenntnistheorie, p. . [ ] philosophische monatshefte, vol. xxvi ( ), p. . [ ] das grundproblem der erkenntnistheorie, p. . [ ] by "concept" i mean a rule for the synthesis of the disconnected data of perception into a unity. causality, e.g., is a "concept." by "idea" i mean nothing but a concept of richer connotation. "organism," taken quite generally, is an example of an "idea." [ ] it ought not to be necessary to say that the term "centre," here, is not intended to affirm a theory concerning the nature of consciousness, but is used merely as a shorthand expression for the total physiognomy of consciousness. [ ] fichte's sämtliche werke, vol. i, p. . [ ] l.c., vol. i, p. . [ ] l.c., vol. i, p. . [ ] l.c., vol. i, p. . [ ] l.c., vol. i, p. . [ ] geschichte der philosophie, p. . [ ] fichte, sämtliche werke, vol. i, p. . [ ] l.c., vol. i, p. . [ ] l.c., vol. i, p. . [ ] delivered in the autumn of at the university of berlin. see nachgelassene werke, vol. i, p. . [ ] l.c., vol. i, p. . [ ] cf. his christliche dogmatik, nd edit., - . the epistemological arguments are in vol. i. an exhaustive discussion of his point of view has been furnished by e. von hartmann. see his kritische wanderungen durch die philosophie der gegenwart, pp. ff. [ ] only the very first opening sentences (in the first edition) of this argument have been altogether omitted here, because they seem to me to-day wholly irrelevant. but the rest of the chapter seems to me even to day relevant and necessary, in spite, nay, because, of the scientific bias of contemporary thought. [ ] truth seek we both--thou in the life without thee and around; i in the heart within. by both can truth alike be found. the healthy eye can through the world the great creator track; the healthy heart is but the glass which gives creation back. bulwer. [ ] erfahrung und denken, kritische grundlegung der erkenntnistheorie, von johannes volkelt (hamburg und leipzig, ). not guilty: a defence of the bottom dog by robert blatchford new york: boni and liveright: dedicated to my old friend & fellow worker w.t. wilkinson the author's apology this is not a stiff and learned work, written by a professor for professors, but a human book, written in humanity's behalf by a man, for men and women. i shall not fret you with strange and stilted language, nor weary you with tedious and irksome science, nor gall you with far-fetched theories, nor waste your time in any vain word-twisting nor splitting of hairs. a plain-dealing man, speaking frankly and simply to honest and plain-dealing readers, i shall trust to common sense and common knowledge and common english to make my meaning clear. i have been warned that it is easier to write a book on such a theme as this than to get people to read it when written. but i am hopeful, and my hope springs from the living interest and deep significance of the subject. for in defending the bottom dog i do not deal with hard science only; but with the dearest faiths, the oldest wrongs, and the most awful relationships of the great human family, for whose good i strive, and to whose judgment i appeal. knowing, as i do, how the hard-working and hard-playing public shun laborious thinking and serious writing, and how they hate to have their ease disturbed or their prejudices handled rudely, i still make bold to undertake this task, because of the vital nature of the problems i shall probe. the case for the bottom dog should touch the public heart to the quick, for it affects the truth of our religions, the justice of our laws, and the destinies of our children and our children's; children. much golden eloquence has been squandered in praise of the successful and the good; much stern condemnation has been vented upon the wicked. i venture now to plead for those of our poor brothers and sisters who are accursed of christ and rejected. hitherto all the love, all the honours, all the applause of this? world, and all the rewards of heaven, have been lavished on the fortunate and the strong; and the portion of the unfriended bottom dog, in his adversity and weakness, has been curses, blows, chains, the gallows, and everlasting damnation. i shall plead, then, for those who are loathed and tortured and branded as the sinful and unclean; for those who have hated us and wronged us, and have been wronged and hated by us. i shall defend them for right's sake, for pity's sake, and for the benefit of society and the race. for these also are of our flesh, these also have erred and gone astray, these also are victims of an inscrutable and relentless fate. if it concerns us that the religions of the world are childish dreams, or nightmares; if it concerns us that penal laws and moral codes are survivals of barbarism and fear; if it concerns us that our most cherished and venerable ideas of our relations to god and to each other are illogical and savage, then the case for the bottom dog concerns us nearly. if it moves us to learn that disease may be prevented, that ruin may be averted, that broken hearts and broken lives may be made whole; if it inspires us to hear how beauty may be conjured out of loathliness and glory out of shame; how waste may be turned to wealth and death to life, and despair to happiness, then the case for the bottom dog is a case to be well and truly tried. if man's flesh and woman's flesh are merchandise or carrion; if the defiled and trampled souls of innocent children are no more to us than are the trodden blossoms under the feet of swine; if love lies to us and pity is a cheat; if whips and chains and contumely and the gibbet are meet for our sisters and our brothers and if dishonourable ease and beggarly pride and the flatteries of fools are worthy of ourselves, then we have the yellow press and the painted altar and the parliamentary speeches and a selfish heaven and a hell where the worm never dies; and everything is for the best in, this best of all possible worlds. but because i believe "men needs must love the highest when they see it," because i believe that the universal heart is sweet and sound, because i believe there are many who honour truth and seek happiness and peace for all, i do not fear to plead for the bottom dog, nor to ask a patient hearing. rightly or wrongly, happily or unhappily, but with all the sincerity of my soul, i shall here deny the justice and reason of every kind of blame and praise, of punishment and reward--human or divine. divine law--the law made by priests, and attributed to god--consists of a code of rewards and punishments' for acts called good or bad. human law--the law made by kings and parliaments--consists of a code of punishments for acts called criminal and unlawful. i claim that men should not be classified as good and bad, but as fortunate and unfortunate; that they should be pitied, and not blamed; helped instead of being punished. i claim that since we do not hold a man worthy of praise for being born beautiful, nor of blame for being born ugly, neither should we hold him worthy of praise for being born virtuous, nor of blame for being born vicious. i base this claim upon the self-evident and undeniable fact that man has no part in the creation of his own nature. i shall be told this means that no man is answerable for his own acts. that is exactly what it does mean. but, it will be urged, every man has a free will to act as he chooses; and to deny that is to imperil all law and order, all morality and discipline. i deny both these inferences, and i ask the reader to hear my case patiently, and to judge it on its merits. let us first test the justice of our laws, divine and human: the question of their usefulness we will deal with later. chapter one--the laws of god divine law says that certain acts are good, and that certain acts are evil; and that god will reward those who do well, and will punish those who do ill. and we are told that god will so act because god is _just_. but i claim that god _cannot_ justly punish those, who disobey, nor reward those who obey his laws. religious people tell us that god is "the great first cause": that god created _all_ things--mankind, the universe, nature and all her laws. who is answerable for a thing that is caused: he who causes it, or he who does not cause it? he who causes it is answerable. and god is "the first great cause" of _all_ things. and the cause of all things is answerable for all things. if god created _all_ things he must have created the evil as well as the good. who, then, is responsible for good and evil? only god, for he made them. he who creates all is responsible for all. god created all: god is responsible for all. he who creates nothing is responsible for nothing. man created nothing: man is responsible for nothing. therefore man is not responsible for his nature, nor for the acts prompted by that nature. therefore god cannot justly punish man for his acts. therefore the divine law, with its code of rewards and punishments, is not a just law, and cannot have emanated from a just god. therefore the christian religion is built upon a foundation of error, and there are no such things as god's wrath, god's pardon; heaven or hell. that argument has never been answered. but attempts have been made to evade it, and the plea most commonly put forward has been so gracefully expressed by mr. g. k. chesterton that i will quote it in his own words: now, the question round which this controversy has circled for ages is simply this: clearly god can, in the exercise of his omnipotence, give part of himself to his creatures; can give his strength to the bull, or his beauty to the lily. could god possibly, in the exercise of his omnipotence, give to one of his creatures some portion of that other quality of his--his originating power, his power of primal invention, this making things from nothing or himself? if god can do all things, can he not make man free? can he not give man the power to create actions as god creates stars? he can give his force; can he give a little of his sovereignty? can he, in short, create a kind of little god--an "imago dei?" the answer to that quaint piece of reasoning is that it begs the question. for i do not say that god cannot give to man any power he chooses; but that god is responsible, and man is not responsible, for the nature and the acts of any power by god bestowed. if man did not invent, nor create himself; if man did not create "the power" bestowed upon him by god; if man did not bestow that power upon himself, how can man be responsible for the power or for its acts? god not only created man; he created the material of which man was made, and the laws of the universe into which man was introduced. god is the "first great cause": he created all things: the evil and the good. how can god blame man for the effects of which god is the cause? for the defeat of all christian apologists it is not necessary for me to add another word; the argument is invincible as it stands. but for the reader's sake it may be as well to deal rather more fully with what may be to him a new and startling idea. let us then return to mr. chesterton's plea. god is said to give to man a "power": a power which, mr. chesterton says, god "made out of himself." and this power will create thoughts, will create actions as god creates stars. but we see that man cannot create the thoughts nor cause the actions until god gives him the "power." then it is the "power" that creates the thoughts or acts. then it is not man, but the "power"--the power god made out of himself and bestowed upon man--that creates the thoughts or acts. then the "power" is a kind of lord or ruler made by god, and put by god over man, as a rider is placed upon a horse, or a pilot on a ship. then man is no more responsible for the acts or the thoughts of this ruling power than a horse is responsible for the acts of a jockey, or a ship for the acts of a pilot. in fact, the "power" given by god to man is only another name for the "will of god," or the "power of god"; and if man's acts are ruled, or created, by the will or power of god, how can god justly punish man for those acts? if god created man as well as this imaginary "power" which god is said to give to man, god is responsible for the acts of both. it is claimed by others that man is responsible to god for his acts because god gave him "reason," or because god gave him a "conscience," or because god gave him a "will" to choose. but these words, "conscience," "reason," and "will," are only other names for mr. chesterton's imaginary "power." let us be careful to keep our thoughts quite clear and unentangled. if we speak of "will," or "power," or "reason," as a thing "given to man," we imply that "will," or "power," is a thing _outside_ of man, and not a part of him. having failed to saddle man with responsibility for himself, our opponents would now make him responsible for some "power" outside himself. the simple answer is that man made neither himself nor his powers, and that god made man and the power given to man; therefore god and not man is responsible. conscience and reason and the "power" are rulers or guides given to man by god. god made these guides or rulers. these guides must be true guides, or false guides: they must be good or bad. god is all-knowing, as well as all-powerful. not only has he power to create at will a true guide or a false guide, but he _knows_ when he creates a guide, and when he bestows that guide upon man, whether it will be a true or a false guide. therefore, when god created the reason or the conscience and gave it to man, he _knew_ whether the reason or the conscience would guide man right or wrong. if the power made and bestowed by god leads man wrongly, it is leading man as god _willed_ and _knew_ it would lead him. how, then, can god justly blame man for the acts that reason or power "creates"? god creates a number of good propensities, and a number of evil propensities, packs them up in a bundle and calls them "man." is the skinful of propensities created and put together by god responsible for the proportion of good and evil powers it comprises? but then mr. chesterton suggests that god puts over the bundle a "power" of control. that power controls man for evil: as god must have known it would. is the bundle of god's making responsible for the failure of the power god made and sent to manage it? god must have known when he created and put the "power" in control that it would fail. tell me now, some wise philosopher, or great divine, or learned logician, which is the _man?_ is it the good propensities, or the evil propensities, or the power of control? and tell me how can any one or all of these be responsible to the god who invented them, who created them, who joined them together; who made and united them, knowing they would fail? here is a grand conception of an "all-wise," "all-powerful," perfectly "just" god, who creates a man whom he knows _must_ do evil, gives him a guide who cannot make him do well, issues commands for him to act as god has made it impossible for him to act, and finally punishes him for failing to do what god knew from the first he was incapable of doing. and the world is paying millions of money, and bestowing honours and rewards in profusion upon the learned and wise and spiritual leaders who teach it to believe such illogical nonsense as the above. when we turn from the old idea of instantaneous creation to the new idea of evolution, the theories about "god's mercy" and "god's wrath" are still more impossible and absurd. for now we are to believe that god, the "first great cause," "in the beginning" created not man and beast, and forest and sea, and hill and plain, but "matter," and "force," and "law." out of the matter and force god made, working to the law god made, there slowly developed the nebulæ, the suns, the planets. out of the same matter and force, changed in form by the working of god's laws, there slowly developed the single-celled jelly-like creature from which, by the working of god's laws, all other forms of life have since evolved. out of matter and force, working to god's laws, man has been evolved. is there any step in the long march of evolution from the first creation of matter and force to the evolution of man, when the jelly speck, or the polyp, or the fish, or the reptile, or the beast, or the ape, or the man, had power to change, or to assist, or to resist the working of the laws god made? is there any step in the long march of evolution, any link in the long chain of cause and effect, when any one of the things or beings evolved by law working on matter and force could by act or will of their own have developed otherwise than as they did? is it not plain that man has developed into that which he is by slow evolution of matter and force, through the operation of divine laws over which he had no more control than he now has over the revolution of the suns in their orbits? how, then, can we believe that man is to blame for being that which he is? is there any quality of body or of mind that has not been _inevitably_ evolved in man by the working of god's laws? you are not going to tell me that i am answerable or blame-able for the nature of matter and force, nor for the operations of god's laws, are you? you will not suggest that i am responsible for the creation: so long ago, and i so new, so weak, so small! god, when he created matter and force and law, knew the nature of matter and force, and the power and purpose of law. he knew that they must work as he had made and meant them to work. he knew that we _must_ be as his agents _must_ make us. will he punish or reward us, then, for the acts of his agents: the agents he made and controlled? absurd. but, it may be urged, "man has a soul." so! he got that soul from god. god made the soul and fixed its powers for good and evil. it is the soul, then, that is responsible, is it? but the soul did not create itself, and can only act as god has ordained that it shall and must act. if man is not to blame for his own acts he is not to blame for the acts of his soul; and for the same reason. "soul," or "man," "reason," or "conscience," responsibility lies with the causer, and not with the thing caused. and god is "the first great cause," and how then can god justly punish any of his creatures for being as he created them? it is impossible. it is unthinkable. but upon this unthinkable and impossible absurdity the whole code of divine laws is built. therefore the christian religion is untrue, and man is not responsible to god for his nature nor for his acts. chapter two--the laws of man common law and common usage all the world over hold men answerable for their acts, and blame or punish them when those acts transgress the laws of custom. human law, like the divine law, is based upon the false idea that men know what is right and what is wrong, and have power to choose the right. human law, like divine law, classifies men as good and bad, and punishes them for doing "wrong." but men should not be classified as good and bad, but as fortunate and unfortunate, as weak and strong. and the unfortunate and weak should not be blamed, but pitied; should not be punished but helped. the just and wise course is to look upon all wrong-doers as we look upon the ignorant, the diseased, the insane, and the deformed. many of our wrong-doers are ignorant, or diseased, or insane, or mentally deformed. but there are some who are base or savage by nature. these should be regarded as we regard base or savage animals: as creatures of a lower order, dangerous, but not deserving blame nor hatred. and this is the sound view, as i shall show, because these unhappy creatures are nearer to our brutish ancestors than other men, the ancient strain of man's bestial origin cropping out in them through no fault of their own. religion says man is the product of god; science says he is the product of "heredity" and "environment." the difference does not matter much to my case. the point is that man does not create himself, and so is not to blame for his nature, and, therefore, is not to blame for his acts. for man did not help god in the act of his creation, nor did he choose his own ancestors. "what! do you mean to say that the ruffian, the libertine, and the knave are not to be blamed nor punished for any of the vile and cruel acts they perpetrate?" asks "the average man." yes. that is what i mean. and that is not a new and startling "craze," as many may suppose, but is a piece of very ancient wisdom; as old as the oldest thought of india and of greece. in the _bhagavad-gita_ it is written: he sees truly who sees all actions to be done by nature alone, and likewise the self not the doer. and socrates said: it is an odd thing that if you had met a man ill-conditioned in body you would not have been angry; but to have met a man rudely disposed in mind provokes you. neither am i unsupported to-day in my heresies. most theologists are opposed to me, but most men of science are with me: they look upon man as a creature of "heredity" and "environment." what a man _does_ depends upon what he _is_; and what he _is_ depends upon his "breed" and his "experience." we admit that no two men are quite alike. we should not expect men who are unlike in nature and in knowledge to do like acts. where the causes are different it is folly to expect identical effects. every man is that which his forbears (his ancestors) and his experiences (his environment) have made him. every man's character is formed partly by "heredity" (breed, or descent) and partly by "environment" (experience, or surroundings). that is to say, his character depends partly upon the nature of his parents, and partly upon the nature of his experience. he comes into the world just as his ancestors have made him. he did not choose his ancestors; he had nothing to do with the moulding of their natures. every quality, good or bad, in his own nature, has been handed down to him by his forbears, without knowledge or consent. how can we blame the new-born or unborn baby for the nature and arrangement of the cells--which are _he?_ born into the world as he was made, he is a helpless infant, dependent upon his nurses and his teachers. he did not choose his nurses, nor his teachers; he cannot control their conduct towards him, nor test the truth nor virtue of the lessons he learns from them. he grows older the nature he inherited from his ancestors is modified, for better or for worse, by the lessons and the treatment given to him by his nurses, his companions, and his teachers. so, when he becomes a man he is that which his forbears and his fellow creatures have made him. that is to say, he is the product of his heredity and his environment. he could not be otherwise. how, then, can it be just to blame him for being that which he _must_ be? but, it may be objected, a man has power to change, or to conquer, his environment; to train, or to subdue, his original nature. that depends upon the strength of his original nature (which his ancestors handed down to him) and of his environment--which consists, largely, of the actions of his fellow-creatures. a man has power to do that which his forbears have made him able to do. he has power to do no more. he has certain powers given him by his forbears, which may have been developed or repressed by his surroundings. with those powers, as modified by the influences surrounding and outside himself, he may do all that his nature desires and is able to do. up to the limit of his inherited powers he may do all that his environment (his experiences) have taught or incited him to do. to speak of a man conquering his environment is the same thing as to speak of a man swimming against a stream. he can swim against the stream if he has strength and skill to overcome the stream. his strength is his heredity: his skill is the result of his environment. if his strength and skill are more than equal to the force of the stream he will conquer his environment; if the stream is too strong for him he will be conquered by his environment. his acts, in short, depend wholly upon his nature and his environment: neither of which is of his own choosing. of this i will say more in its place. a man gets his nature from his forbears, just as certainly as he gets the shape of his nose, the length of his foot, and the colour of his eyes from his forbears. as we do not blame a man for being born with red or black hair, why should we blame him for being born with strong passions or base desires? if it is foolish to blame a child for being born with a deformed or weak spine, how can it be reasonable to blame him for being born with a deformed or weak brain? the nature and quality of his hair and his eyes, of his spine and his brain, of his passions and desires, were all settled _for_ and not _by_ him before he drew the breath of life. if we blame a man because he has inherited fickleness from an italian grandfather, or praise him because he has inherited steadfastness from a dutch grandmother, we are actually praising or blaming him because, before he was born, an italian married a hollander. if we blame a man for inheriting cupidity from an ancestor who was greedy and rapacious, or for inheriting licentious inclinations from an ancestor who was a rake, we are blaming him for failing to be born of better parents. briefly, then, heredity makes, and environment modifies, a man's nature. and both these forces are _outside_ the man. therefore man becomes that which he is by the action of forces outside himself. therefore it is unjust to blame a man for being that which he is. therefore it is unjust to blame him for doing that which he does. therefore our human laws, which punish men for their acts, are unjust laws. now, before we go fully into the meanings of the words "heredity" and "environment," let us make a short summary of the arguments above put forth. since man did not create his own nature, man is not responsible for his own acts. therefore all laws, human or divine, which punish man for his acts are unjust laws. chapter three--where do our natures come from? i hope the reader will not fight shy of heredity. i trust he will find it quite simple and interesting; and i promise him to use no unfamiliar words, nor to trouble him with difficult and tedious scientific expositions. i deal with heredity before environment, because it is needful to take them one at a time, and heredity comes first; as birth before schooling. but we must not fall into the bad habit of thinking of heredity and environment apart from each other, for it is _both_, and not either of them that make man's character. it is often said that neither heredity nor environment accounts for a man's conduct. and that is true. but it is true, also, that heredity _and_ environment account for every quality in the human "make-up." a pianist, an artist, or a cricketer is "made as well as born," and so is every man. a good batsman is a good batsman for two reasons: ( ) he was born with good sight, steady; nerves, and sound sense, all of which he owes to his ancestors. ( ) he has been well taught, or has practised well, and this practice, this endeavour to succeed, he owes to his inherited ambition, and to the precept and example of other men. so if a man plays a fiddle well, or steers a ship well, or devotes his life to charity, the excellence is always due to heredity _and_ environment. for the cricketer would never have been a cricketer, nor the violinist a violinist, had he been born in a country where cricket and violin playing were unknown. and, on the other hand, a man bred amongst cricketers or musicians will never excel in music nor in cricket unless he has what is called "a gift"; and the gift is "heredity." now, what do we mean by "heredity"? heredity is "descent," or "breed." heredity, as the word is here used, means those qualities which are handed down from one generation to the next. it means those qualities which a new generation inherits from the generation from whom it descends. it means all that "is bred in the bone." if a man inherits a grecian nose, a violent temper, well-knit muscles, a love of excitement, or a good ear for music, from his father or mother, that quality or feature is part of his heredity. it is "bred in him." every quality a child possesses at the moment of birth, _every_ quality of body or of mind, is inherited from his parents and their ancestors. and the whole of those qualities--which _are_ the child--are what we call "heredity." no child brings into the world one single quality of body or mind that has not been handed down to it by its ancestors. and yet no two children are exactly alike, and no child is exactly like any one of its forbears. this difference of children from each other and from the parent stock is called "variation." hundreds of books and papers have been written about "variation," and to read some of them one might suppose variation to be a very difficult subject. but it is quite simple, and will not give us any trouble at all. let us see. why we are not all alike the cause of variation can be easily understood. variation is due to the fact that every child has two parents. if these two parents were exactly alike, and if their ancestors had been all exactly alike, their children would be exactly like each other and like their parents. but the father and mother are of different families, of different natures, and perhaps of different races. and the ancestors of the father and mother--millions in number--were all different from each other in nature and in descent. now, since a child inherits some qualities from its father and some from its mother, it follows that if the father and mother are different from each other, the child must differ from both, and yet resemble both. for he will inherit from the father qualities which the mother has not inherited from her ancestors, and he will inherit from the mother qualities which the father did not inherit from his ancestors. so the child will resemble both parents, without being an exact copy of either. it "varies" from both parents by inheriting from each. the child of a black and a white parent is what we call a half-caste: he is neither a negro nor a white man. the pup of a bulldog and a terrier is neither a bull-dog nor a terrier; he is a bull-terrier terrier. but heredity goes farther than that, and variation is more complex than that. we must not think of a man as inheriting from his father and mother only. he inherits from the parents of both his parents; and from thousands of ancestors before those. he inherits from men and women who died thousands of years before he was born. he inherits from the cave-man, from the tree-man, from the ape-man, from the ape, and from the beast before the ape. the child in the womb begins as a cell, and develops through the stages of evolution, becoming an embryo worm, fish, quadruped, ape, and, finally, a human baby. the child is born with the bodily and mental qualities inherited from many generations of beasts and many generations of men. any one of the many ancient qualities of mind or body may crop up again in a modern child. children have been born with tails: children have been born with six nipples, like a dog, instead of with two, like a human being. and now i will explain, simply and briefly, what we mean by the word "atavism." why the clock of descent sometimes goes backward "atavism," or "breeding back," or "reversion," may reach back through thousands of generations, and some trait of the cave-man, or the beast, may reappear in a child of twentieth century civilisation. darwin, in _the descent of man_, chapter ii, gives many instances of "atavism," or breeding back, by human beings to apish and even quadrupedal characteristics. alluding to a case cited by mr. j. wood, in which a man had seven muscles "proper to certain apes," darwin says: it is quite incredible that a man should through mere accident abnormally resemble certain apes in no less than seven of his muscles, if there had been no genetic connection between them. on the other hand, if man is descended from some apelike creature, no valid reason can be assigned why certain muscles should not suddenly reappear after an interval of many thousand generations, in the same manner as with horses, asses, and mules, dark-coloured stripes suddenly reappear on the legs and shoulders after an interval of hundreds, or, more probably, of thousands of generations. dr. lydston, in the diseases of society (lippincott: ) says: the outcropping of ancestral types of mentality is observed to underlie many of the manifestations of vice and crime. these ancestral types or traits may revert farther back even than the savage progenitors of civilised man, and approximate those of the lower animals who, in their turn, stand behind the savage in the line of descent. this "reversion to older and lower types," or "breeding back," is important, because it is the source of much crime--the origin of very many "bottom dogs," as we shall see. but at present we need only notice that heredity, or breed, reaches back through immense distances of time; so that a man inherits not only from savage ancestors, but also from the brutes. and man has no power to _choose_ his breed, has no choice of ancestors, but must take the qualities of body and mind they hand down to him, be those qualities good or bad. descent, or breed, does not work regularly. any trait of any ancestor, beast or man, near or remote, may crop up suddenly in any new generation. a child may bear little likeness to its father or mother: it may be more like its great-grandfather, its uncle, or its aunt. it is as though every dead fore-parent back to the dimmest horizon of time, were liable to put a ghostly finger in the pie, to mend or mar it. let us now use a simple illustration of the workings of heredity, variation, and atavism, or breeding back. there is no need to trouble ourselves with the scientific explanations. what we have to understand is that children inherit qualities from their ancestors; that children vary from their ancestors and from each other; and that old types or old qualities may crop out suddenly and unexpectedly in a new generation. knowing, as we do, that children inherit from their parents and fore-parents, the rest may be made, quite plain without a single scientific word. in our illustration we will take for parents and children bottles, and for hereditary qualities beads of different colours. the mystery of descent made easy now, take a bottle of red beads, and call it male. take a bottle of blue beads, and call it female. from each bottle take a portion of beads; mix them in a third bottle and call it "child." we have now a child of a red father and a blue mother; and we find that this child is not all red, nor all blue, but part red and part blue. it is like the father, for it has red beads; it is like the mother, for it has blue beads. it is unlike the father, for the father has no blue, and it is unlike the mother, for the mother has no red. here we have a simple illustration of "heredity" and "variation." now, could we blame the "child" bottle for having red and blue beads in it; or could we blame the "child" bottle for having no yellow and no green beads in it? but that is an example of a simple mixture of two ancestral strains. we have to do with mixtures of millions of strains. let us carry our illustration forward another generation. take our blue and red "child" and marry him to the child of a black bottle and a yellow bottle. this gives us a marriage between red-blue and black-yellow. the "child" bottle mixed from these two bottles of double colours will contain four colours. he will "inherit" from grandfather red and grandmother blue, from grandfather black and grandmother yellow, and from father red-blue and mother black-yellow. he will be like the six fore-parents, but different from each of them. can we blame this "child" bottle for being made up of red, blue, black, and yellow? can we blame it for having no purple nor white beads in its composition? no. these colours were mixed _for_ the child, and not _by_ it. how could there be white or purple beads in this bottle, when there were no white nor purple beads in the bottles from which it was filled? but what of the variation amongst brothers and sisters? that is easily understood. if the four colours in the ancestral bottles are evenly mixed, the grandchildren bottles will vary from their ancestors, but not from each other. as we know that brothers and sisters do vary from each other, we must conclude that the hereditary qualities are not evenly mixed. where do our natures come from? for the scientific explanation of this fact i must refer you to _the germ plasm_, by weissmann. for our purposes it is enough to know that brothers and sisters do vary from each other, and that they so vary because the ancestral qualities are not evenly distributed amongst the "sperms" and the "ova." on this head our own knowledge and observation do not leave any room for doubt. it is as if in the case of our marriage of red-blue and black-yellow there were three child-bottles, of which one got more red and yellow, one more blue and red, and one more yellow and blue than the others. so that the three brother-bottles would differ from their fore-parents and from each other. and as it would be foolish to blame the second bottle for having less red in it than the first, so it is foolish to blame a human child for having less intellect or less industry than his brothers. if you refer to the masterly description of the impregnation of the ova given in haeckel's great work, _the evolution of man_, you will find that the heredity of brothers is largely a matter of accident. see the plate and explanation on page in the first volume. the "variation" in brothers and sisters is like the variation in the mixing of beads in our bottles. it is as though we made several tartan plaids of the same four colours, but in different patterns. it is like dealing hands of cards from a shuffled pack. there are four suits, but one hand may be rich in clubs, another in diamonds. and who in a game of whist would blame his partner for holding no trumps in his hand? the partner could only play the trumps dealt out to him. in no way can a child control the pre-natal shuffling or dealing of the ancestral pack. now, as to atavism, or breeding back. in the ancestral bottles called men and women there are millions of different kinds of beads. and it sometimes happens that a particular kind of bead (or quality) which has lain dormant for a long time--perhaps for a thousand years--will crop up in a new mixing that goes to make a "child-bottle," and so that child may be less like its own parents than like some ancestor who has been dead and forgotten for centuries. in the case of the man with the seven ape muscles, mentioned by darwin, the breeding back must have reached millions of years. this "lying doggo," or inactive, of some hereditary trait, may be likened to the action of a kaleidoscope. we do not see all the fragments of coloured glass at every turn. but they are all there. we do not see the same pattern twice; yet the patterns are made almost of the same colours and the same pieces. and now i think we have got a clear idea of the meanings of the words "heredity," "variation," and "atavism," and the most timid reader will not be afraid of them any more. there is no need, for our purpose, to wrestle with severe science. the reader may find for himself all about "pangenesis" in darwin, and about the "germ plasm" in weissmann. here we will not tax our memories with such weird words as "biophors," "gemmules," "ids," "idents," and "determinants." our similes of beads, tartans, and cards will serve us well enough. the only objection to our similes is that they are too simple. the mixture of bloods in descent is very much more extensive | than our mixture of cards or beads. if we trace a child's descent back only four generations we find that he has no less than thirty fore-parents belonging to sixteen different families. another generation would reach thirty-two families. if we go back to twenty generations we find the number of families drawn upon to be over a million. but darwin speaks of "thousands of generations." does not! this suggest the wonderful possibilities of variation and atavism? imagine the variety of character and physique in a city like london. then remember that each one of us is descended from more ancestors, and of much wider varieties, than all the population of london. and to hold a man answerable for his inheritance from those motley myriads of men and women is to hold him answerable for the natures and the actions of millions of human beings whom he never saw, of whom he never heard. we all know that the different races of men differ from each other in colour, in features, and in capacity. we have only to think for a little of the japanese, the americans, the spaniards, and the swedes, to feel the full force of the term "racial characteristics." we know that there is a great difference between the irish and the scotch. we know that there is a great difference between the italians and the dutch. we know the strongly marked peculiarities of the jews and the greeks. now, to blame a man for his nature is to blame him for not being like some other man. and how absurd it would be to blame a norwegian for not being like a jew, or a gascon for not being like a scot. the italians are wayward and impulsive: the dutch are steadfast and cautious. is it reasonable to blame the one for not being like the other? if a child is born of an italian father and an irish mother, is it reasonable to expect that child to be as cool and methodical as the child of dutch and scottish parents? is it not the same with personal as with racial traits? we have all heard of "spanish pride," and of "irish wit"; we have all heard of the pride of the howards, and the genius of the bachs. to blame a spaniard for being proud is to blame him for being born of spanish parents. to blame a howard for his pride is to blame him for being a son of the howards. bach was a musical genius, sheridan was witty, nelson was brave, rembrandt was a great painter, because there were golden beads in their ancestral bottles. but _they_ did not put the golden beads there. they inherited them, as lord tomnoddy inherits his lands, his riches, and his plentiful lack of wit. we should not expect the daughter of carmen to be like the daughter of jeannie deans, nor the son of rawdon crawley to be like the son of parson adams. we should, indeed, no more think of praising a man for inheriting the genius or the virtues of his ancestors, than we should think of praising a man for inheriting his parents' wealth. we have laughed over the gilbertian satire on our patriotic boastfulness: for he himself has said it, and it's greatly to his credit, that he is an englishman. he might have been a rooshian, a frenchman, turk, or prooshian, or even italian; but in spite of all temptations to belong to other nations, he remains an englishman. all of us can feel the point of those satirical lines; but some of us have yet to learn that a man can no more help being born "good" or "bad," "smart" or "dull," than he can help being born english, french, or prooshian, or "even italian." some of our ancestors conquered at hastings, and some of them did not some of our ancestors held the pass at thermopylae, and others ran away at bunker's hill. some were saints, and some were petty larcenists; some were philosophers, and some were pirates; some were knights and some were savages; some were gentle ladies, some were apes, and some were hogs. and we inherit from them all. we are all of us great-great-grandchildren of the beasts. we carry the bestial attributes in our blood: some more, some less. who amongst us is so pure and exalted that he has never been conscious of the bestial taint? who amongst us has not fought with wild beasts--not at ephesus, but in his own heart? some of our ancestors wore tails! is it strange that some of our descendants should have what winwood reade called "tailed minds"? the ghosts of old tragedies haunt the gloomy vestibules of many human minds. the bottom dog may often be possessed of ancestral devils. he that is without inherited taint among us, let him cast the first stone. chapter four--the beginnings of morals what do we mean by the words "sin" and "vice," and "crime"? sin is disobedience of the laws of god. crime is disobedience of the laws of men. vice is disobedience of the laws of nature. i say that there is no such thing as a known law of god: that the so-called laws of god were made by men in god's name, and that therefore the word "sin" need trouble us no more. there is no such thing as sin. i say that since there are bad laws as well as good laws, a crime may be a good instead of a bad act. for though it is wrong to disobey a good law, it may be right to disobey a bad law. and now what do we mean by the words "good" and "bad," "moral" and "immoral"? we call an act good when it "makes good"; when its effects are beneficial. we call an act bad when it "makes bad"; when its effects are injurious. what are "morals"? my dictionary says, "the doctrine of man's moral duties _and social relations_"; and in crabbe's _synonyms_ i find: "by an observance of good morals we _become good members of society_." the italics are mine. morals are the standard of social conduct. all immoral conduct is anti-social, and all anti-social conduct is immoral. if there were only one man in the world he could not act immorally, for there would be no other person whom his acts could injure or offend. where two persons live together either may act immorally, for he may so act as to injure or offend his companion. any act is immoral and wrong which needlessly injures a fellow creature. but no act is immoral or wrong which does not directly or indirectly inflict needless injury upon any fellow creature. i say, "needless injury"; for it may sometimes be right and necessary to injure a fellow creature. if it is wrong to inflict needless injury upon our fellows, it is right to defend our fellows and ourselves from the attacks of those who would needlessly injure us. any act which inflicts "needless" injury upon a fellow creature is immoral; but no act which does not inflict needless injury upon a fellow creature is immoral. that is the root of my moral code. it may at first seem insufficient, but i think it will be found to reach high enough, wide enough, and deep enough to cover all true morality. for there is hardly any act a man can perform which does not affect a fellow creature. for instance, if a man takes to drink, or neglects his health, he injures others as well as himself. for he becomes a less agreeable and a less useful member of society. he takes more from the common stock, and gives back less. he may even become an eyesore, or a danger, or a burden to his fellows. a cricketer who drank, or neglected to practise, would be acting as immorally towards the rest of the team as he would if he fielded carelessly or batted selfishly. because, speaking morally, a man belongs not only to himself, but also to the whole human race. where did morals come from? morals do not come by revelation, but by evolution. morals are not based upon the commands of god, but upon the nature and the needs of man. our churches attribute the origin of morals to the bible. but the egyptians and babylons had moral codes before moses was born or the bible written. thousands of years, tens of thousands of years, perhaps millions of years before abraham, there were civilisations and moral codes. even before the coming of man there were the beginnings of morals in the animal world. when i was a boy, we were taught that acts were right or wrong as they were pleasing or displeasing to the god of the hebrew bible. there were two kinds of men--good men and bad men. the good men might expect to succeed in business here and go to heaven hereafter. the bad men were in peril of financial frosts in this world, and of penal fires in the world to come. as i grew older and began to think for myself, i broke from that teaching, and at last came to see that all acts were wrong which caused needless injury to others; that the best and happiest man was he who most earnestly devoted himself to making others happy; that all wrong-doing sprang from selfishness, and all welldoing from unselfishness; that all moral acts were social acts, and all immoral acts unsocial acts; and that therefore socialism was good, and individualism was evil. but as to the beginning of the social virtues i was puzzled. in most religions morality is supposed to have been established by divine revelation. men did not know right from wrong until god gave them codes of laws ready-made; and even after men had the divine laws given to them they were by nature so depraved that they could only obey those laws by the special grace of god. the idea that morality was slowly built up by evolution was first given to the world by spencer and darwin. it has since been elaborated by other writers, notably by winwood reade and prince kropotkin. the notions of "the struggle for existence" and "the survival of the fittest" have been too commonly taken to mean that life in the animal world is one tragic series of ruthless single combats; that every man's hand always was and ever must be against the hand of every man, and every beast's tooth and claw against the tooth and claw of every beast. but if we read darwin's _descent of man_ and prince kropotkin's _mutual aid among animals_ and winwood reade's _martyrdom of man_, we shall find that the law of natural selection does not favour any such horrible conclusions. self-preservation may be the first law of nature; but it is not the last law of nature. in union is strength. the gregarious animals--those which live in communities of flocks and herds--as the apes, the deer, the rooks, the bees, the bison, the swallows, and the wolves, gain by mutual aid in the struggle for existence, for, by reason of their numbers and their union, they are better able to watch for the approach and to defeat the attacks of their enemies. from this union and mutual aid of the gregarious animals arose the social instincts. the sociable animals would doubtless be first drawn together partly for safety and partly for company. sheep, deer, buffalo, wild dogs, ants, rooks, and other social animals enjoy the companionship of their own kind. they play together, feed together, sleep together, hunt together, and help each other to evade or resist their common foes. they share in social pleasures, and practise some of the social virtues. and as the more sociable animals would be safest, and the less sociable animals most exposed to danger, natural selection would tend to raise the level of sociability, because the stock would be bred more from sociable than from unsociable animals. the apes are social animals, and also imitative animals. the ape-like forbears of man would unite for safety and for society, and, being imitative, would observe and copy any invention or discovery due to lucky accident or to the sharper wits amongst their number. like the lower animals, they would play together, feed together, fight in companies, defend or rescue their young, and post sentinels to watch for the approach of danger. long before man had thought of any ghost or god, some rude form of order and morality would exist in the families and tribes of men, as some rude form of order and morality exists to-day amongst the wild elephants, the bees, the deer, and other creatures. i once saw two horses fighting in a field. a third and older horse came up and parted them, and then drove them away in opposite directions. so in the earliest human tribes would the leaders prevent brawling and exact obedience. partly from such action, and partly from the training of the young, would be formed the habit of resenting and of punishing certain unsocial acts which the herd or tribe felt to be opposed to the general welfare. one of the first faults man would brand as immoral would be cowardice. one of the earliest moral laws would, perhaps, resemble the viking law that men who proved cowards in battle should be buried in the swamp under a hurdle. imitation, habit, natural selection, and the love of approbation, would all tend to fix and improve these crude customs, and from these simple beginnings would grow up laws and morals and conscience. very likely the earliest human groups were family groups, or clans. these clans would fight against other clans. the next step may have been the union of clans into tribes, and the next the banding of tribes into nations. at present men are mostly united as nations. each nation has its own laws, its own morality, and its own patriotism, and the different nations are more or less hostile to each other; as formerly were the tribes or clans. the final triumph will be the union of the nations in one brotherhood, and the abolition of war. the red indian does not think it immoral to murder an indian of another tribe. the european does not think it immoral to kill thousands of men in battle. the evolution of morality has not yet carried us as far as universal peace. nor has any revelation of god forbidden war. we do not need to think long, nor to look far to see that different conditions have evolved different moral codes. but all morals may be divided into two classes: true morals and artificial morals. true morals are all founded on the rule that it is wrong to cause needless injury to any fellow-creature. artificial morals are those morals invented by priests, kings, lawyers, poets, soldiers, and philosophers. moral codes made by rulers, or by ruling classes, are generally founded on expediency; and expediency, as understood by the rulers or the ruling classes, usually means those things that are expedient for themselves. now that which is expedient for a king, a tyrant, or an aristocracy may be far from expedient for the people over whom they rule. so we need not be surprised to find that many of the laws of barbarous and civilised nations are immoral laws. our british game laws, land laws, poor laws, and very many of the criminal laws, and the laws relating to property, are immoral laws. but there is no revelation of god condemning those laws. nor does any european church oppose those laws, nor denounce them as immoral. then as to public opinion--our unwritten moral code--there is no clear and logical system of moral principles. for instance, the public think it a pity that men should be out of work, that women should starve, that little children should be sent to school unwashed and unfed. but the public do not think these things immoral. the fact is, the british people, after more than a thousand years of christian teaching, do not know what true morality is. and how should they know, when their teachers in the church do not know? the churches have always drawn their morality from the bible, and have always tried to fit it in with the immoral codes made by kings, soldiers, landlords, money-lenders, and other immoral persons. the church has often pleaded for "charity" to the poor, but has never come to the rescue of the "bottom dog"; because the churches have never understood morality nor human nature. it is science, and not the revelation of god, nor the teaching of priests, that has enabled us to begin to understand human nature, and has made it possible to build up a systematic code of true morality. as to what morality is, i claim it is the rule of social conduct: the measure of right conduct between man and man; and i shall build up my whole case upon the simple moral rule that "every act is immoral which needlessly injures any fellow-creature." this rule is only an old truth in a new form. it is, indeed, just a modern reading of the "golden rule." it is not the rule itself, but the use i shall put it to, that is likely to flutter certain moral dovecotes. as to the rule, the teachings of most great moralists, of all times and nations, go to prove it. as, for instance: lao tze, a chinese moralist, before confucius, said: "the good i would meet with goodness, the not-good i would also meet with goodness." confucius, chinese moralist, said: "what you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others." he also said: "benevolence is to be in one's most inward heart in sympathy with all things; to love all men; and to allow no selfish thoughts." the same kind of teaching is found in the buddhist books, and in the rock edicts of king asoka. here is a buddhist precept, which has a special interest as touching the _origin_ of morals. "since even animals can live together in mutual reverence, confidence, and courtesy, much more should you, o brethren, so let your light shine forth that you may be seen to dwell in like manner together." the hebrew moralists often sounded the same note. in leviticus we find: "thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." in proverbs: "if thine enemy be hungry give him bread to eat, and if he be thirsty give him water to drink." in the talmud it is written: "do not unto others that which it would be disagreeable to you to suffer yourself; that is the main part of the law." we have the same idea expressed by christ: "all things therefore whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do ye also unto them, for this is the law and the prophets." sextus, a teacher of epictetus, said: "what you wish your neighbours to be to you, such be also to them." isocrates said: "act towards others as you desire others to act towards you." king asoka said: "i consider the welfare of all people as something for which i must work." the beginnings of morals in the buddhist "kathâ sarit sâgara" it is written: "why should we cling to this perishable body? in the eye of the wise the only thing it is good for is to benefit one's fellow creatures." and another buddhist author expresses the same idea with still more force and beauty: "full of love for all things in the world, practising virtue in order to benefit others--this man alone is happy." but even when the moralists did not lay down the "golden rule," they taught that the cause of sin and of suffering was selfishness; and they spoke strongly against self-pity, and self-love, and self-aggrandisement. what is the lesson of buddha, and of the indian, persian, and greek moralists? buddha went out into the world to search for the cause of human sin and sorrow. he found the cause to be self-indulgence and the cure to be self-conquest. "the cause of pain," he said, "is desire." and this lesson was repeated over and over again by socrates, plato, epictetus, marcus aurelius, and plutarch, and seneca.. the moral is that selfishness is bad, and unselfishness is good. and this moral is backed by the almost universal practice of all men in all ages and of all races in testing or weighing the virtue or the value of any person's conduct. what is the common assay for moral gold? the test of the _motive_. sir gorgio midas has given £ , to found a midas hospital. what says the man in the street? "ah! fine advertisement for the midas pills!" mr. queech, the grocer and churchwarden, has given £ to the new methodist sunday school. "h'm!" says the cynical average man, "a sprat to catch a mackerel." sir norman conquest, bart, m.p., has made an eloquent speech in favour of old-age pensions. chigwin, the incorruptible, remarks with a sniff that "it looks as if there would soon be a general election." what do these gibes mean? they mean that the benevolence of messrs. midas, queech, and conquest is inspired by selfishness, and therefore is not worthy, but base. now, when a gang of colliers go down a burning pit to save life, or when a sailor jumps overboard in a storm to save a drowning fireman, or when a russian countess goes to siberia for trying to free the russian serfs, there is no sneer heard. chigwin's fierce eye lights up, the man in the street nods approvingly, and the average man in the railway compartment observes sententiously: "that's pluck." well. is it not clear that these acts are approved and held good? and is it not clear that they are held to be good because they are felt to be unselfish? now, i make bold to say that in no case shall we find a man or woman honoured or praised by men when his conduct is believed to be selfish. it is always selfishness that men scorn. it is always self-sacrifice or unselfish service they admire. this shows us that deep in the universal heart the root idea of morality is social service. this is not a divine truth: it is a human truth. selfishness has come to be called "bad" because it injures the many without benefiting the one. unselfishness has come to be called "good" because it brings benefit and pleasure to one and all. "it is twice bless'd: it blesseth him that gives and him that takes." as marcus aurelius expresses it: "that which is not for the interest of the whole swarm is not for the interest of a single bee." and again he puts it: "mankind are under one common law; and if so they must be fellow-citizens, and belong to the same body politic. from whence it will follow that the whole world is but one commonwealth." and epictetus, the greek slave, said that as "god is the father of all men, then all men are brothers." for countless ages this notion of human brotherhood, and of the evil of self-love, has been to morality what the sap is to the tree. and now let us think once more how the notion first came into being. i said that morality--which is the knowledge of good and evil--did not come by revelation from god, but by means of evolution. and i said that this idea was first put forth by spencer and darwin, and afterwards dealt with by other writers. darwin's idea was two-fold. he held that man inherited his social instincts (on which morality is built) from the lower animals; and he thought that very likely the origin of the social instinct in animals was the relation of the parents to their young. let us first see what darwin said. in chapter four of _the descent of man_ darwin deals with "moral sense." after remarking that, so far as he knows, no one has approached the question exclusively from the side of natural history, darwin goes on: the following proposition seems to me in a high degree probable--namely, that any animal whatever, endowed with well-marked social instincts, the parental and filial affections being here included, would inevitably acquire a moral sense, or conscience, as soon as its intellectual powers had become as well, or nearly as well, developed as in man. for, firstly, the social instincts lead an animal to take pleasure in the society of its fellows, and feel a certain amount of sympathy with them, and to perform various services for them.... every one must have noticed how miserable dogs, horses, sheep, etc., are when separated from their companions, and what strong mutual affection the two former kinds, at least, shown on their reunion.... all animals living in a body, which defend themselves or attack their enemies in concert, must indeed be in some degree faithful to one another; and those that follow a leader must be in some degree obedient. when the baboons in abyssinia plunder a garden, they silently follow a leader, and if an imprudent young animal makes a noise, he receives a slap from the others to teach him silence and obedience.... with respect to the impulse which leads certain animals to associate together, and to aid one another in many ways, we may infer that in most cases they are impelled by the same sense of satisfaction or pleasure which they experience in performing other instinctive actions.... in however complex a manner this feeling (sympathy) may have originated, as it is one of high importance to all those animals which aid and defend one another, it will have been increased through natural selection for those communities which included the greatest number of sympathetic members would flourish best and rear the greatest number of offspring.... thus the social instincts, which must have been acquired by man in a very rude state, and probably even by his early apelike progenitors, still give the impulse to some of his best actions; but his actions are in a higher degree determined by the expressed wishes and judgment of his fellow-men, and unfortunately very often by his own strong selfish desires. those quotations should be enough to show darwin's idea of the origin of the social, or moral, feelings. but i shall quote besides haeckel's comment on darwin's theory. speaking of the "golden rule" in his _confessions of faith of a man of science_, haeckel says: in the human family this maxim has always been accepted as self-evident; as ethical instinct it was an inheritance derived from our animal ancestors. it had already found a place among the herds of apes and other social mammals; in a similar manner, but with wider scope, it was already present in the most primitive communities and among the hordes of the least advanced savages. brotherly love--mutual support, succour, protection, and the like--had already made its appearance among gregarious animals as a social duty; for without it, the continued existence of such societies is impossible. although at a later period, in the case of man, these moral foundations of society came to be much more highly developed, their oldest prehistoric source, as darwin has shown, is to be sought in the social instincts of animals. among the higher vertebrates (dogs, horses, elephants, etc.), the development of social relations and duties is the indispensable condition of their living together in orderly societies. such societies have for man also been the most important instrument of intellectual and moral progress. there is a very able article in the march, , issue of the _nineteenth century_, by prince kropotkin, the author of _mutual aid_, on darwin's theory of the origin of the moral sense, in which the striking suggestion is made that primitive man, besides inheriting from animals the social instinct, also copied from them the first rudiments of tribal union and mutual aid. this notion may be gathered from the following picturesque passages: primitive man lived in close intimacy with animals. with some of them he probably shared the shelters under the rocks, occasionally the caverns, and very often food.... our primitive ancestors lived _with_ the animals, in the midst of them. and as soon as they began to bring some order into their observations of nature, and to transmit them to posterity, the animals and their life supplied them with the chief materials for their unwritten encyclopaedia of knowledge, as well as for their wisdom, which they expressed in proverbs and sayings. animal psychology was the first psychology man was aware of--it is still a favourite subject of talk at the camp fires; animal life, closely interwoven with that of man, was the subject of the very first rudiments of art, inspiring the first engravers and sculptors, and entering into the composition of the most ancient epical traditions and cosmogonic myths.... the first thing which our children learn in natural history is something about the beasts of prey--the lions and the tigers; but the first thing that primitive savages must have learned about nature was that it represents a vast agglomeration of animal clans and tribes; the ape tribe, so nearly related to man, the ever-prowling wolf tribe, the knowing, chattering bird tribe, the ever-busy insect tribe, and on. for them the animals were an extension of their own kin--only so much wiser than themselves. and the first vague generalisation which men must have made about nature--so vague as to hardly differ from a mere impression--was that the living being and his clan or tribe are inseparable. _we_ can separate them--_they_ could not; and it seems even doubtful whether they could _think_ of life otherwise than within a clan or a tribe.... and that man who had witnessed once an attack of wild dogs, or dholes, upon the biggest beasts of prey, certainly realised, once and for ever, the irresistible force of the tribal unions, and the confidence and courage with which they inspire every individual. man made divinities of these dogs, and worshipped them, trying by all sorts of magic to acquire their courage. in the prairies and the woods our earliest ancestors saw myriads of animals, all living in clans and tribes. countless herds of red deer, fallow deer, reindeer, gazelles, and antelopes, thousands of droves of buffaloes and legions of wild horses, wild donkeys, quaggas, zebras, and so on, were moving over the boundless plains, peacefully grazing side by side. even the dreary plateaus had their herds of llamas and wild camels. and when man approached these animals, he soon realised how closely connected all these beings were in their respective droves or herds. even when they seemed fully absorbed in grazing, and apparently took no notice of the others, they closely watched each other's movements, always ready to join in some common action. man saw that all the deer tribe, whether they graze or merely gambol, always kept sentries, which never release their watchfulness and never are late to signal the approach of a beast of prey; he knew how, in case of a sudden attack, the males and the females would encircle their young ones and face the enemy, exposing their lives for the safety of the feeble ones; and how, even with such timid creatures as the antelopes, or the fallow deer, the old males would often sacrifice themselves in order to cover the retreat of the herd. man knew all that, which we ignore or easily forget, and he repeated it in his tales, embellishing the acts of courage and self-sacrifice with his primitive poetry, or mimicking them in his religious tribal dances.... social life--that is, _we_, not _i_--is, in the eyes of primitive man, the normal form of life. _it is life itself_. therefore "we" must have been the normal form of thinking for primitive man: a "category" of his understanding, as kant might have said. and not even "we," which is still too personal, because it represents a multiplication of the "_i's_," but rather such expression as "the men of the beaver tribe," "the kangaroo men," or "the turtles." this was the primitive form of thinking, which nature impressed upon the mind of man. here, in that identification, or, we might even say, in this absorption of the "i" by the tribe, lies the root of all ethical thought. the self-asserting "individual" came much later on. even now, with the lower savages, the "individual" hardly exists at all. it is the tribe, with its hard-and-fast rules, superstitions, taboos, habits, and interests, which is always present in the mind of the child of nature. and in that constant, ever-present identification of the unit with the whole lies the substratum of all ethics, the germ out of which all the subsequent conceptions of justice, and the still higher conceptions of morality, grew up in the course of evolution. besides these excellent contributions to the subject, prince kropotkin gives us other new and striking thoughts, bearing upon the parental source of the social feelings indicated by darwin. but first let us go back to darwin. in chapter four of _the de-scent of man_ darwin says: the feeling of pleasure from society is probably an extension of the parental or filial affections, since the social instinct seems to be developed by the young remaining for a long time with their parents, and this extension may be attributed in part to habit, but chiefly to natural selection. with those animals which were benefited by living in close association, the individuals which took the greatest pleasure in society would best escape various dangers, whilst those that cared least for their comrades, and lived solitary, would perish in greater numbers. dr. saleeby, in the _academy_ in the spring of , had some interesting remarks upon the origin of altruism. he "finds in the breast of the mammalian mother the fount whence love has flowed," and points out that the higher we go in the mammalian scale the more dependent are the young upon their mothers. after describing the helplessness of the human baby, he continues thus: yet, this is the creature which has spread over the earth so that he numbers some fifteen hundred millions to-day. he is the "lord of creation," master of creatures bigger, stronger, fleeter, longer-lived than himself. the earth is his and the fulness thereof. yet without love not one single specimen of him has a chance of reaching maturity, or even surviving for a week. verily love is the greatest thing in the world. well, upon this subject of the parental origin of altruism, prince kropotkin throws another light. first, alluding to darwin's cautious handling of the subject of the maternal origin of social feelings, prince kropotkin, quotes darwin's own remarkable comment, thus: this caution was fully justified, because in other places he pointed out that the social instinct must be a _separate instinct in itself_, different from the others--an instinct which has been developed by natural selection _for its own sake_, as it was useful for the well-being and preservation of the species. it is so fundamental, that when it runs against another instinct, even one so strong as the attachment of the parents to their offspring, it often takes the upper hand. birds, when the time has come for their autumn migration, will leave behind their tender young, not yet old enough for a prolonged flight, and follow their comrades. he then offers the following suggestion: to this striking illustration i may also add that the social instinct is strongly developed with many lower animals, such as the land-crabs, or the molucca crab; as also with certain fishes, with whom it hardly could be considered as an extension of the filial or parental feelings. in these cases it appears rather an extension of the _brotherly_ or _sisterly_ relations or feelings of _comradeship_, which probably develop each time that a considerable number of young animals, having been hatched at a given place and at a given moment, continue to live together--whether they are with their parents or not. it would seem, therefore, more correct to consider the social and the parental instincts as _two_ closely connected instincts, of which the former is perhaps the earlier, and therefore the stronger, and which both go hand in hand in the evolution of the animal world. both are favoured by natural selection, which as soon as they come into conflict keeps the balance between the two, for the ultimate good of the species. to sum up all these ideas. we find it suggested that the social feelings from which morality sprang, were partly inherited by man from his animal ancestors, partly imitated from observation of the animals he knew so well in his wild life. and we find it suggested that these social feelings probably began in the love of animals for their young, and in the brotherhood and comradeship of the young for each other. it was the social feelings of men that made their bibles: the bibles did not make the social feelings. morality is the result of evolution, not of revelation. chapter five--the ancestral struggle within us i have spoken of the "nature" handed down to us by our fore-parents. i might have said "natures," for our inheritance, being not from one, but from many, is not simple, but compound. we too commonly think of a man as an englishman or a frenchman; as a londoner or a yorkshireman; as good or bad. we too commonly think of a man as one person, instead of as a mixture of many persons. as though john smith were _all_ john smith, and _always_ john smith. there is no such thing as an unmixed englishman, irishman, or yorkshireman. there is no such thing as an unmixed john smith. englishmen are bred from the ancient briton, from the roman, from the piets and scots, from the saxons, the danes, the norwegians, the normans, the french. all these varied and antagonistic bloods were mixed in centuries ago. since then the mixing has gone on, plentifully varied by intermarriage with irish, scots, dutch, germans, belgians, french, italians, poles, and spaniards. we have had refugees and immigrants from all parts of europe. we have given homes to the huguenots, and the emigrés from france, to the lollards and lutherans from the netherlands, to crowding fugitives from russia, holland, hungary, italy, and greece. we have absorbed these foreigners and taken them into our blood. and the descendants of all these mixed races are called englishmen. the londoner is a mixture of all those races, and more. from every part of england, ireland, scotland, wales; from most parts of europe, from many parts of america and asia, and even africa, streams of foreign blood have flowed in to make the londoner. in yorkshire there are several distinct races, though none of them are pure. there is one yorkshire type bearing marks of descent from the norsemen, another bearing marks of descent from the flemish and french immigrants, and another from the normandy invaders. i have seen vikings, belgians, and normans all playing cricket in the yorkshire county team. in ireland there are irishmen from denmark and norway, irishmen from ancient mongolia, and, especially in kerry, irishmen who seem to be of almost pure iberian type. the iberian irishman is short, dark, aquiline, and sardonic, with black hair and eyes, and a moustache more like a tartar's than a european's. the viking irishman is big and burly, with blue or grey eyes, and reddish hair and beard; the difference between these two types is as great as that between a saxon and a spaniard. one of these irish iberians marries a yorkshire dane. their son marries the daughter of a lancashire belgian and an ancient briton from flint; and their children are english. as i said just now, we think of john smith as _all_ john smith and _always_ john smith. but john is a mixture of millions of men and women, many of them as different from each other as john ridd is different from dick swiveller, or as diana of the crossways is different from betsy trotwood. and these uncountable and conflicting natures are not extinct: they are alive and busy in the motley jumble we call john smith. john is not all john. he is, a great deal of him, roman soldier, ancient briton, viking pirate, flemish weaver, cornish fisherman, lowland scholar, irish grazier, london chorus girl, yorkshire spinner, welsh dairymaid, and a host of other gentle and simple, wild and tame, gay and grave, sweet and sour, fickle and constant, lovable and repellent ancestors; from his great-great-grandparent, the hairy treeman, with flat feet and club like a young larch, to his respectable father, the white-fronted, silk-hatted clerk in the pudsey penny savings bank. and, being as he is, not all john smith, but rather the knotted, crossed, and tangled mixture of johns and marys, and smiths and browns and robinsons, that has been growing more dense and intricate for tens of thousands of years, how can we expect our good john to be always the same john? we know john is many johns in the course of a summer's day. we have seen him, possibly, skip back to the cave-man in a spasm of rage, glow with the tenderness of the french lady who died of the plague in the fourteenth century, and then smile the smile of the merry young soldier who was shot at dettingen--all in the time it takes him to clench and unclench his hand, or to feel in his pocket for a penny, or to flash a glance at a pretty face in the crowd. john smith is not english, nor yorkshire; but human. he is not one man; but many men, and, which counts for more, many women. and how can we say of john smith that he is "good" or "bad"? it is like saying of a bottle of beads, mixed of fifty colours, that it is red, or blue. as john's ancestors were made up of good and bad, and as he is made up of them, so john is good and bad in stripes or patches: is good and bad by turns. we speak of these mixed natures which a man inherits from his fore-parents as his "disposition": we call them "the qualities of his mind," and we wonder when we find him inconsistent, changeable, undecided. ought we to be surprised that the continual struggle for the mastery amongst so many alien natures leads to unlooked-for and unwished-for results? take the case of a council, a cabinet, a regiment, composed of antagonistic natures; what happens? there are disputes, confusion, contradictions, cross-purposes. well: a man is like a crowd, a parliament, a camp of ill-matched foreign allies. indeed, he _is_ a crowd--a crowd of alien and ill-sorted ancestors. the great arteries of human nature but, differ from each other as we may, there are some general qualities--some _human_ qualities--common to most of us. these common qualities may be split into two kinds, selfish and unselfish. the selfish instincts come down to us from our earlier brute ancestors. the unselfish instincts come down to us from our later brute ancestors, and from our human ancestors. amongst the strongest and the deepest of man's instincts are love of woman, love of children, love of pleasure, love of art, love of humanity, love of adventure, and love of praise. i should say that the commonest and most lasting of all human passions is the love of praise: called by some "love of approbation." from this great trunk impulse there spring many branches. nearly all our vanities, ambitions, affectations, covetings, are born of our thirst for praise. it is largely in the hope of exciting the wonder or the admiration of our fellows that we toil and scramble and snatch and fight, for wealth, for power, for place; for masterly or daring achievement. none but misers love money for its own sake. it is for what money will buy that men covet it; and the most desired of the things money will buy are power and display: the value of which lies in the astonishment they will create, and the flattery they will win. how much meaning would remain to such proud and potent words as glory, riches, conquest, fame, hero, triumph, splendour, if they were bereft of the glamour of human wonder and applause? what man will bear and do and suffer for love of woman, and woman for love of man; what both will sacrifice for the sake of their children; how the devotee of art and science, literature, or war, will cleave to the work of his choice; with what eagerness the adventurer will follow his darling bent, seeking in the ends of the earth for excitement, happy to gaze once more into the "bright eyes of danger"; with what cheerful steadfastness and unwearied self-denial benevolence will labour for the good of the race; is known to us all. what we should remember is that these and other powers of our nature act and react upon each other: that one impulse checks, or goads, or diverts another. thus the love of our fellows will often check or turn aside our love of ourselves. often when the desire for praise beckons us the dread of blame calls us back again. the love of praise may even lure us towards an act, and baulk us of its performance: as when a cricketer sacrifices the applause of the crowd in order to win the praise of captain or critics. so will the lust of pleasure struggle against the lust of fame; the love of woman against the love of art; the passion for adventure against the desire for wealth; and the victory will be to the stronger. let us look into the human heart (the best way is to look into our own) and see how these inherited qualities work for and against each other. one of the strongest checks is fear; another is what we call conscience. fear springs sometimes from "love of approbation"; we shrink from an act from fear of being found out, which would mean the loss of that esteem we so prize. or we shrink from fear of bodily pain: as those knew well who invented the terrors of hell-fire. there is a great deal of most respectable virtue that ought to be called cowardice. deprive virtue of its "dare nots," and how many "would nots" and "should nots" might survive? good conduct may not mean the presence of virtue, but the lack of courage, or desire. but, happily, men do right, also, for right's sake; and because it is right; or they refrain from doing wrong because it is wrong. the bent towards right conduct arises from one of two sources: . education: we have been _taught_ that certain acts are wrong. . natural benevolence: a dislike to injure others. the first of these--education--has to do with "environment"; the second is part of heredity. one we get from our fellow-men, the other from our ancestors. here let us pause to look into that much-preached-of "mystery" of the "dual consciousness," or "double-self." we all know that men often do things which they know to be wrong. when we halt between the desire to do a thing, and the feeling that we ought not to do it, we seem to have two minds within us, and these two minds dispute about the decision. what is this "mysterious" double-self? it is nothing but the contest between heredity and environment; and is not mysterious at all. heredity is very old. it reaches back, to the beasts. it passes on to us, generation after generation, for millions of years, certain instincts, impulses, or desires of the beast. environment is new. it begins at the cradle. it prints upon us certain lessons of right and wrong. it tells us that we ought not to do certain things. but the desire to do those things is part of our heredity. it is in our blood. it is persistent, turbulent, powerful. it rises up suddenly, with a glare and a snarl, like a wild beast in its lair. and at the sound of its roar, and the flame of its lambent eyes, and the feel of its fiery breath, memory lifts its voice and hand, and repeats the well-learned lesson with its "shall-nots." we are told that the animal impulses dwell in the "hind brain," and that morals and thought dwell in the "fore brain." the "dual personality," then, the "double-self," consists of the two halves of the brain; and the dispute between passion and reason, or between desire and morality, is a conflict between the lower man and the higher; between the old adam and the new. but it is also, to a great extent, a conflict between the average man and the hero, or leader. we inherit the roots of morality, that is ta say, the "social instincts," or impulses of unselfish thoughts for others, from the sociable animals. but what we call "ethics," the rules or laws of moral conduct, have been slowly built up by human teachers. these teachers have been men with a special genius for morals. they have made codes of morals higher than the nature of the average man can reach. but the average man has been taught these codes of morals in his childhood, and has grown up in unquestioning respect for them. so when his baser nature prompts him to an act, and his memory repeats the moral lesson it has learnt, we have the nature of the average man confronted by the teaching of the superior or more highly moral man. and there is naturally a conflict between the desire to do evil, and the knowledge of what things are good. it is not easy for wat tyler, corporal trim, or sir john falstaff to follow the moral lines laid down by such men as buddha, seneca, or socrates. sir john knows the value of temperance; but he has a potent love of sack. wat knows that it is good for a man to govern his temper; but he is a choleric subject, and "hefty" with a hammer. there was a lot of human nature in the shipwright, who being reminded that st. paul said a man was better single, retorted that "st. paul wasn't a north shields man." our possibilities we know very well that some qualities may make either for good or bad. strength, ability, courage, emulation, may go to the making of a great hero, or a great criminal.. if a man's bent, or teaching, be good, he will do better, if it be evil he will do worse by reason of his talents, his daring, or his resolution. dirt has been defined as "matter in the wrong place": badness might be often defined as goodness misapplied. courage ill-directed is foolhardiness; caution in excess is cowardice; firmness overstrained is obstinacy. many of our inherited qualities are what we call "potentialities": they are "possibilities," capabilities, strong, or potential for good or evil. love of praise may drive a man to seek fame as a philanthropist, a tyrant, a discoverer, or a train-robber. love of adventure and love of fame had as much to do with the exploits of gaude duval and morgan, the buccaneer, as with those of drake or clive. nelson was as keen for fame as buonaparte: but the englishman loved his country; the corsican himself. doubtless torquemada had as much religious zeal as st. francis; but the one breathed curses, the other blessings. pugnacity is good when used against tyranny or wrong; it is bad when used against liberty or right. men of brilliant parts have failed for lack of industry or judgment. men of noble qualities have gone to ruin because of some inborn weakness, or bias towards vice. our minds "are of a mingled yarn, good and ill together." many of life's most tragic human failures have been "sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh." ophelia was not the first woman, nor the last by many millions, to perish through reaching for flowers that grow aslant the brook. if virtue is often cowardice, frailty is often love; and the words of laertes to the "churlish priest" might frequently be spoken for some poor "bottom dog" in reproach of the unjust censure of a pharisee: "a ministering angel shall my sister be, when thou liest howling." we must remember, then, that the happiness or unhappiness of our nature depends not so much upon any special quality as upon the general balance of the whole. poor oscar wilde had many fine qualities, but his egotism, his vicious taint, and, perhaps, his unfortunate surroundings, drove him to shipwreck, with all his golden talents aboard. every day noble ships run upon the rocks; every day brave pennons go down in the press of the battle, and are trampled in the blood and dust; every day lackeys ride in triumph, and princes slave on the galleys; every day the sweet buds go to the swine-trough, and the gay and fair young children to shame or the jail. some fall through loving too much, others through loving not at all. some are shattered by a single fault, like a ruby cup with one flaw in its radiant heart. some are twisted out of all hope from birth, like one of omar's pots, which the potter moulded awry. some seeds of innocent lilies, or roses of loveliness, or passion flowers divine, are scattered upon the rocks, or blown by harsh winds out to sea. do you know thomas carlyle's burning words concerning these tragic fates? cholera doctors, hired to dive into black dens of infection and despair, they, rushing about all day, from lane to lane, with their life in their hand, are found to do their function; which is a much more rugged one than howard's. o, what say we, cholera doctors? ragged losels, gathered by beat of drum from the over-crowded streets of cities, and drilled a little, and dressed in red, do not they stand fire in an uncensurable manner; and handsomely give their life, if needful, at the rate of a shilling per day? human virtue, if we went down to the roots of it, is not so rare. the materials of human virtue are everywhere abundant as the light of the sun: raw materials--o woe, and loss, and scandal thrice and three-fold, that they so seldom are elaborated, and built into a result. that they lie yet unelaborated and stagnant in the souls of widespread dreary millions, fermenting, festering; and issue at last as energetic vice instead of strong practical virtue! a mrs. manning "dying game"--alas, is not that the foiled potentiality of a kind of heroine too? not a heroic judith, not a mother of gracchi now, but a hideous murderess, fit to be mother of hyenas! to such extent can potentialities be foiled. let us bear in mind, then, that a man's powers, like the powers of a state, will work for good or for evil, as they are ill or well governed. and the government of human powers and desires depends partly upon heredity, and largely upon environment, of which in its due place. how does heredity make genius? i shall not weary the reader with proofs of heredity. it would be a waste of words to quote pages of darwin, spencer, weissmann, and galton for the sake of proving the obvious. our own observation and common sense will convince us that our traits and qualities of body and mind are inherited. we know that rabbits do not breed kittens, nor eagles geese, nor apples oranges, nor negroes whites. we know that in all cases where the breed is pure the descent is pure; and we understand that where a black sheep is born into a white flock, or a fair child is born of dark fore-parents, the "sport," as it is called, is due to atavism, or breeding back. somewhere, near or far, the breed has been "crossed." but there is one question that has caused a good deal of doubt and perplexity, and, as the answer to that question is not obvious, we will consider it here. a "sport" is "an individual departure from a type." a sport is a "freak of nature." a genius is a "sport"; and the question we are to answer here is: how does heredity account for genius? to make the matter quite clear, and to meet all doubts, we will split our question into two: . how is it that genius does not always beget genius? . how is it mediocrity does sometimes beget genius? take the first question. how is it that genius does not always beget genius? mr. galton has disposed of the objection that clever men do not have clever sons by showing that clever men often do have clever sons. but the fact remains that such men as shakespeare, plato, cæsar, and socrates never have children as great as themselves. and it has been claimed that this fact belies heredity. but to those who know even a very little about heredity it is quite obvious that we ought not to expect the son of a very great genius to be equal to his father. such a recurrence is rendered almost impossible by the law of variation. a great man is a lucky product of heredity and environment. he is a fortunate, and accidental, blending of several qualities which make greatness possible. but the great man's son is not born of the same parents as his father. his blood is only half of it drawn from the families which produced his father's greatness; the other half is from another family, which may contain no elements of greatness. thus so far from its being strange that genius does not beget genius, we see that it would be strange if genius did beget genius. the children of shakespeare would not be shakespeareans: they would be half shakespeare and half hathaway; and it is quite possible that their intellectual qualities might come chiefly from the mother's side. now, if ann hathaway's family were not intellectually equal to shakespeare's family, how could we expect the children of those two to be equal to the child of the superior breed? we should not expect a mixture of wine and water to be all wine; nor the foal of a blood horse and a half-bred mare to be a thoroughbred horse. so much for the first question. those who ask such a question have lost sight of the law of variation. now for the second question. how is it that mediocrity breeds genius? the answer to that is that mediocrity does _not_ breed genius. let us take a case that is often cited: the case of the great musician, handel. george frederick handel was a musical genius; and we are told that heredity does not account for his genius, as no other member of his family had ever displayed any special musical talent. whence, then, did handel get his musical genius? what are the qualities that go to the making of a great composer? first, an exquisite ear; that implies great gifts of time and tune. second, a great imagination. third, an "infinite capacity for taking pains." fourth, a quick and sensitive nervous system. now, a man might possess great industry, or ambition, and sensitive nerves, and not be an artist of any kind. he might have a great imagination, and lack the industry or the ambition to use it effectively. he might have industry, ambition, sensitive nerves, and great imagination, and yet without the musical ear he would never be a musician. and the same may be said of any one or more of his ancestors. therefore, there may have been amongst handel's foreparents all the qualities needed for the making of a great musician without those qualities ever happening to be united in one person. let us suppose a case. a man of energy and ambition, but with average imagination, and an average ear, marries a woman of ordinary mind. their son marries a woman of strong imagination. the child of this second, union marries a woman of refined nature and considerable imagination. the son of this union may be ambitious, imaginative, and energetic, for he may inherit all those qualities from his foreparents. then the only trait left to be accounted for is the fine musical ear. now that gift for music may have come down to him from some distant foreparent, living in an age when such a quality had no outlet. or it may have come down to him from some foreparent who lacked ambition or energy to use it in a striking way. it happens very often that a son inherits his finest intellectual and emotional qualities from his mother. and we know that a talent of any kind is more likely to lie dormant in a woman than in a man. for the woman may spend all her time and attention upon her home, her husband, her children. i knew a case in which two sisters possessed considerable artistic talent yet, so far as anyone knew, none of their foreparents had shown artistic ability. but one of the sisters told me that her mother had a remarkable gift for drawing, which she had never used, "except to amuse her children." now, when we come to look into the case of handel, we find that his father's family never gave any sign of musical talent but of his mother's family, and of the families of his grandmother and great-grandmother we know little. but handel's father was ambitious and energetic, and his mother is described as follows: the mother was thirty-three years old, and, we are told, was "clear-minded, of strong piety, with a great knowledge of the bible... a capable manager, earnest, and of pleasant manners." is there any proof that handel's mother had not a good musical ear? none. is there any proof that she had not, lying dormant, some special gift for music, inherited from some ancestor? none. in that day, and in that part of germany, music was set little store by, and musicians were regarded much as actors were in england. therefore any great musical gift which happened to be inherited by a woman would have small chance of being developed or used. and it is quite possible that handel may have inherited his ear from his mother's family. again, the musical talent may have been a quality that had been improving by marriage for several generations. or it may have been an accident, due to some physical process about which we cannot possibly have any direct knowledge. for instance, just as some special excellence of some special organ may be handed down, so may some special defect a child may inherit the defect, or the excellence. or he may inherit a talent from both parents, and so may excel them both. a man may inherit his genius piecemeal from a hundred ancestors, some of them dead for centuries, or he may owe his special brilliance to some excitement, or even to some derangement of the nervous system. in fact, to what lombroso calls "degeneracy." he may be like a river, fed by several ancestral streams. he may be the descendant of some "mute inglorious milton." but one thing he is not--he is not a "mystery." there is nothing in his greatness more mysterious than the accumulation of money in a bank, or the agrandisement of a river by its tributary streams, or the sudden appearance of a pattern of unusual beauty in a kaleidoscope. there is nothing in genius to belie heredity. there is nothing in genius that cannot be accounted for by heredity--if we remember the laws of variation, and of atavism, or breeding back. "the born criminal" speaking strictly, there are no "born criminals"; but there are some unfortunate creatures born with a nature prone to crime, just as there are others born with a nature prone to disease. these "born criminals," regarded by their better-endowed or luckier brothers and sisters as "wicked," are the victims of "atavism" or of "degeneracy." they are as much to be pitied, and as little to be blamed, as those born with a liability to insanity or consumption. atavism, as we have seen, is a reversion to an older and a lower type, a "breeding back," in some points, to the savage or the brute. "degeneracy" is the inherited result of vice, insanity, or disease in the parent lombroso describes degeneracy as "the action of heredity in the children of the inebriate, the syphilitic, the insane, the consumptive, etc.; or of accidental causes, such as lesions of the head, or the action of mercury, which profoundly change the tissues, perpetuates neuroses or other diseases in the patient, and, which is worse, aggravates them in his descendants." the atavist is a man born with the nature, or some of the traits of bestial or savage ancestors. he is bred back to the type that was before morals. he is born with strong animal traits, with few social qualities; with little or no moral brain. he is a modern child, born with the passions, or the appetites, or the intelligence, of an ape, or a cave-man. to expect him to rise to the moral standard of to-day, and to blame him if he fail, is as unreasonable as it would be to expect the same conduct from a gorilla, or a panther. if the atavist is "wicked," the shark, and the wolf, and the adder are "wicked." to say that the atavistic man has "reason" is no answer; he has _not_ the kind of reason that makes for peace and order. his misfortune just lies in the fact that he is "bred back" to the kind of reason which, amongst the cave-men, perhaps, made a man a leader, or a hero, but amongst civilised western people makes him a "born criminal." i said before, that to blame a spaniard for being proud is to blame him for being born of spanish parents. it is just as true to say that to blame a man for being a "born criminal" is to blame him because some of his baser ancestors have accidentally passed on to him the traits of their lower natures. indeed, it is plainly absurd to blame a man for being "born" anything, since he had no hand nor part in his birth. all we can do with regard to the "born criminal" is to pity him for his unhappy inheritance, and try to make the best of him. so far we have never tried to make the best of him; but have usually made almost the worst of him, by meeting his hate with our hate, his ignorance with our ignorance, his ferocity with our ferocity. nature, or god, having cursed the poor wretch with a heritage of shame, we have come forward, in the name of humanity and justice, to punish and execrate him for his fatal mischoice of ancestors. it is as though we should flog a gorilla or a hyæna for having wickedly refused to be born a canon of st. paul's, or a primitive methodist sunday school teacher. but some will suppose that the "born criminal" might be a sober, law-abiding, and god-fearing man, "if he would try"; and they do not understand that the man with the atavistic brain _cannot_ try. he has not got the kind of brain that can try to be what we think he ought to be. we do not expect the bear to "try" to be polite, nor the hog to "try" to be cleanly. we know they cannot try to be either of those things. neither can the atavistic man _try_ to be something for which his nature was not made. what is sauce for the atavist is sauce for the degenerate. he also is the victim of cruel fate. he also inherits misfortune, or shame, or disaster from his fathers. his nature is not a casting back to an ancient type: it is a nature poisoned, maimed, perverted, or spoiled through the vices or the diseases of those who brought him into the world. the degenerate may inherit from a diseased or drunken parent an imperfect mind or an imperfect body. he may be born with a weak moral sense, or with weak lungs, or with an ill-balanced brain. proneness to crime or proneness to disease may be born in him through no fault of his own. the cause is the same in both cases: the vice or disease of a parent. now it is certain that we do not blame, but pity, and that we do not punish but help the victim whose degeneracy takes the form of disease. but we do blame and we do punish the victim whose degeneracy takes the form of immorality or crime. in neither case is the degeneracy the fault of the degenerate: in both cases it is handed down to him by his parent or parents. yet in the one case he gets our sympathy, and in the other case our censure. there is neither justice nor reason in such treatment of those who have the misfortune to be born--in the true sense of the words--of "unsound mind." those who have made a scientific study of crime tell us that "psychic atavism is the dominant characteristic of the born criminal." what is "psychic atavism"? it is a breeding back, or "casting back" to a lower type of mind. this atavistic mind is inherited by the "born criminal" just as certain "muscles common to apes" are inherited by some other men. and we are told that this inherited atavistic mind is "the dominant characteristic of the criminal born." in other words, those men whom we have always blamed and punished as exceptionally "wicked," have inherited an atavistic, or criminal, mind from ancestors who died millions of years ago. the most noticeable and striking fact about the born criminal is his unfortunate inheritance of that atavistic mind. and in the plenitude of our wisdom and the glow of our righteous wrath, we hang a man, or flog him, or brand him, or loathe him, because a cruel fate has visited upon him an affliction more pitiable than blindness, or lameness, or paralysis, or consumption. in cases of psychic atavism the actual form of the brain, or the skull, is more or less like that of the older and lower type to which the luckless atavist has been cast back. the skull of the "born criminal" is the skull of the ape-man, or the cave-man. it has a low and retreating forehead, a heavy and square jaw, and is large behind, where the baser animal parts of the brain are placed. now, to expect the same morals and the same intelligence from a man cursed with the skull of a gorilla, or the brain of a wild hog, as from the man blest with the skull and brain of a socrates or a shakespeare, is like expecting figs to grow upon thistles, or fish to breathe without gills. and to blame a man for the shape of his skull, or the balance of his brain, is as foolish as to blame him because he has no eye for colour or no ear for music, or because his "having in beard is as a younger brother's revenue." speaking on this subject in his excellent book, "the diseases of society," dr. lydston, professor of criminal anthropology, who is a well-known authority in america, says: atavism, or reversion of type, is a most important phase of the relation of evolutionary law to criminal and vice tendencies.... reversion of type may be psychic (mental) or physical or both. whether associated with obvious physical reversions or not, psychic atavism is the dominant characteristic of the criminal. it is certainly the principal phenomenon involved in the study of the crime question, because it constitutes the dynamics of crime. the outcropping of ancestral types of mentality is observed to underlie many of the manifestations of vice and crime. these ancestral types or traits may revert farther back even than the savage progenitors of civilised man, and approximate those of the lower animals who, in turn, stand behind the savage in the line of descent.... lombroso assigns to atavism a position of pre-eminence in the etiology of crime. in effect he thinks that crime is a return to primitive and barbarous ancestral conditions, the criminal being practically a savage, born later than his day. obviously this view fits very accurately the so-called born criminal, comprising about one-tenth of the entire criminal population. but what of the other victims of heredity: the criminal, or immoral "degenerate"? let us take a few facts, and see what they will teach us. dr. lydston testifies as follows: rev. o. mcculloch has traced the life histories of seventeen hundred and fifty degenerate criminal and pauper descendants of one "ben ishmael," who lived in kentucky in . the rev. dr. stocker, of berlin, traced eight hundred and thirty-four descendants of two sisters, who lived in . among them were seventy-six who had served one hundred and sixteen years in prison, one hundred and sixty-four prostitutes, one hundred and six illegitimate children, seventeen pimps, one hundred and forty-two beggars, and sixty-four paupers. it has been estimated by sichart, director of prisons in wurtemburg, that over twenty-five per cent, of the german prison population comes from a degenerate ancestry. vergilis claims thirty-two per cent, for italian criminals. now, bearing in mind that the unfortunate children of drunken, diseased, criminal, vicious, and insane parents may, and in very many cases will, either become criminal or immoral, or, becoming imbecile or diseased, will breed other degenerate children who will become criminal or immoral, let us consider the following plain facts taken from a london daily paper of the present year ( ). it is estimated that there are , epileptic children in the united kingdom, and that one child in every of the population is feeble-minded. in the last few years special schools have been opened for these children, and they are trained until they are sixteen years of age. at that age they are turned out into the world. a few are able to look after themselves. the majority drift into imbecility and vice, and flood the workhouses and prisons. at a meeting in the guildhall, london, called to discuss the means of dealing with imbeciles and epileptics, a speech was made by dr. potts, of birmingham, of which the following is a condensed report, cut by me from the _daily express_: terrible facts with regard to feeble-minded and defective women were given by dr. potts. he paid a visit to a girls' night shelter, and investigated the first twelve cases he found there. here is their record: . consumptive, both parents died of the disease. . neurotic drunkard, with a family who had suffered from st. vitus' dance. . normal. . deaf and mentally defective. . neurotic and mentally defective. . no congenital defect, but health ruined by drink. and . feeble character. . suffering from persistent bad memory. . twice imprisoned for theft; daughter of drunken loafer. . normal. . mentally defective and suffering from heart disease. thus, out of twelve only two were normal individuals. yet the ten were free to go as they liked, and to bring up defective children. "it is well known," said dr. potts, "that a large number of the inmates of penitentiaries are feeble-minded women." we see, then, that a great many poor imbeciles are regularly sent to prison as criminals. on that point allow me to put in the evidence of sir robert anderson, late of scotland yard. speaking of the feeble-minded, sir robert said (i quote again from the london press): my deliberate, conviction is that our present prison methods and prison discipline are absolutely brutal to these poor persons. people say the law of moses is brutal, but it is not so brutal as the present criminal system of england. no one who has not been behind the scenes can understand in any measure the misery and cruelty of it. it is "seven days' hard labour," "a month's hard labour," time after time for these poor creatures, who ought to be dealt with like children. in prison they spend their miserable lives. out of gaol they add to the number of their own species, and commit offences which send them back once more. our magistrates simply send them for another month or six months. but it is not the magistrates' fault. it is the fault of the law. and this goes on in what promises to be the most intellectually conceited age since god made man upon earth. surely we might have some pity for these poor creatures! if we have no pity for them we should have regard for the public. that is the testimony of the late head of the criminal investigation department: an assistant commissioner of police, and barrister at law. let us now return to dr. potts, of birmingham, for a moment. in the speech above quoted dr. potts gave the causes of mental defects--which are the causes that lead these poor creatures to immorality and to crime, as follows: . defective nutrition in early years of life. . hereditary tendency to consumption. . descent from insane or criminal stock. . chronic alcoholism of one or both parents. we have here, added by dr. potts, another cause of degeneracy: that is, defective nutrition in early life. in plain words, improper feeding, or semi-starvation. later, when we come to deal with environment, i shall show that there are many other causes of degeneration and of crime. but here i only point out that atavism and degeneration account for from thirty to forty per cent, of the criminals of the present day. that atavism and degeneration are forced upon the unborn child by heredity; that therefore these forty per cent, of our criminals are unfortunate victims of fate, and are no more blameworthy nor wicked than the victims of a railway accident, or an earthquake, or an epidemic of cholera or smallpox. they should, as i claimed before, be pitied, and not blamed; they should be helped, not punished. unhappy, unblest atavistic man, that in lieu of love has only lust, in lieu of wisdom only cunning, in lieu of power violence; and with a whole world to walk in, as in a garden fair, lies wallowing hideously in the foul dungeon of his own unlightened soul. unhappy criminal born, most pitiful dreadful of developed creatures; lonelier and more accursed than banded wolf or solitary tiger: a waif, a spoil, a pariah "born out of his due time": a scribe's work writ awry and blurred, spoiled music, with no perfect word, a wretched, horrible ishmael with his hand against the hand of every man, and every man's hand implacably against his. on him, it would appear, has fallen the doom of the prophet, and instead of sweet spices there is rottenness, instead of a girdle a rope: branding instead of beauty. in the barren garden of his mind no flowers will blow, his trees will bear no fruit all human pleasure is to him a circe cup; he finds no pathos in the children's laughter, no beauty in the dawn-shine; no glory in the constellations. what are we to do for this wretched desperate brother who will not love us though we whip him with whips of wire, who will not make friends of us though we spurn and spit upon him; who, though we preach to him, cannot understand; who, though we teach him, cannot learn; who, though we hang him high as, haman, will "die game," cursing us with his strangled breath, mocking us with his blinded eyes; and in spite of all our intellect and righteousness going back from us unbettered and untamed into the abyss of eternity and the laboratory of evolution, whence he and we were drawn: going back from us a savage still, and in his angry heart and baffled mind holding our half-fledged knowledge and green morality in derision. well, he is dead; his stiff neck broken, and his body wrapped in a winding sheet of lime. and we? we remain the superior persons we are. we are civilised, and holy. we punish weakness with blows, and misfortune with chains. we teach sweet reasonableness with the cat-o'-nine-tails--steeped in brine. we exemplify gentleness and mercy with the gibbet and the axe. we brand the blind, and torture the imbecile, and execrate the miserable, and damn the diseased, and revile the fallen; we set our righteous heel upon the creeping thing, and thank our anomalous and hypothetical god of love and justice that we are not as those others--our atavistic brother and his degenerate children. and our atavistic brother, the criminal born! he does not understand us, he does not admire us, he cannot love us. we fail, in some inexplicable way, to charm the deaf adder, charm we never so wisely. but some day, perhaps, when the superior person has achieved humility, even the outlawed bottom dog may come by some crumbs of sympathy, some drops of the milk of human kindness, and--then? chapter six--environment what is environment? when we speak of a man's environment we mean his surroundings, his experiences; all that he sees, hears, feels, and learns from the instant that the lamp of life is kindled to the instant when the light goes out. by environment we mean everything that develops or modifies the child or the man for good or for ill. we mean his mother's milk; the home, and the state of life into which he was born. we mean the nurse who suckles him, the children he plays with, the school he learns in, the air he breathes, the water he drinks, the food he eats. we mean the games he plays, the work he does, the sights he sees, the sounds he hears. we mean the girls he loves, the woman he marries, the children he rears, the wages he earns. we mean the sickness that tries him, the griefs that sear him, the friends who aid and the enemies who wound him. we mean all his hopes and fears, his victories and defeats; his faiths and his disillusionments. we mean all the harm he does, and all the help he gives; all the ideals that beckon him, all the temptations that lure him; all his weepings and laughter, his kissings and cursings, his lucky hits and unlucky blunders: everything he does and suffers under the sun. i go into all this detail because we must remember that everything that happens to a man, everything that influences him, is a part of his environment. it is a common mistake to think of environment in a narrow sense, as though environment implied no more than poverty or riches. everything outside our skin belongs to our environment. let us think of it again. education is environment; religion is environment; business and politics are environment; all the ideals, conventions, and prejudices of race and class are environment; literature, science, and the press are environment; music, history, and sport are environment; beauty and ugliness are environment; example and precept are environment; war and travel and commerce are environment; sunshine and ozone, honour and dishonour, failure and success, are environment; love is environment. i stress and multiply examples because the power of environment is so tremendous that we can hardly over-rate its importance. a child is not born with a conscience; but with the rudiments of a conscience: the materials from which a conscience may or may not be developed--by environment. a child is not born with capacities, but only with potentialities, or possibilities, for good or evil, which may or may not be developed--by environment. a child is born absolutely without knowledge. every atom of knowledge he gets must be got from his environment. every faculty of body or of mind grows stronger with use and weaker with disuse. this is as true of the reason and the will as of the muscles. the sailor has better sight than the townsman, because his eyes get better exercise. the blind have sharper ears than ours, because they depend more on their hearing. exercise of the mind "alters the arrangement of the grey matter of the brain," and so alters the morals, the memory, and the reasoning powers. just as dumb-bells, rowing, or delving develop the muscles, thought, study, and conversation develop the brain. and everything that changes, or develops, muscle or brain is a part of our environment. there must be bounds to the powers of environment, but no man has yet discovered the limits, and few have dared to place them wide enough. but the scope of environment is undoubtedly so great, as i shall try to prove, that, be the heredity what it may, environment has power to save or damn. let us think what it means to be born quite without knowledge. let us think what it means to owe all that we learn to environment. so it is. were it not for the action of environment, for the help of other men and women, we should live and die as animals; without morality, without decency, without the use of tools, or arms, or arts, or letters. we should be savages, or superior kinds of apes. that we are civilised and cultured men and women we owe to the fellow-creatures who gave into our infant hands the key to the stored-up knowledge and experience of the race. the main difference between the europe of to-day and the europe of the old stone age is one of knowledge: that is, of environment suppose that a child of twentieth-century parents could be born into the environment of an earlier century. would he grow up with the ideas of to-day, or with the ideas of those who taught and trained him? most certainly he would fall into step with his environment: he would think with those with whom he lived, and from whom he learnt. born into ancient athens, he would look upon slavery as a quite natural and proper thing born into ancient scandinavia, he would grow up a viking, would worship thor and odin, and would adopt piracy as the only profession for a man of honour born into the environment of the spanish prime, he would think it a righteous act to roast heretics or to break lutherans on the wheel. born into the fanatical environment of sixteenth-century france, he would have no scruples against assisting in the holy massacre of st. bartholomew's. born a turk, he would believe the koran, and accept polygamy and slavery. born a red indian, he would scalp his slain or wounded enemies, and torture his prisoners. born amongst cannibals, he would devour his aged relatives, and his faded wives, and most of the foes made captive to his bow and spear. suppose a child of modern english family could be born into the environment of fourteenth-century england! he would surely believe in the roman catholic religion, in a personal devil, and in a hell of everlasting fire. he would believe that the sun goes round the world, and that any person who thought otherwise was a child of the devil, and ought to be broiled piously and slowly at a fire of green faggots. he would accept slave-dealing, witch-burning, the star chamber, the whipping-post, the pillory, and the forcing of evidence by torture, as comfortably as we now accept the cat-o'-nine-tails, the silent system, and the gallows. he would look upon education, sanitation, and science as black magic and defiance of god. he would never have learnt from copernicus, newton, harvey, bacon, spencer, darwin, edison, or pasteur. he would be ignorant of shakespeare, cromwell, the french revolution, the emancipation of slaves, the factory acts, and the household franchise. he would never have heard of electricity, steam, cheap books, the free press, the school board, the fabian society. he would never have heard of the australian colonies, of the indian empire, of the united states of america, nor of buonaparte, george washington, nelson, queen elizabeth, abraham lincoln, nor florence nightingale. not one of these great men, not one of these great things would form a part of his environment. nor may we lightly claim that he, himself, would be of a more highly developed type, that his propensities would be more humane, his nature more refined. for we must not overlook such examples as alfred the great, joan of arc, chaucer, mallory, and sir thomas more. we must not forget that the refined john wesley believed in witch-burning, that the refined jeremy taylor thought all the millions born in heathen darkness would be doomed to eternal torment. nor must we forget that many educated, cultured, and well-meaning europeans and americans to-day believe that unbaptised babies, and free-thinkers, and unrepentant christians will lie shrieking forever in a lake of fire and brimstone. we must not forget that it is now, in the twentieth century, that i, an englishman, am writing this book to plead that men and women, our brothers and sisters, should not be hated, degraded, whipped, imprisoned, hanged, and everlastingly damned for being more ignorant and less fortunate than others, their fellows. taken straight from the cradle and brought up by brutes, a child would be scarcely human. taken straight from the cradle and brought up amongst savages, the child must be a savage. taken straight from the cradle and brought up amongst thieves, the child must be a thief. every child is born destitute of knowledge, and every child is born with propensities that may make for evil or for good. and the men and women amongst whom the child is born and reared are the sole source from which he can get knowledge. and the men and women amongst whom the child is born and reared are the sole means by which his propensities may be restrained from evil and developed for good. the child's character, then, his development for good or evil, depends upon his treatment by his fellow-creatures. his propensities depend upon his ancestors. that is to say, a child must inevitably grow up and become that which his ancestors and his fellow-creatures make him. that is to say, that a man "is a creature of heredity and environment." he is what he is made by a certain kind of environment acting upon a certain kind of heredity. he does not choose his ancestors: he does not choose his environment. how, then, can he be blamed if his ancestors give to him a bad heredity, or if his fellow-creatures give to him a bad environment? should we blame a bramble for yielding no strawberries, or a privet bush for bearing no chrysanthemums? should we blame a rose tree for running wild in a jungle, or for languishing in the shadow of great elms? there are no figs on thistles, because the heredity of the thistle does not breed figs. and the lily pines, and bears leaves only, in darkness and a hostile soil, because the conditions are against it. the breed of the rose or the fig is its heredity: the soil and the sunshine, or the darkness and the cold, and the gardener's care or neglect, are its environment. let any one who under-rates the power of environment exercise his imagination for a minute. suppose he had never learnt to read! suppose he had never learnt to talk! suppose he had never learnt to speak the truth, to control his temper, to keep his word, to be courteous to women, to value life! now, he had nothing of this when he was born. he brought no knowledge of any kind into the world with him. he had to be _taught_ to read, to speak, to be honest, to be courteous; and the teaching was part of his environment. and suppose none had cared to teach him good. suppose, instead, he had been taught to lie and to steal, to hate and to fight, to gamble and to swear! what manner of man would he have been? he would have been that which his environment had made him. and would he have been to blame? would it have been his fault that he was born amongst thieves? would it have been his fault that he had never heard good counsel, but had been drilled and trained to evil? but the objector may say that as he got older and knew better he could mend his ways. and it is really necessary, strange as it may seem, to point out that he never _could_ "know better," unless some person _taught_ him better. and the teaching him to "know better" would be a change in his environment: it would be a part of his environment, for which he himself would deserve no credit. the point is that, since he is born destitute of knowledge, he never could know good unless _taught_ good by some other person. and that this other person would be outside himself, and part of his environment. now, how could the ignorant child be blamed if some power outside himself teaches him evil, or how can he be praised if some power outside himself teaches him good? but he would have a conscience? he would be born with the rudiments of a conscience. but what his conscience should become, what things it would hold as wrong, would depend wholly upon the teaching he got from those who formed part of his environment. in a cannibal environment he would have a cannibal conscience; in a catholic environment a catholic conscience; in a piratical environment a pirate's conscience. but of that more in its due place. let us now examine some of the effects of environment. morals and disease the brain is the mind. when the brain is diseased the mind is diseased. when the brain is sick the mind is sick. but the brain is part of the body. we see, hear, smell, feel, and taste with the brain. the nerves of the toes and fingers are connected with the brain; they are like twigs on a tree, of which the brain is the root. the same blood which circulates through the heart and limbs circulates through the brain. it is only a figure of speech to speak of the mind and the body as distinct from each other. the mind and the body are one. a wound in any part of the body--a burn, a stab, a lash--is felt in the brain. when the body suffers from illness or fatigue, the brain suffers also. when a limb is paralysed, the real paralysis is in a part of the brain. when the brain is paralysed the man can neither move nor speak, nor think nor feel. when the heart is weak the brain does not get enough blood, and the mind is languid, or syncope sets in ana the man dies. we do not need a prophet nor a doctor to tell us that sickness affects the mind. we know that dyspepsia, gout, or sluggish liver makes us peevish, stupid, jealous, suspicious, and despondent. we know that illness or weariness turns a sweet temper sour, makes a patient man impatient, a grateful man ungrateful. we know how trying are the caprices and whims of an invalid, and we commonly say of such, "he cannot help it: he is not himself to-day." but we do not know, as doctors know, how searching and how terrible are the effects of some diseases on the brain. dr. lydston, in _the diseases of society_, says: the old adage, _mens sana in corpore sano_, is too often forgotten. especially is it ignored by the legislator and penologist. a normal psychic balance and a brain fed with blood that is insufficient in quantity or vicious in quality are physiologic incompatibles. the nearer we get to the marrow of criminality, the more closely it approximates pathology. that is to say that the sound mind depends largely on the sound body; that a brain fed with diseased blood, or with too little blood, cannot work healthily and well; and that the more we know of crime the closer do we find its relation to disease. i quote again from dr. lydston: despite the scant and conflicting testimony of cerebrologists with reference to the brain defects of criminals, there is so much clinical evidence of the aberration of morals and conduct from brain disease or injury that we are justified in believing that brain defects of some kind affecting the mental and moral faculties is the _fons origo_ of criminality. this defect, as already seen, may be congenital or acquired, and may consist of a lack of development due to vicious environment and faulty education, mental and physical. the fountain from which crime arises, says this authority, is some form of disease, or defect of the brain. and such disease or defect may be inherited, or may be caused by bad environment: by improper teaching, food, and exercise. to feel the full force of this statement we must bear in mind that "children are not born with intellect and conscience, but only with capacities for their development." therefore, if the capacities for intellect and morals are _not_ developed, we cannot expect to find the intellect and morals. in other words, we have no right to hope nor to expect that the neglected child will grow up into the good and clever man. neither is it reasonable to hope for a cure by pumping moral lessons into a brain in which no moral sense has been developed. that epilepsy has a bad effect on morals, and that epileptics are often untruthful, treacherous, and dangerous is as well known as that epilepsy is a form of degeneracy, and is often caused by improper feeding and neglect in childhood. hysteria also affects the moral nerves of the brain. dr. lydston says: hysterical women often bring accusations of crime against others. the victim is generally a man, and the alleged crime, assault. physicians recognise this as one of the dangers to be guarded against in their work. hysterical women in the primary stage of anaesthesia, sometimes imagine themselves the victims of assault. in one well-known case the woman accused a dentist of assault while he was administering nitrous oxide to her. her husband was in the room during the imaginary assault. dr. lydston tells us that flesch examined the brains of fifty criminals, and found imperfections in all. in twenty-eight he found, in different cases, meningeal disease, such as adhesions, pachy-meningitis, interna hæmorrhagica, tubercular meningitis, leptomeningitis, edema of the pia mater, and hæmorrhagic spinal meningitis; also atheroma of the bisillary arteries, cortical atrophy, and cerebral haemorrhage. in most cases the pathologic conditions were not associated with the psychoses that are usually found under such circumstances. how many men have been hanged or sent to prison who ought to have been sent to lunatic asylums? according to dr. lydston, very many. as bearing upon that point i quote two passages from _the diseases of society_, which "give one furiously to think." the first is from page : cases of moral turpitude, _mania furiosa_, and other mental disturbances are met with in which the patient is harshly treated, because of supposed moral perverseness, and only the autopsy has shown how undeservedly the patient has been condemned. when a tumour or other disease of the brain is found in a punished criminal, the case is most pathetic. the other passage is from page , and is as follows: if the foregoing premises be correct, vice and crime will be one day shown more definitely than ever to be a matter to be dealt with by medical science rather than by law. the "foregoing premises" here alluded to concern the increase in vice and crime through autotoxemia, or unconscious self-poisoning, due to over-strain and other evil conditions of life. as to this self-poisoning, a few words may be said. it is known that birds who die of fright are poisonous. that is because the violence of the emotion, by some chemical action, evolves poison. it is also known that when the human system is out of order it secretes poison. this poison affects the brain, and excites the baser passions, or injures the moral sense. self-poisoning may be due to the presence of poisonous matter in the system, or to the over-strain, or over-excitement, of business, or trouble. we all know the effects of violent anger, of violent grief, or violent love, or violent emotion of any kind upon the health. we know also the effect of "worry," and the effects of fatigue and of improper food. one of these effects is self-poisoning, and one of the results of self-poisoning is brain sickness, resulting often in vice or in crime. we find, then, that disease may be caused by neglect in childhood, by starvation or improper food, by over-work, by terror, by excitement, and by worry, amongst a thousand other causes. and we find that disease affects the brain, and very often leads to vice, to crime, to dishonesty, falsehood, and impurity. and disease is one part of our environment. a wound or a shock may have a wonderful effect on the mind. a man may slip and strike his head on a stone, and may get up an idiot a gunshot wound in the neck, a sword-cut on the head, may cause madness, or may cause an injury of the brain which will quite change the injured man's moral nature. as to the effects of such accidents on the mind there are many interesting particulars in lombroso's book, _the man of genius_, from which i am tempted to quote some lines: it has frequently happened that injuries to the head, and acute diseases, those frequent causes of insanity, have changed a very ordinary individual into a man of genius.... gratry, a mediocre singer, became a great master after a beam had fractured his skull. mabillon, almost an idiot from childhood, fell down a stone staircase at the age of twenty-six, and so badly injured his skull that it had to be trepanned; from that time he displayed the characteristics of genius.... wallenstein was looked upon as a fool until one day he fell out of a window, and henceforward began to show remarkable ability. lombroso also gives many examples and proofs of the influence of weather and climate on the mind; but for these i have no room. now, disease, and weather, and climate, and injuries are all parts of environment. food we have seen that one cause of insanity and disease, and of immorality and crime, is degeneration. and we have seen that one cause of degeneration is "insufficient or improper food." children who are half starved suffer in body and in mind: therefore they suffer in intelligence and in morals. says dr. hall, of leeds: it matters but little whether a child be born and bred in a palace or a cottage--of pure pedigree or mongrel--if he does not receive a proper supply of bone-making food he will not make a good bony framework, which is the first essential of true physical well-being. amongst the poor it is a common thing for children to want food: not to have enough food. this is not the fault of the children, but is due to the poverty of their parents. but it is common also amongst the poor for children to be fed upon improper food. quite young infants, babies, indeed, are often fed upon salt fish, rancid bacon, impure milk. cases are too numerous in which babies are given beer, gin, coarse and badly cooked meat, inferior bread, and tea. this is not the fault of the children, but is due to the ignorance of their parents. the results of such feeding, and of such starvation, are weakness, poorness of blood, deafness, sore eyes, defective intelligence, rickets, epilepsy, convulsions, consumption; degeneration and death. professor cunningham says: one point which is established beyond all question is the remarkable influence which environment and nurture exercise upon the development and growth of the child, as well as upon the standard of physical excellence attained by the adult according to the statistics supplied to the british association committee, children vary to the extent of in. in stature, and adults to the extent of / in. in stature, according as the circumstances under which they are reared are favourable or otherwise. dr. r. j. collie, m.d., speaking of the mentally defective children in the london board schools, says: in a large number of instances, after the careful individual attention and mid-day dinner of the special schools, they are returned, after from six to eighteen months, to the elementary school with a new lease of mental vigour. these children are functionally mentally defective. their brains are starved, and naturally fail to react to the ordinary methods of elementary teaching. in a certain proportion of the cases it is the result of semi-starvation. the headmaster of a large school in london said to a press representative: not per cent, of my boys know the taste of porridge. new bread, and margarine at fourpence per pound, with a scrap of fried fish and potatoes at irregular intervals, is responsible for their pinched, unhealthy appearance and their stunted growth. dr. lydston, in _the diseases of society_, says: the quantity, quality, and assimilation of food pabulum is the keynote of stability of tissue-building. with the source of the architect's own energy sapped by innutrition, and the materials brought to his hand made pernicious or defective in quality or insufficient in quantity, structural degeneracy must needs result. the importance of this as regards the brain is obvious. it bears directly upon the question of the relation of malnutrition to social pathology. so much has been written and said of late about the evil effects of starvation and improper food upon the health and minds of children, and so much and such strong evidence has been put forward as to the seriousness and the prevalence of the evil, that i need not go more fully into the matter here. millions of children are ruined in body and mind, millions of degenerates are made by bad feeding or under-feeding. and the good and the bad feeding are both part of our environment. poverty, labor, and overcrowding as the health affects the brain, and the brain the morals, all healthy and unhealthy influences have a moral bearing. bad air, bad water, bad drainage, bad ventilation, damp and dark streets and houses, dirtiness and over-crowding, all tell against the health, against the health of children most seriously, and all help on the deadly progress of degeneration. greyness and monotony of life, unclean, unsightly, and sordid surroundings, tedious and soulless toil, all tend to blunt the senses, to cloud the mind, and to oppress the spirit. millions of the working poor, who live in great and noisy cities, whose neighbourhoods are vast, huddled masses of sunless streets and airless courts, whose lives are divided between joyless labour and joyless leisure; the conditions of whose comfortless and crowded homes are such as make cleanliness and decency and self-respect well nigh impossible: millions of men, women, and children are here starved in soul as well as in body. these people, throughout their anxious and laborious lives, sleep in the overcrowded cottages and tenements, ride in the overcrowded and inconvenient third-class carriages, sit in the crowded and stifling galleries at the theatre, are regaled with crudest melodrama, the coarsest humour, the most vapid music. when they read they have the yellow press and the literature of crime. when they get to the seaside they spend their brief and rare holiday in the rowdiest of watering-places. they have no taste for anything higher? true. they have never been taught to know the highest. and their ignorance, and their slums, and their clownish pleasures, are part of their environment we need not ask whether such environment makes for culture, for joy, for health. they have no refinement in their lives, these poor working millions. they have no flowers, no trees, no fields, no streams; no books, no art, no healthy games. worse than that, perhaps, they are paid neither honour nor respect: they are without pride and ambition; they have no ideals, no hope. the environment that denies to human beings all pride and honour and hope, all art and nature and beauty, does not make for health, nor for morality. the straitness of means, the uncertainty of employment, the looming shadow of hunger and the workhouse, send some to suicide and some to crime, but leave the impress of their dreaded and evil presence upon the hearts and minds of nearly all. we must remember that these poor creatures human. the difference between them and us is more a difference of environment than of heredity. the hunger for pleasure, for excitement and romance, is as strong in their soul as in ours. like ourselves, they cannot live by bread alone. excitement, pleasure of some kind, they must have, will have. the hog is contented to snore in his sty, the cat is happy with food and a place before the fire; but the human being needs food for the soul as well as for the body. and there is ample environment to feed the hunger of the ignorant and the poor for excitement: the environment of betting, and vice, and adulterated drink. in the poor districts the drinking dens are planted thickly. there is money to be made. and they are blatant and frowsy places, and the drink is rubbish--or poison. i have seen much of the poor. i could tell strange, pathetic histories of the slums, the mines, the factories: of the workhouses and the workhouse school, and the police-courts where the poor are unfairly tried and unjustly punished. let me dip back into some of my past work, and show a few pictures. here is a rough sketch of the women in the east end slums: women in the metropolis of the world "have you any reverence for womanhood? are you men? if you come here and look upon these women, you shall feel a burning scorn for the blazoned lies of english chivalry and english piety and english art. "drudging here in these vile stews day after day, night after night; always with the wolf on the poor doorstep gnashing his fangs for the clinging brood; always with the black future, like an ominous cloud casting its chill shadow on their anxious hearts; always with the mean walls hemming them in, and the mean tasks wearing them down, and the mean life paralysing their souls; often with brutal husbands to coax and wait upon and fear; often with loafing blackguards--our poor brothers--living on their earnings; with work scarce, with wages low, in vile surroundings, and with faint hopes ever narrowing, these london women face the unrelenting, never-ceasing tide of inglorious war. "if you go there and look upon these women, you will feel suddenly stricken old. look at their mean and meagre dress, look at their warped figures, their furrowed brows, their dim eyes. in how many cases are the poor features battered, and the poor skins bruised? what culture have these women ever known; what teaching have they had; what graces of life have come to them; what dowry of love, of joy, of fair imagination? as i went amongst them through the mud and rain, as i watched them plying their needles on slop-garments, slaving at the wash-tub, gossiping or bandying foul jests in their balcony cages, drinking at the bars with the men--the thought that rose up most distinctly in my mind was, 'what would these poor creatures do without the gin?' "the gin--that hellish liquor which blurs the hideous picture of life, which stills the gnawing pain, which stays the crushing hand of despair, and blunts the grinding teeth of anguish when the child lies dead of the rickets, or the 'sticks' are sold for the rent, or the sweater has no more work to give, or the husband has beaten and kicked the weary flesh black and blue! what would they do, these women, were it not for the devil's usury of peace--the gin? "my companion took me to a bridge across a kind of dock, and told me it was known thereabouts as 'the bridge of sighs.' there is a constable there on fixed-point duty. why? _to prevent the women from committing suicide_. the suicides were so numerous, he said, that special precautions had to be taken. and since the constable has been set there, so eager are the women to quit this best of all possible worlds that they have been known to come there at night with a couple of women friends, and to leap into the deep, still water while those friends engaged the constable in conversation. "do you understand it? the woman has been wronged until she can endure no more; she has sunk till she can struggle no longer; she has been beaten and degraded until she loathes her life--even gin has ceased to buy a respite; or she is too poor to pay for gin, and she drags her broken soul and worn-out body to the bridge of sighs, and her friends come down to help her to escape from the misery which is too great for flesh and blood to bear. it is a pretty picture, is it not? while our sweet ladies are sighing in the west end theatre over the imaginary sorrows of a manon lescaut or repeating at church, with genteel reserve, the prayer for 'all weak women and young children'--here to the bridge of sighs comes the battered drudge, to seek for death as for a hidden treasure, and rejoice exceedingly because she has found a grave." many of these poor women, perhaps most, are mothers. what kind of environment, what land of stamina can they give their children? "take care of the women, and the nation will take care of itself." here is another sketch from the _life_, taken in the chain and nail-making districts of staffordshire. britons never, never, shall "in the chain shops of the black country the white man's burden presses sore. it presses upon the women and the children with crushing weight. it racks and shatters and ruptures the strongest men; it bows and twists and disfigures the comeliest women, and it makes of the little children such premature ruins that one can hardly look upon them without tears or think of them without anger and indignation. "at cradley i saw a white-haired old woman carrying half a hundredweight of chain to the fogger's round her shoulders; at cradley i saw women making chain with babies sucking at their breasts; at cradley i spoke to a married couple who had worked hours in one week and had earned s. by their united labour; at cradley i saw heavy-chain strikers who were worn-out old men at thirty-five; at cradley i found women on strike for a price which would enable them to earn twopence an hour by dint of labour which is to work what the battle of inkerman was to a bank holiday review. at cradley the men and the women are literally being worked to death for a living that no gentleman would offer his dogs." thence to the domestic workshops. old women, young girls, wives and mothers working as if for dear life. little children, unkempt and woebegone, crouching amongst the cinders. no time for nursing or housewifery in the chain trade. these women earned from s. to s. a week. some of them are, i see, in an advanced state of pregnancy. and what pleasures have these people: what culture and beauty in their lives? this: "were they ever so anxious to 'improve their minds,' what leisure have they, what opportunity? their lives are all swelter and sleep. their town a squalid, hideous place, ill-lighted and unpaved--the paths and roads heel-deep in mire. their houses are not homes--they have neither comfort nor beauty, but are mere shelters and sleeping-pens. "in all the place there is no news-room nor free library, nor even a concert-hall or gymnasium. there is no cricket-ground, no assembly-room, no public bath, no public park, nor public garden. throughout all that sordid, dolorous region i saw not so much as one tree, or flower-bed, or fountain. nothing bright or fair on which to rest the eye. "but there are public-houses. and in several of them i tasted the liquor, and spilled it on the floor." of how many towns and villages in europe and america might the same be said? of how many women are these terrible descriptions true? in the evidence given before the royal commission on canal labour, it was stated in evidence that men and women often worked for seven days and nights on the canals, and in the winter. some of the witnesses declared that the work was unfit for women, that it was "degrading." the royal commissioners could not understand the word degrading, and asked how it could degrade a woman to steer a boat. here is one reply given by an angry witness: do you think it womanly work to push with a twenty-foot pole a boat laden with tons of coal? if you saw a mother of a family climbing a four-foot wall, you'd think it was no work for women. i have seen a woman knocked into the lock with a child at her breast by a sudden blow of the tiller. i have seen my own sister-in-law climb the lock-gates at one end to go and shut them at the other. many of the "cabins" on the narrow boats are about seven feet by five. in such cabins sleep the "captain" and his family; in one case a man and his wife, a girl of ten, a couple of younger children, and two boys of fourteen and sixteen years of age. those are a few glimpses of the environment of the women and the children of the poor. i cannot quit the subject without again telling an experience which hurt me like a wound. it was in a workhouse school: a school where master and matron did the best they could do for the children so unfortunately placed. love hunger "as we crossed a bridge from one building to another the master said something about a fish-pond, adding, 'we do not catch fish here, but we catch a good many mice.' "'have you many mice?' i asked. "'yes,' said he, with a peculiar smile; 'there is hardly one of our big boys but has a live mouse in his pocket.' "'a live mouse? what for?' "'well,' said the master, 'human nature is human nature, and the little fellows want something to love. some time ago the inspector cautioned a boy about putting his hand in his pocket, and ordered him to be still. the boy repeated the action, and as i guessed what was the cause, i called him out. he had a live mouse in his trousers pocket, and was afraid of its climbing out and showing itself in school. he took it out on his hand it was quite tame.' "but still more touching was a curious demonstration of the infants as we crossed their playground. released from the restraint of parade discipline, these little creatures, girls and boys between three and seven years of age, came crowding round us. they took hold of our hands, several of them taking each hand; they stroked our clothes, and embraced our legs. several of them seemed fascinated by my gold watch-guard (it is rather loud), and wanted to kiss it. i gave one the watch to play with--my own children have often used it roughly--and his little eyes dilated with admiration. they followed us right up to the barrier, and shook hands with us. "'that,' said the master, 'is a peculiarity of all workhouse children. they will touch you. they will handle and kiss any glittering thing you have about you. it is because you are from the outside world.'" what an environment. it set me thinking of the stories i had read about savages crowding round white men who have landed on their shores. "from the outside world." "something to love." in england--where some five millions a year are spent on hunting--such environment is forced upon an innocent and defenceless child. one wonders as to the "hooligan." and the tramp, and the harlot, and the sot; how were _they_ brought up, and had they anything to love? education there are many who under-rate the power of environment but there are few who deny the value of education. and education is environment. all education, good or bad, in the home or the school, is environment. and we all know, though some of us forget, that good education makes us better and that bad education makes us worse. and we all know, though some of us forget, that we have to be educated by others, and that those others are part of our environment. for even in the case of self-education we must learn from books, which were written by other men. and if we take the word education in its widest sense, as meaning all that we learn, the importance of this part of our environment stares us in the face. for as we are born not with morals, nor knowledge, nor capacities, but only with the rudiments of such, it is plain to every mind that our goodness or badness, our ignorance or knowledge, our helplessness or power, depends to a very great extent upon the kind of teaching we get. the difference between the lout and the man of refinement is generally a difference of education, of knowledge, and training. the root cause of most prejudice and malice, of much violence, folly, and crime, is ignorance. there would be no despised and under-paid poor, no slums, no landless peasants, no serfs, were it not for the ignorance of the masses, _and_ the classes. the rich impose upon the poor, and the poor submit, for the one reason: they do not understand. if they were taught better they would do better. and the better teaching would be--improved environment. it is not enough that people should be "educated," in the narrow sense of the word. teaching may do harm, as surely as it may do good. all depends upon the things that are taught. much of the teaching in our board schools, our public schools, and our universities is _bad_. if teaching is to be "good environment," the teaching must be good. national or local ideals are part of our environment. we are born into these ideals as we are born into our climate, and few escape their rule. the ideals of england are not good. to succeed, to make wealth, to win applause--these are not high ideals. to buy in the cheapest market and sell in the dearest; to make england the workshop of the world; to seize all rich and unprotected lands, and force their inhabitants into the british empire--these are not great ideals. but such national ideals are part of our environment, and tell against, or for, the development of our noblest human qualities. a gospel of greed, vanity, and empire does not tend to make a people modest, nor just, nor kindly. indeed, it is chiefly because of their greediness for commerce and wealth, and their ambition for empire, that the nations to-day are armed and jealous rivals. and it is chiefly because of their hunger for wealth, and their worship of vain display and empty honours, that the classes and the masses are hostile and divided. ignorance again: they do not understand. the force of environment, and especially the uses of education, are stamped upon our proverbs, are bedded deep in universal custom. "knowledge is power," "as the twig is bent----" "he who touches pitch shall be defiled," "evil communications corrupt good manners." and what educated parent would allow his children to grow up in ignorance, or would expose them to the evil influences of impure literature or bad companions. every church and chapel, every school and college, every book that teaches, every moral lesson, every chaperon and tutor, is an acknowledgment of the power of environment to wreck or save our young. in practice we all fear or prize the influences of environment--upon ourselves, and upon those we love. it is when we have to deal with the "bottom dog" that we ignore the facts which plead so strongly in his defence. personal influences of home influences it is hardly necessary to speak. the blessing of a wise and good mother; the disaster of an ignorant, vicious, or neglectful mother call for no reminder. the influence of husbands and wives upon each other; the transformation wrought by a fortunate or unfortunate love passion in the life of a woman or a man are equally obvious and well understood. so with friendship: most men have known at least one friend whose counsel, conversation, or example has affected the entire current of their thoughts--perhaps has changed the direction of their life. these instances being noted, it remains for us only to remember that the influence of a wife, a lover, a mother, or a friend may be as powerful for evil as for good. but there are other personal influences as potent, but not so generally nor so wisely recognised. such are the influences of good or bad books, and of great leaders and teachers--good and bad. what tremendous powers over the lives and thoughts of millions were wielded by such teachers as confucius, buddha, socrates, plato, aristotle, and jesus christ. how vast a difference was wrought amongst the masses of humanity by caesar, mahomet, alexander, oliver cromwell. who can estimate the importance to the world of copernicus, galileo; luther, calvin, bacon, darwin; of rousseau, wycliffe, tyndall, marx, homer, harvey, watt, caxton, and stephenson? which of us can assess his debt to such men as shakespeare, dante, shelley, dickens, and carlyle? then consider our account with the scientists, priests, and lawgivers of babylon and egypt. recall the benefits conferred upon us by the men who invented written language; the wheel, the file, the plough. think of all the laborious and gradual building up of the arts, the ethics, the sciences of the world. the making of architecture, mathematics, sculpture, painting, agriculture, working in wood or metals; the evolution of literature and music, the invention and improvement of the many decencies, courtesies, and utilities of life; from the first wearing of loin cloths, the fashioning of flint axes, to the steel pen, the use of chloroform, and the custom of raising one's hat to a lady. all the arts and crafts; the ethics, sciences, and laws; the tools, arms, grammars; the literatures, dramas, and newspapers; the conveniences and luxuries, the morals and the learning--all that goes to the making of modern civilization we owe to the genius, the industry, and the humanity of countless men and women whom we have never seen. into all the wealth of knowledge and freedom, of wisdom and virtue they created and bequeathed, we are born, as we are born to the light and the air. but for the labours and the sacrifices of the workers, fighters, and thinkers of the past we were shorn of all our pride and power, and reduced below the social, intellectual, and moral level of the australian bushmen. and yet, to see the airs and graces of many educated and superior persons, one might suppose that they invented and discovered and developed all the knowledge and wisdom, all the virtues and the graces by which they benefit, of their own act and thought. one would suppose, to behold the scorn of these superior persons for their more rude and ignorant and unfortunate brothers and sisters, that _they_ had designed and tailored all the moral and intellectual finery in which they are arrayed. whereas all their plumes are borrowed plumes; all they know they have been taught by other men; all they have has been made by other men; and they have become that which they are through the generosity and the tenderness of other men and women. the rich young scholar fresh from harvard or cambridge is blessedly endowed with health, and strength and grammar, and mathematics, a sprinkle of dead languages, and more or less graceful manners. he despises the lout at the plough or the coster at the barrow because of their lack of the benefits given to him as a dole. he forgets that the university was there centuries before he was born, that euclid, lindley murray, dr. johnson, cicero, plato, and a million other abler men than himself, forged every link of the chain of culture with which his proud young neck is adorned. he forgets that it is to others, and not to himself, that he owes all that makes him the man of whom he is so vain. he forgets that the coster at the barrow and the hind at the plough differ from him chiefly by the accident of birth, and that had they been nursed and taught and trained like himself they would have been as handsome, as active, as clever, as cultured, and very probably as conceited and unjust as he. for all the mighty dead, and the noble works they have bequeathed us, and all the faithful living, and all the tender services they render us and the shielding love they bear us, are parts of our environment. and for the blessings these good men and gentle women, with their golden heritage, have wrought in us, we are no more responsible and no more praiseworthy than we are for the flowers of the field, or the constellations in the sky, or the warmth of the beneficent sun that shines alike upon the sinner and the saint. and since we are but debtors to the dead, but starvelings decked out by charity in the braveries made by other hands, and since we are deserving of no praise for our grandeur and our virtues, how shall we lift up our vainglorious and foolish faces to despise and contemn our less fortunate brothers and sisters, who have been made evil, even as we have been made good, who have been left uncouth and ignorant, even as we have been polished and instructed? "but for the grace of god," said the tinker of elstow--but for the graces of environment, say we--there, in the hangman's cart, in the felon's jacket, in the dunce's cap, in the beggar's rags, in the degradation of the drunkard or the misery of the degenerate weed of the slums--go we. chapter seven--how heredity and environment work there are many who have some understanding of heredity and of environment when taken separately who fail to realise their effects upon each other. the common cause of the stumbling is easy to remove. it is often said that two men are differently affected by the same environment, or what seems to be the same environment, and that therefore there must be some power in men to "overcome" their environment. i have dealt with this argument already, showing that the contest between a man and his environment is really a contest between heredity and environment, and may be compared to the effort of a man to swim against a stream. a given environment will affect two different men differently because their heredity is different. but remembering that we are born without any knowledge, and that we are born not with intellect nor conscience, but only with the rudiments of such, it must be insisted that the hereditary power to resist environment is very limited. so much so that we may amend our figure of the swimmer and the stream, and say that no man, howsoever strong and brave, could swim against a stream unless he had learnt to swim. and the learning to swim is environment, and works against the contrary environment, typified by the stream. let us take the case of two children. one has bad and one good heredity. one is a healthy baby, born of moral stock. the other is a degenerate, born of immoral stock. we will call the healthy baby dick, and the degenerate baby harry. they are taken at birth into an environment of theft, drunkenness, and vice. they are taught to lie, to steal, and to drink. they never hear any good, never see a good example. harry, the degenerate, will take to evil as a duck to water. of that, i think, there is no question. but what of dick, the healthy baby? dick is born without knowledge. he is also born with undeveloped propensities. he will learn evil. his propensities will be trained to evil. how is he to "overcome his environment and become good"? he _cannot_. what will happen in dick's case is that he will become a different kind of criminal--a stronger and cleverer criminal than harry. but, i hear some one say, "we know that children, born of thieves and sots, and reared in bad surroundings, have turned out honest and sober men." and the inference is that they rose superior to their environment. but that inference is erroneous. the _fact_ is that these children were saved by some _good_ environment, acting against the bad. for there is hardly such a thing as an environment that is _all_ bad. in the case of dick and harry we supposed an environment containing no good. but that was for the sake of illustration. for the environment to be _all_ bad, the child must be prevented from ever seeing a good deed, or reading a good book, or meeting a good man, woman, or child. now, we can imagine no town, nor slum, in which a child should never hear nor see anything good. he is almost certain at some time or other to encounter good influences. and these good influences will affect a healthy child more strongly than they will affect a degenerate, just as the evil influences will affect him less fatally than they will affect a degenerate. because the poor degenerate is born with a bias towards disease or crime. two children may be born of the same parents, reared in the same hovel, in the same slum, taught the same evil lesson. but they will meet different companions, and will have different experiences. one may meet a good boy, or girl, or man, or woman, and may be influenced for good. the other may chance upon the very worst company. let us suppose that two children are born in a hoxton slum, and that one of them falls under the influence of a fagin, and the other has the good fortune to meet such a manly and sensible parson as our friend cartmel! would not the effects be very different? yet at first sight the environment of the two boys would seem to be precisely alike. and we shall always find that the man who rises above his environment has really been helped by good environment to overcome the bad environment he has learnt some good. and that learning is part of his environment he must have been _taught_ some good if he knows any, for he was born destitute of knowledge. a good mother, a wise friend, a pure girl, an honest teacher, a noble book, may save a child from the bad part of his environment. it would appear at first sight that two boys taught in the same school, by the same teacher, would have the same school environment. but at a second thought we find that need not be the case. we know what one bad boy can do in a class or in a room. we may know, then, that the boys who share a class or a room with a bad boy have a worse environment than the boys who escape his evil influences. it is a mistake to think of heredity as all good, or all bad. it is mixed. we inherit, _all_ of us, good and bad qualities. it is a mistake to think of environment as all good or all bad. it is mixed. there are always good and bad influences around every one of us. it is a mistake to think that any two men ever did or can have exactly the same environment. it is as impossible for the environment of any two men to be identical, as for their heredity to be identical. as there are no two men exactly alike, so there are no two men whose experiences are exactly alike. good and bad environment work against each other. all kinds of environment work with or against heredity. different heredities make different natures; different natures are differently affected by similar environments. but the child, being born without knowledge and with rudimentary faculties, is, whatever his heredity, almost wholly at the mercy of his environment. i hope i have made that clear. one man is afflicted with colour-blindness, another with kleptomania. the kleptomaniac may be the most troublesome to the community; but is he more wicked than the others? why does an apple tree never bear bananas? because it cannot why does a french peasant never speak english? because he has never been taught. why is an english labourer deficient in the manners of polite society? because he has never moved in polite society. why does not jones the engineer write poetry? why does not smith of the stock exchange paint pictures? why does not robinson the musical composer invent a flying machine? because they have not the gifts nor the skill. why does jarman play the violin so evilly? he has no ear, and has been badly taught. why does dulcett play the violin so well? he has a good ear, and has been taught properly. would proper teaching have made a jarman a proper player? it would have made him a less villainous player than he has become. but teach him never so wisely, jarman will not play as dulcett plays. he has not _the gift_. is it jarman's fault that he has no gift? it is not. he did not make his own ear. whence did he derive that defect of ear? from some ancestor, near or remote. is dulcett's fine musical ear due to any merit of dulcett's? no. he did not make his own ear; he derived it from some ancestor, near or remote. here are four brothers brown. john brown is a drunkard. thomas, william, and stephen brown do not drink. does john deserve censure, and do his brothers deserve praise? let us see. why is john a drunkard? his grandfather was a drunkard, and he was sent as a boy to work in a shop where the men drank. then how is it his brothers do not drink? thomas had the same hereditary inclination to drink, and he derived it from the same source. but he worked in an office where all the clerks were steady, and when on one or two occasions he indulged in liquor, a wise friend warned him, and with a hard struggle he escaped from the danger. william, although the same blood runs in his veins, has escaped the hereditary taint to use the colloquial parlance, "he does not take after his grandfather." he never felt inclined to take liquor, and although he worked with men who drank, he remained steady without an effort. stephen also was free from the hereditary taint. he mixed with men who drank, and he gradually formed the habit, which gradually formed the taste for drink. but he married a good woman just in time, and she saved him. thus: john is a drunkard from heredity and environment thomas was a drunkard from heredity, and was saved by environment. william was always steady from heredity and environment. stephen was steady from heredity, almost became a drunkard from environment, and was finally saved by new environment. john owed his ruin to his grandfather and his shopmates. thomas owed his safety to his shopmates, who rescued him from the taint of his grandfather's evil legacy. william owed his safety to his blood. stephen, after being endangered by his companions, was saved by his wife. assuming all other conditions to be equal, and all other traits of character similar, how are we to blame one or praise another of these four brothers? each is what descent and surroundings have made him. an apple tree cannot bear bananas. a rose tree cannot bear lilies. a rose tree in good soil bears well; a rose tree in bad soil bears poorly. in times of drought the crops perish for lack of water. in rainy weather the hay rots instead of drying. let us now consider some of the arguments actually used in denying the power of environment. some little time ago the rev. r. j. campbell, of the london city temple, preached a sermon on environment. from a report of that sermon i take the following passage: his argument was that it was all nonsense to say that environment made the man. the man who had any manhood in him could rise above and beyond his environment, just as bunyan soared above his tin kettles. this is an example of the confusion of mind into which educated men fall when they deal with this simple subject. mr. campbell's first mistake is the mistake of separating heredity from environment. of course, it is nonsense to say that environment makes the man. but who did say anything so silly? heredity "makes the man," and environment modifies him. having made that clear, let us consider mr. campbell's second sentence: the man who had any manhood in him could rise above and beyond his environment, just as bunyan soared above his tin kettles. mr. campbell says: "the man who has any manhood in him." but suppose he has not any manhood in him! suppose he is a poor human weed born of weeds. can he bear wheat or roses? and if he only bears prickles or poison, who is to blame? not the man, surely, for he did not choose his parents nor his nature. shall we blame a mongrel born of curs of low degree' because he is not a bulldog? a man can only realise the nature that he has, and can only realise that in accordance with environment. but this same sentence shows that mr. campbell does not understand what we mean when we use the word "environment". for he tells us that a man can rise above and beyond his environment. now, a man's environment is composed of every external influence which affects him in any way, from the moment of his birth to the moment of his death. therefore a man cannot rise above and beyond his environment until he ceases to exist. mr. campbell cites john bunyan as a man who "rose above his environment." the fact being that bunyan's good environment saved him from his bad environment. from the preface to my edition of _the pilgrim's progress_ i quote the following suggestive words: how was it, one naturally asks, that a man of little education could produce two centuries ago a masterpiece which is still read wherever the english language is spoken, and has been translated into every european tongue? it is not sufficient to answer that the author of the work was a genius: it is necessary to show _what the conditions were which enabled his genius to develop itself_, led him to find the form of expression which best suited its character, and secured for what if produced immediate popularity and lasting fame. bunyan was a poor boy of very little education. but he was born with a great imagination, a sensitive nature, and keen powers of assimilation. he was, in short, a born literary genius. in his youth he got amongst bad companions, and led a lewd and wicked sort of life. how, then, came he to reform his life, and to write his wonderful book? to listen to mr. campbell, one would suppose that the tinker's boy rose against his environment, and without any help for good from that environment. but did he? we find he served for some years in cromwell's army. would the fierce religious atmosphere of cromwellian camps have no effect upon his sensitive and imaginative nature? we find that he and his wife read together two religious books: _the plain man's pathway to heaven_ and bishop bayley's _practice of piety_. would such books, so read, make no impression upon his impressionable mind? we find that he was drawn to go to church. that he was "over-run with the spirit of superstition." would that affect him naught? we find that his neighbours at last took him "to a very godly man, a new and religious man, _and did much marvel_ to see such a great and famous alteration in my life and manners." beyond this we need not go. the religious soldiers of cromwell, the pious books and the pious wife, the spirit of superstition, and the godly man, were all parts of john bunyan's environment, and, acting upon the peculiar nature given to him by heredity, these and other facts of his environment lifted him up, made him what we know, and enabled him to write his glorious book. instead of a man who rose above his environment we have in bunyan a man who was led by one kind of environment to gamble and drink and blaspheme, and by another kind of environment was made into a fanatical religious enthusiast. john bunyan was john bunyan when he played tipcat, and used profane language on the sabbath. up to that time the "manhood that was in him" had not saved john bunyan. if, as mr. campbell suggests, it is the inherent manhood that saves a man, how was it that bunyan's manhood, up to a certain point in his life, failed to raise him above his environment. and, when the change came, what was it that brought that change about? bunyan had only the same manhood: the same manhood which had already been defeated by the environment. how was it that same manhood now served to raise him above the environment? john bunyan was the same john bunyan; it was the environment that changed. it was the pious ironsides, the pious wife, the godly man, the atmosphere of superstition, that made john bunyan the profane tinker into john bunyan the man of religion. bad environment got john bunyan down: there is no doubt of that. good environment lifted him up. the manhood was the same at both periods. it was the environment that changed. if ever there was an example of the power of environment to save or sink a man, that example is john bunyan, tinker and poet. another instance of misunderstanding is afforded by mr. g. k. chesterton, who, in an article in the _daily news_, argues against the power of heredity and environment, as follows: the well-bred man--literally speaking, that is the man with a heredity and environment much above the normal--can put forth all the cardinal sins like scarlet flowers in summer. he has lands that meet the horizon, but he steals like a starving man. he has had armies of comrades in great colleges, yet he snarls like a hunchback hissed in the street he has treasuries of gold that he cannot remember; yet he goads poor men for their rent like a threadbare landlady in the harrow road. he is only meant to be polite in public, and he cannot even be that. the whole system of his country and constitution only asks one thing of him, that he should not be an unpresentable beast--and he often is. that is a type of aristocrat that does from time to time recur to remind us of what is the real answer to the argument for aristocracy founded on heredity and environment. the real answer to it is in two words--original sin. had mr. chesterton understood the subject upon which he wrote the above picturesque but fallacious paragraph, he never would have sent it to the press. but he is always falling into blunders about heredity and environment because he has never learnt what heredity and environment are. he seems to think that the west end means good environment, and that the east end means bad environment. he seems to think that noble blood means good heredity, and that simple blood means bad heredity. and he calls atavism "original sin." let us now consider the rather melodramatic nobleman mr. chesterton has portrayed for us. he does not tell us much about the nobleman's environment. he has lands and wealth, and has been to college. does it tend to the moral elevation of a man to be like the "chough" in shakespeare, "spacious in the possession of dirt"? are the wise men of all ages agreed that the possession of great wealth is a good environment? or do they not rather teach that luxury and wealth are dangerous to their possessor? in so far as this noble was a very wealthy man, i should say that his environment was not good, but bad. there remains the college. now, men may learn good at colleges, and they may learn bad. is not that so? but let us give mr. chesterton the credit and score the college down as good environment. there remains unaccounted for--what? all the life and experiences of a rich young man. what were his parents like? did his mother nurse him, or neglect him? did his father watch over him, or let him run wild? were his companions all men and women of virtue and good sense? did he read no bad books? did he make no dangerous friendships? did he ever do any work? was he ever taught that there art nobler ways of life than shooting dumb animals, seducing vain or helpless girls, debauching at bachelors' parties, playing at bridge, reading french novels, and running loose in the gilded hells of europe and america? because, until we have these and a few thousand other questions answered, we cannot accept mr. chesterton's assurance that this wicked nobleman had a good environment. then, as to that question of "original sin." is mr. chesterton in a position to inform us that his bold bad peer is not a degenerate? is mr. chesterton sure that he has not inherited a degenerate nature from diseased or vicious ancestors? no insanity in the family? no gout? no consumption? no drunkenness? no diseases contracted through immorality or vice? all his family for a hundred generations back certified as having united "the manners of a marquis and the morals of a methodist"? _quite_ sure the noble was _not_ a degenerate? _quite_ sure that his failure was not due to bad environment instead of to bad heredity? then i should advise mr. chesterton to study darwin, galton, lombroso, weissmann, and dr. lydston, and he will find that a man of good descent may cast back, or "breed back," to the ape or hog, may be born an atavist; and may be incapable of being a gentleman for the simple reason that he is a wild beast. in which connection i may remark that in _the diseases of society_ dr. lydston mentions that benedikt's experiments upon criminal skulls showed that the skull of "the born criminal" (atavist) "approximates that of the carnivora." that is to say, a man may be cursed with a skull resembling that of a tiger. is it any wonder that such men, to repeat mr. chesterton's poetical simile, "put forth sins like scarlet flowers in summer"? i am grateful to mr. campbell and to mr. chesterton for their arguments: they serve the useful purpose of exemplifying the confusion of thought upon this subject which exists in quarters where we should least expect to find it. as it is of the utmost importance that we should thoroughly understand the relations to each other of heredity and environment, this being a subject upon which there is much stumbling, we shall do well to make quite sure of our ground before we go a step farther. it is erroneous to speak of "a struggle between a man and his environment," or of a man "rising above his environment". what we call "a man" is a product of heredity _and_ environment. the "man" is largely what environment has already made him. at the instant of birth a child may be regarded as wholly a product of heredity. but his first breath is environment. the first touch of the nurse's hands is environment. the first washing, the swaddling clothes, the "binder," and the first drop of mother's milk are parts of his environment. and from the first moment of his birth until the time of his manhood, he is being continually moulded and affected by environment. all his knowledge, all his beliefs, all his opinions are given to him by environment. and now, with this in our mind, we can see the absurdity of mr. campbell's talk about john bunyan. before his conversion bunyan was already "a creature of heredity _and_ environment." the very conscience of the man, which his wife, and the godly man, and cromwell's soldiers, and the preachings in the church he frequented, were to awaken, had been created _by_ environment. for a child is born without conscience: with only the rudiments of a conscience, to be developed or destroyed--by environment. now let us reconsider the example of our swimmer and the stream. the swimmer is something more than a mere "heredity." he is a man, and he has learnt to swim. therefore in his battle with the stream of environment he is using heredity _and_ environment for environment taught him to swim. let us take another simile. a man is rowing a boat across a bay. the tide, the currents, and the wind may be regarded as environments. all these environments may be with him, or against him. or the tide may be against him, and the wind in his favour, and the currents dangerous if not avoided. but "the man" is largely what environments have made him. his knowledge of rowing came from environment, his knowledge of the bay is environment, his knowledge of the run and position of the dangerous currents is environment, the boat and the oars belong to his environment. and with all the useful and favourable environments, _plus_ his hereditary qualities, he fights the adverse environments of the wind, and the tide, and the currents. now, let us suppose the sea to be rough, and the tide and wind strong, and against the oarsman. and then let us imagine the cases of two men, one of whom was an expert sailor, in a good boat, well found, and one a landsman, who could not row, who did not know the bay, who did not understand wind and tide, who was ignorant of the currents, who had bad oars and a leaky boat. it is evident that the sailor would have a chance of getting safely across the bay, and that the landsman would be in grave peril of being capsized, or carried out to sea. and the difference between the sailor and the landsman would be entirely a difference of environment. but suppose, farther, that the sailor was of healthy descent, that he was, by heredity, strong, and brave, and intelligent; and suppose that the landsman was a degenerate: weak, nervous, fainthearted, and stupid; then the difference would be one of heredity and environment. and if the landsman were drowned and the sailor came safely to shore, should we curse and revile the one, and applaud and reward the other. or should we take the sailor's success as a matter of course, and give our pity to the landsman? well: in such a crazy boat, with such useless oars, with such a faint heart, a lack of knowledge and skill, and such a feeble mind, does the "bottom dog" put out, to wrestle with the winds and storms, and escape the dangerous currents of life. and how can we expect the badly bred, badly trained, badly taught degenerate to succeed like the well-bred, well-trained, and well-taught hero? what mr. campbell calls john bunyan's "manhood"--the manhood that "raised him above his environment"--was largely composed of environment. there never yet has been a hero whose heroism was not in a great measure due to his environment. let any one who doubts this look back to our suggestions of the fate of a child born into evil environments. every man is largely what environment has made him. no man can be independent of environment: but for environment he could never live to be a man at all. and now let us consider some of the good and evil things environment may do. chapter eight--good and bad surroundings there are many who always think of environment as something bad. we hear a good deal about men who "rise above their environment"; but we seldom hear of men who are uplifted by their environment. yet, as i have shown, no man rises above bad environment unless he is helped by good environment. those who dread the power of environment cannot have given much thought to the subject. instead of being a menace to the human race, the power of environment is the source of our brightest hope. environment has shaped evolution, and has raised man above the beasts. environment has created morality and conscience. environment, feared as a power for evil, is also a power for good. if bad teaching, and evil surroundings make bad men; then good teaching, and good surroundings will make good men. if bad food, bad air, ignorance, and vice, degrade mankind; then good food, good air, knowledge, and temperance will uplift mankind. if men and women are largely that which environment makes them, then, by improving the environment we can improve men and women. and here i come into touch with a certain school of dismal scientists who would have us believe that it is useless to improve environment, because men are what heredity makes them, and because we cannot control heredity. let us dispose of these pessimists before we go any farther. happily, the cases in which heredity is stronger than environment are few. environment cannot make a model citizen of the "born criminal," or atavist. but good environment will make the worst man better than he would be under bad environment. environment cannot make a genius. no amount of feeding, training, and teaching will make an average man into a shakespeare, or a plato. but good environment will do more for the dullest of men than bad environment will do. environment cannot prevent atavism. it may happen that the best of stock will "breed back" to a lower type. it may happen that a criminal or an incapable will crop out suddenly in a line of good and intelligent men and women. but good environment will abolish degeneracy, as certainly as bad environment will cause it. for the occasional genius we need feel no concern. he will come when heredity produces him; and he is welcome. and for the atavist, or "born criminal," we may be thankful that he is comparatively rare, and may content ourselves with doing the best we can with him, in future, instead of the worst, as heretofore. i am assuming that the worst type of born criminal is quite hopeless; but i am not sure of that. we can tame wild beasts, and why not wild men? but the dismal scientists will tell us that even good environment cannot improve the race, because "acquired characteristics cannot be transmitted": which is to say that knowledge cannot be handed down hereditarily from father to son, and that, therefore, all that the best environment can do is to begin at the beginning with each generation, to teach and train them. i deny that, and will give my reasons. but suppose we admit it. what follows? is it not better to teach and to train each generation well, than to teach and train them ill? if mental and physical culture cannot be handed down; if the children of the educated and the well-developed must be born uneducated and undeveloped, is it not better to have a generation of strong and cultured men and women than a generation of degenerate weeds? because we cannot, by education, raise a breed of washingtons and darwins, and miltons and nelsons, are we to content ourselves with a population of hooligans and boors? if environment cannot permanently improve the breed, is that any reason for making the worst, instead of the best, of the breed we now possess? and now, as to that question of improving the breed, i claim that environment would improve the breed, and would improve it as it has improved it in the past, by "natural selection." how do cattle-breeders improve their stock? by breeding from the best animals, and not from the worst. men of weak or base moral natures, and men of weak minds and bodies will, i believe, generally reproduce their faults in their descendants. but, to marry, they must find wives. i said a little way back, "take care of your women, and the race will take care of itself." good environment would "take care of the women." the women being properly nursed, fed, taught, and honoured, would select partners who would not shock them morally, nor disgust them physically. virtuous, refined, and intelligent women do not, in general--there are exceptions--love and marry men of weak minds, nor men of diseased bodies, nor men of low moral type. therefore, given proper environment, the "born criminal" and the mental weakling would not be able to find wives. but that is not the only way in which good environment would affect the breed. nearly all degeneration is caused by bad environment, and good environment would stop degeneration, and by that means would improve the mental, moral, and physical average. it has been suggested, by some of the most dismal scientists, that to prevent the spread of degeneration we should prevent degenerates from marrying. but i think a sounder method would be to stop the production of degenerates, by abolishing the environment that produces them. as to the atavist, or "born criminal," i would point out that one of the laws of heredity is the tendency to "revert to the normal." that is to say, genius and atavism do not "persist." in a few generations the atavist and the genius have bred back to the average level. that, as i have pointed out, is due to the mixture of blood by marriage. thanks to this law, even the "born criminal" cannot often reappear. an example of the working of this law is afforded by the descendants of the australian convicts, who have turned out excellent men and women. i think, then, that we need not be seriously troubled by the gloomy forebodings of our pessimists. with bad environment human nature has no chance: with good environment human nature will take care of itself. and now let us look at some of the facts in proof of the magical results of improved environment. i have before me a newspaper report of an interview with mr. george jackson, secretary of the middlemore children's emigration homes. this society was founded some thirty years ago, and has since sent out to canada more than three thousand children from the slums. the children came from the worst of slums, and from the worst of homes. they are spoken of by the reporter as being rescued from homes "where they are in daily contact with grinding poverty and misery, in an atmosphere of moral and physical foulness, with parents who are drunken, criminal, and inhuman." and of these three thousand waifs _not two in a hundred turned out badly_. to give an idea of the working of a changed environment in the case of these children, i will quote from the report of the _birmingham daily post_: mr. jackson's view ranges over some three thousand children of both sexes rescued from the very lowest haunts of misery and vice, picked up forlorn and deserted from the gutters of birmingham, snatched from the evil influence of parents who had carried active cruelty or passive neglect to such terrible lengths that the retributive hand of human law had at last fallen upon them, from parents who would have deliberately forced their offspring to mendicancy, to thievery, or to prostitution. these three thousand worse than destitute little ones, these infants "crying in the night, and with no language but a cry." who had started their sad lives on the very threshold of that dark door over which is written, "all hope abandon," were rescued by kindly hands and carried into the sunshine. for a time they were fed, and clothed, and schooled, taught that there was something more in life than squalor and selfishness and vice, and then they were taken thousands of miles away from those foul slums in which their eyes had first opened to the murky light, their tender sensibilities first awakened to the bitter lesson of human pain and misery. they were taken to where god's fresh, free air sweeps across leagues of virgin forest and prairie, to where existence is vigorous, it may be, but healthy, and pure, and invigorating, to where conditions are such as to develop strong, self-reliant manhood, instead of debased and neurotic criminality. it was in the complete and sweeping character of the change that lay the wisdom of the scheme. on the lone backwood farmstead of canada the slum child had no opportunity, even had he wished, of once more coming within the range of vicious influences such as he had left. there was no temptation to many of the vices with which cruel circumstances had made him so terribly familiar. heredity of evil was cheated of its chances, and whatever tendencies to good remained were fostered and given full scope for development. further, the degraded relatives were no longer able to act the part of a millstone around the child's neck, to fetter his every aspiration to a better life, to drag him down or keep him down to their own dark state.... hundreds upon hundreds of prosperous farmers in canada at this day can look back to the dim past, when they sold matches or papers, or picked up as best they could, in the streets of birmingham, a few stray coppers to take home to their dissolute parents; to the time when, with empty stomachs and with the rain and snow beating through ragged garments onto their little pinched bodies, they cried through the rigours of winter nights on a sheltered doorstep rather than face the blows and curses which awaited them in the only place which they could call home. they were born to poverty and crime "as the sparks fly upward," and they have lived to thank god for that kindly agency which rescued them from their inheritance of misery. of these three thousand children two thousand nine hundred and forty were saved--by a change of environment. had the environment been left unchanged probably not per cent, would have escaped ruin. as their parents were, so would they have been. had their parents been rescued in _their_ youth only percent of them would have failed. the experience of dr. bamado and his friends with the children taken from the slums was very similar. the percentage of failures was small, and the london papers, in their obituaries of the good doctor, speak enthusiastically of the value of his work, and say that thousands of children rescued by him and his agents "are now steady and prosperous citizens beyond the seas." since dr. bamado took up the work over fifty-five thousand children have been saved--by changed environment. from an article by mr. r. b. suthers in the _clarion_ of august, , i quote the following account of the george junior republic, an american institution, founded by mr. william r. george, in . the junior republic is a collection of hooligans, juvenile criminals, and unfortunate boys and girls who live under a constitution based on that of the united states. the government is government of the citizens, for the citizens, and by the citizens. children of all ages are admitted, but the rights of citizenship are not granted to those under , and at the juniors are drafted into the great republic outside. schooling is compulsory up to the age of , after which the citizen has the choice of many trades, in the junior republic, including farming, carpentering, printing, dairying, or he may be a cook, waiter, store keeper, or office boy. the girls may go in for dressmaking, cooking, and laundry work. these boys and girls, recruited from the slums and the criminal forcing beds of the great cities, _govern_ themselves. they make their own laws, appoint their own officials, run their own gaol, and are practically as free as the citizens of the big republic of which they become full-fledged members when grown up. mr. george asserts that he has never known them when administering the law, to give an unjust or foolish decision. remember they were hooligans, criminals, and wastrels. it ought not to be necessary to argue that children well brought up will turn out better than children ill brought up. we all know that such must be the case: we all see every day of our lives that, such is the case: we all _know_ the power of environment for good as well as for evil. but facts are stubborn things, and the above are stubborn facts. i have hitherto dealt almost wholly with the environment of the poor, but it is needful also to say something as to the environment of the rich, as mr. chesterton's mistakes have shown. the chief evils of the environment of the rich are wealth, luxury, idleness, and false ideals. it is not healthy for young people to be brought up to do nothing but spend money and hunt for excitement. it is not good for young or old to have unlimited wealth and leisure. it is not good for men, nor women, nor children, to be flattered and fawned upon. flunkeyism and slavery degrade and debase the master as well as the servant: the snob lord, as well as the snob lackey. we have hundreds of religions in the world; but how many teachers of true morality? true morality condemns all forms of selfishness, all acts that are hurtful to our neighbours, to the commonwealth, to the race. in the light of true morality, a rich landowner, or a millionaire money-lender, is a greater criminal than a burglar or a foot-pad; and a politician or a journalist who utters base words is worse than a coiner who utters base coin. this being so, all the rich are bred and reared in an immoral atmosphere. but the atmosphere is polluted in other ways. the children of the rich are perverted with false ideals. they are taught to regard themselves as superior to the workers, who keep them. they are taught that it is sport to murder helpless and harmless birds and beasts and fishes. they are taught to toady to those above, and to expect toadyism from those below them. they are given tacitly to understand that it is their lordly right to command, and that it is the duty of the masses to obey. they are allowed to believe that to be born "spacious in the possession of dirt," or free to wallow in unearned money, is honourable, and that to be poor and landless is a proof of inferiority. they are puffed up with false ideas of value, and suppose that to possess an opulence of pride and a beggarly smattering of useless and often hurtful knowledge, is more creditable than to be capable of making honest pots and pans, and boots and trousers; of laying level pavements, and cutting invaluable drains. they have their unfurnished minds lumbered with immoral ideas of empire, of conquest, of titles, of stars and garters. they are the spoilt children of vanity fair, and very many of them are the lamentable failures which their environment would lead us to expect. no man is educated who has never learnt to do any kind of useful work; no man lives in a good environment who has not been taught to think of the welfare of his fellow creatures before his own, no life is sound, nor sweet, nor moral, which is not based on useful service. therefore the environment of the rich is generally evil and not good. these are not the reckless utterances of any angry demagogue. every word i have written about the evils of idleness, of luxury, of arrogance, of vain-glory and self-love, is endorsed by the teachings of the wisest and the best men of all ages; every word is supported by the records of history, by the known facts of contemporary life; every word is in accord with the new and the old morality. it is a matter of common knowledge that the environment of the rich "puts forth sins like scarlet flowers in summer." chapter nine--the origin of conscience the religious mind loves mysteries. conscience has always been set down as a mystery by religious people. it has been called "the still small voice," and we have been taught that it is a supernatural kind of sense by which man is guided in his knowledge of good and evil. now, i claim that conscience is no more supernatural than is the sense of smell, and no more mysterious than the stomach. if conscience were what religious people think it is--a kind of heavenly voice whispering to us what things are right and wrong--we should expect to find its teachings constant. it would not chide one man, and approve another, for the same act. it would not warn men that an act was wrong in one age, and assure them in another age that the same act was right. it would not have one rule of morality for the guidance of an englishman, and another rule of morality for the guidance of a turk. it would not change its moral code as the man it is supposed to guide changes his beliefs through education and experience. it would not give such widely different men of the same age and nation. if conscience were really a supernatural guide to right conduct it would always and everywhere tell man what is eternally right or eternally wrong. but conscience is changeable and uncertain. it is a magnetic needle that points north at one time and south at another time; that points east on one ship and west on another ship; that points all round the compass for all kinds of travellers on life's ocean; that has no relation to the everlasting truths at all. sceptics have pointed out that "conscience is geographical"; that it gives different verdicts in different countries, on the same evidence. but i shall show that conscience is: . geographical: that it is not the same in one country as in another. . historical: that it is not the same in one age as in another. . personal: that it is not the same in one person as in another. . changeable: it alters with its owner's mind. and that, therefore, conscience is not a true and certain guide to right, and cannot be the voice of god. first, as to geographical, or local, conscience. the english conscience looks with horror or disgust upon polygamy, child murder, cannibalism, and the blood feud. the turkish conscience allows many wives; the redskin conscience allows the scalping of enemies; the afghan conscience applauds the dutiful son who murders the nephew of his father's enemy; the cannibal conscience is silent at a feast of cold missionary; the chinese conscience goes blandly to the killing of girl babies; the rand conscience sees no evil in the flogging of kaffirs and chinese; the aristocratic conscience is not ashamed of taking the bread from starving peasants and their children; the capitalist conscience permits the making of fortunes out of sweated labour. now, cannibalism, murder, cheating, tyranny, the flogging of slaves, and the torture of enemies are all immoral and evil things. they cannot be good things in the east and bad things in the west. but conscience--the mysterious and wonderful "still small voice"--blames man in one part of the world and praises him in another for committing those acts. conscience is _local_: it tells one tale in johannesburg or pekin, and quite a different tale in amsterdam or paris. and to find out which tale is the true one we have to use our _reason_. as to historical conscience. what men thought good a few centuries ago they now think bad. take only a few examples. men once saw no wrong in slavery, in trial by wager of battle, in witch-burning, in the torture of prisoners to extract evidence, in the whipping of lunatics, in the use of child-labour in mines and factories, in duelling, bear-baiting, prize-fighting, and heavy drinking. not very long ago men would tear out a man's tongue for "blasphemy," would hang a woman for stealing a turnip, would burn a bishop alive for heresy, would nail an author to the pillory by his ear for criticising a duke, would sell women and children felons into slavery; and conscience would never whisper a protest. the origin of conscience now, it was wrong to burn heretics, and pillory reformers, and work babies to death in the mill and the mine in those days, or it is right to do the same things now. but conscience now condemns as wrong the same acts which it once approved as right; it now approves as right what it once condemned as wrong. conscience, then, differs in different ages. conscience tells two quite different tales at two different times. and if we want to find out which tale is the true one we have to use our _reason_. as to personal conscience. we all know that one man's conscience differs from another. we all know that in any english town on any day there are as many varieties of conscience as there are varieties of hands, and eyes, and feet, and noses. there are the nonconformist conscience, the roman catholic conscience, the rationalist conscience, the aristocratic conscience, the plebeian conscience, the military conscience, the commercial conscience, the tory conscience, and the socialist conscience. one man's conscience forbids him to swear, to eat meat, to drink wine, to read a newspaper on sunday, to go to a ball or a theatre, to make a bet, to play at cards or football, to stay away from church. another man's conscience permits him all those indulgences, but compels him to pay trade union wages, to speak courteously to servants and poor persons, to be generous to beggars, and kind to dumb animals. a very striking example of this personal difference in the ruling of conscience is afforded by the quite recent contrast between the sentiments of northern and southern americans on the question of negro slavery. another equally striking example is the difference to-day between the rulings of the consciences of socialists and sweaters. my own conscience, for instance, never chides me for "sabbath breaking" nor for "neglect of god"; but it would not allow me to grow rich on the rent of slum houses, nor on the earnings of half-starved children, nor on the sale of prurient novels, or adulterated beer, or sized calico. now, it is either right or wrong to do all these things. it cannot be right for one man to dance and wrong for another to dance; it cannot be right for one man to bet, and wrong for another man to bet; it cannot be right for one man to draw rents for slum houses, and wrong for another man to draw rents for slum houses. but conscience tells some men that it is right to do these things, and tells other men it is wrong to do the same things. conscience is not the same thing to one man that it is to another man. it praises brown and blames jones for doing the same thing. it tells different tales to different men. an when we want to know which is the _true_ tale we have to use our _reason_. as to changeable conscience. we all know very well that conscience does not keep to one rule of right and wrong even with one man; but that it changes its rule whenever the man changes his belief through teaching or experience. i need not give many examples of these changes. every reader can supply them for himself. when i was a boy my conscience pained me severely if i stayed away from sunday school or neglected to say my prayers. but it does not chide me now for not going to church, nor for not reading the bible, nor for not praying. why has conscience thus changed its tone with me? simply because i have changed my opinions. but those things could not have been wrong then if they are right now. conscience has changed. conscience changes as the mind changes. it tells one tale in our youth, and another in our prime, and perhaps yet another in our decay. and if we want to know which tale is the _true_ tale we must use our _reason_. and now we find that conscience is different in different nations, in different cities, in different classes, in different persons, in different ages, in different circumstances, in different moods. and, when we come to think about it, we find that conscience never tells us anything we do not know. it is a voice which always tells us what we do know: what we believe. it does not teach us what acts are right and what acts are wrong. it _reminds_ of what we have been _taught_ about right or wrong. it is not a divine voice, for it often leads us wrong. it is not a divine voice, for it is no wiser and no better than ourselves. what is it? what is conscience? conscience is chiefly _habit_: it is chiefly _memory_: but it is partly, perhaps, inherited instinct. conscience is habit. we all know that it is easier to do a thing which we have often done before than to do a thing we have never done before. we all know that what we call practice improves an organ or power of our body or our mind. as the proverbs put it: "use is second nature." "practice makes perfect." most of us know that an organ develops with use and decays with disuse. if you wish to develop your muscles you must use them. if you wish to improve your memory or to sharpen your wits you must use them. when a man is first taught to use a rifle he finds to his surprise that he cannot pull the trigger just exactly when he wants it. but in time he does that quite without thought or effort. the muscles of his finger have been "educated" to act with his eye. some men, when they first begin to shoot, shrink from the rifle. they fear the recoil or the sudden explosion, and the muscles of their shoulder flinch. if a man gives way to that habit it grows upon him, and he can never shoot straight. the muscles have learnt to flinch; and they flinch. one man falls into the habit of swearing. the habit grows upon him. the words come ever more readily to his tongue, and he swears more and more. now, let us suppose a boy has been taught that it is wrong to swear. in his memory lies the lesson. it has been repeated until it has grown strong. when he hears swearing it shocks him. but the more he hears it the less it shocks him. the words grow more familiar to his ear, just as the sound of a waterfall or of machinery grows familiar to the ear. then suppose he swears. that is a very unusual act for him. and his old lesson that to swear is wrong is still firm and ready. it is not his habit to swear: it is his habit to shrink from swearing. so if he swears, his memory, which has been educated to resent all swearing, brings up at once to his notice the lessons of years. the same kind of thing is seen on the cricket field. a batsman is playing steadily. he has been trained to play cautiously against good bowling. but he has a favourite stroke. the bowler knows it he sends a ball very aptly called a "ticer" to entice the batsman to hit, in the hopes of a catch. the desire to make that pet cut or off-drive is strong; but the "habit" of caution is stronger; he lets the ball go by. or the habit is not as strong as the desire, and he cuts the ball; and, even as he watches it flash safely through the field for the boundary, he feels that he ran a foolish risk, and must not repeat it. what is it tells him he did wrong? it is his memory: his memory, which has been educated to check his rashness. in fact, it is his cricketer's conscience that warns him. so with the youth who swears. no sooner has the word passed his lips than his educated memory, which has been trained to check swearing, brings up the lesson, and confronts him with it. but let him swear again and again, and in time the moral lessons in his memory will be overlaid by the familiar sound of curses; the habit of flinching from an oath will grow weak, and the habit of using oaths will grow strong. it is really what happens with the rifleman who gives way to the recoil and forms a habit of flinching, or with the cricketer who allows his desire to score to overcome his habit of caution. the old habit fades from disuse; the new habit grows strong from use. the rifleman becomes a hopelessly bad shot; the batsman degenerates into a slogger: the young man swears every time he speaks, and his conscience loses all power to check him. take the case of the letter "h." the young lochinvar who comes out of the west sounds his aitches properly and easily--just as properly and as easily as a fencer makes his parries, as a pianist strikes the right notes, as c. b. fry plays a straight bat. it is a matter of teaching and of use, and has become a habit. from his earliest efforts at speech he has heard the "h" sounded, has been checked if he failed to sound it, has corrected himself if he made a slip. but the young lochinvar who comes out of the east drops his aspirates all over the place without a blush or a pang. he has never been taught to sound the "h." he has not practised it. he has formed the habit of not sounding it, and it would take him years of painful effort to change the habit. now what happens in the case of a letter "h" is what happens in the case of the rifle, of the ticing ball, of the swearing. one man's memory is educated to remind him not to swear, not to slog, not to flinch, not to drop the "h." the other man's memory is not so trained. and this trained memory we call conscience. it is purely habit: and it is wholly mechanical. there is a good story of a gang of moonlighters who had shot a landlord, and were afterwards sitting down to supper. one man was just raising a piece of meat to his lips when the clock struck twelve. instantly he dropped the meat. "be jabers!" he said, "'tis friday!" that was the _habit_ of abstaining from meat on a friday. it had been drilled into his memory, and it acted mechanically. conscience, then, is largely a matter of habit: it depends a great deal on what we are taught. but it is not wholly a matter of habit, nor does it depend wholly on our teaching. we all know that two brothers, born of the same parents, brought up in the same home, educated at the same school, taught the same moral lessons, may be quite different in the matter of conscience. one will shrink from giving pain, the other will be cruel; one will be quite truthful, the other will tell lies. and so to go back to our rifleman and our cricketer. every novice does not flinch from the recoil, every batsman is not prudent. no. because men are different by _nature_. some boys are easy to train; some are not. some are naturally obedient; some are not. some are naturally cruel; some are naturally merciful. the conscience of a boy depends upon what he is by nature and what he is taught. if the emotion of anger is naturally strong in a boy it will need a better-drilled memory to check his anger than if the emotion of anger were weak. i do not mean it will need more teaching to curb his "will," but it will need more teaching to build up his conviction that anger is wrong, because the motion resists the teaching. but in the case of a boy gentle and merciful by nature it needs no teaching to prevent him from torturing frogs, and very little to make him know that to torture frogs is wrong. it is a common mistake in morals to say that a man is to blame for an act because he "knew it was wrong." he may have been told that it was wrong. but until he _feels_ that it is wrong, and _believes_ that it is wrong, it is not true to say that he knows it _is_ wrong; for he may only know that some other person says it is wrong, which is a very different thing. for instance, it might be said in this way that i am wicked for listening to beethoven on the sabbath, "because i know that it is wrong." but i do not know that is wrong. i do not believe that it is wrong. i only know that some people say it is wrong. so i claim that conscience is what a man's nature and teaching make it: that it is a habit of memory, and no more mysterious than the habit of smoking, or dropping the aspirate, or eating peas with a knife. let us now look at some of the scientific evidence. science and conscience i will quote first from darwin, "descent of man," chapter : the following proposition seems to me in a high degree probable, namely, that any animal whatever, endowed with well-marked social instincts, the parental and filial affections being here included, would inevitably acquire a moral sense or conscience as soon as its intellectual powers had become as well, or nearly as well, developed as in man.... _secondly_, as soon as the mental faculties had become highly developed, images of all past actions and motives would be incessantly passing through the brain of each individual; and that feeling of dissatisfaction, or even misery, which invariably results, as we shall hereafter see, from any unsatisfied instinct would arise as often as it was perceived that the enduring and always present social instinct, had yielded to some other instinct, at the time stronger, but neither enduring in its nature nor leaving behind it a very vivid impression. now let us see what darwin means. the social instincts include human sympathy and the desire for the company of our fellows; love of approbation, which is the desire to be loved, or to be thought well of, by our fellows; and gratitude, which is the love we pay back for the love which is given us: these social instincts are sometimes so strong, even in animals, as to overcome the powerful maternal instinct; so that migratory birds, as darwin shows, and as we all know who have read our gilbert white, will go with the flock and leave their new broods defenceless and unprovided for. the social instincts, then, are very strong, and they lead us to conform to social rule or sentiment. but now darwin tells us that in the case of man "images of all past actions and motives would be incessantly passing through the brain." these "images" are mental pictures, and they are printed on those brain cells which make what we call "memory." now, darwin tells us that these memory pictures would cause us pain as often as they reminded us that we had broken the social rule or outraged the social sentiment in order to indulge some instinct of a selfish kind. and darwin makes it clear to us that such a selfish desire may be strong before it is gratified, and may yet leave an impression of pleasure after it is gratified which is weak indeed in presence of the deep-rooted social memories. let us take a few examples. the desire for a pleasure may be strong enough to drive us to enjoy it, and yet the pleasure may seem to us not worth the cost or trouble after the desire has been sated. when we are hungry the desire for food is intense. after we have eaten we are no longer hungry. but we grow hungry again, and then the desire for food is as intense as ever. dick swiveller goes to a bachelor party, and the desire for the convivial glass is strong within him. he drinks too much, and the next morning calls himself a fool for drinking. he is ashamed of his excess, and he has the headache, and the temptation is now absent. but when he is well again, and at another party, the old desire comes back with the old power. so dick once more indulges too freely in "the rosy," and has another sick head in consequence. and then the social instincts rise up and reproach him, and the sated appetite, being weak, appears to him contemptible. the social instinct is constant: the selfish desire is intermittent. the passion is like a tide which leaps the moral wall and then falls back to low water. the wall remains: it may be sullied or shaken, but it is still a moral wall, and only a long succession of such tides can break it down. when passion has broken down the moral wall the man is at the mercy of his passions. they flood the dwelling of his soul again and again until he is a ruin. this, i think, explains darwin's idea of the struggle between the social and selfish instincts. in "adam bede" george eliot blames the seducer of hettie sorrel for doing a terrible wrong for the sake of a brief selfish indulgence. but that charge is unfair. it implies that the deed was planned and done in cold blood. but the fact was that both hettie and arthur were carried away by a rush of passion. the great tide of desire, a desire made terribly strong by nature, had overleapt the walls of morality and prudence. anger has been called a brief madness. the same kind of thing might be said of all the passions. it is as easy to be virtuous after the temptation as to be wise after the event we can all be brave in the absence of the enemy. the result of a struggle between the sea and a wall depends upon the force of the tide and the strength of the wall. it behoves us all to see that moral walls are builded strong and kept in good repair. let us go back to the action of the memory in the making of morals. dr. c. w. saleeby, who is doing good work in this field, gives us clear light in his book, "the cycle of life." he says: memory means a change impressed more or less deeply on the grey surface of the brain. a _change_. those "images" which darwin tells us are continually passing through the mind have actually made a _change_ in the brain. that is to say, they have made a change in the _mind_: they have made a change in the personality. after showing how a singer learns to produce a note properly by practice until he is almost incapable of producing it improperly, and until its proper production has become mechanical, dr. saleeby says: the effect of practice, as in any other art, mechanical, mental, or both, has been so to alter the constitution of the nerve cells as to produce a new mode of action. the nerve cells have been _re-arranged_, and the _habit_ of the person has been _altered_. he is no longer quite the same person. he now acts and thinks differently. now, these changes in the arrangement of the brain cells and fibres may be looked upon as the building up of the moral wall. and the desires and aversions are like the rising and falling tide. and the tide of our desires is a tide of nature. because our desires and aversions seem to work by reflex action. what is reflex action? reflex action, as i use the term here, is the mechanical action of the nerves. we do not grow hungry, or thirsty, or angry, or compassionate on purpose: we do not fall in love on purpose. the stomach, working, like the heart and lungs, by reflex action, without our knowledge or direction, uses up the food, and our nerves demand more. the desire for food, for love, for revenge, is due to reflex action. the desire makes itself felt first without our asking, and we have to refuse or to grant its request after it is made. we do not say: "behold, there is a pretty face: i will be attracted by it." we cannot _help_ being attracted by the face that attracts us, any more than we can help being hungry. the face attracts us, more or less, and we decide to seek out its owner, according to the strength of the attraction and of the reason for resisting the attraction. we see a diamond. we do not say: "there is a diamond. i will not think it beautiful." we _cannot_ think it anything but beautiful; but whether or not we shall buy it or steal it depends upon the strength of our desire and the strength of the reasons against gratifying that desire. now, let us see how these conflicting ideas act. a man sees a beautiful woman, and desires to see more of her. but he fears if he sees much of her he will fall in love with her. and he is engaged to marry another woman. what goes on in his mind? memory reminds him that he is engaged, and that it would be "wrong" to follow his desire. and every time the temptation draws him to follow his desire he calls up the "image" of the other woman, and he calls up the images of old lessons, of old thoughts, of old opinions read and heard by him. and the stronger the temptation grows the more earnestly does he invoke these images. now, what does all this show? it shows the contest between the reflex action of desire, backed by the memories of love's pleasures, on the one part; and, on the other part, of the moral feelings of memories of what he has learnt or thought to be right and wrong. it is then a battle between memory and desire. a man is never tempted by a woman who does not attract him. he never steals a thing he does not want. he does not drink a liquor he does not like. the desire must be there before his will is put to the test. and the desire is independent of his will. a child has no morals. it has only desires. if it likes sugar it will take sugar. if it is angry it will strike. it is only when it is told that to steal sugar or strike its nurse is "naughty" that it begins to have a moral sense. and its moral sense consists entirely of what it _learns_--that is to say, its moral sense is _memory_. and its memory is a _change_ in the arrangement of the cells of the grey matter of the brain. and these changes make the brain into a different kind of brain: make the child into a different kind of child. now, the child does not teach _itself_ these moral lessons. it does not know them. it has to be taught by those who do know. and its moral sense depends upon what it is taught. and its conscience depends upon what it is taught. and, that being so, is it not quite evident that the conscience is _not_ the voice of god; that the conscience is not an innate knowledge of right and wrong born with the child; but it is nothing more nor less than the action of the memory? the whole of this subject is ably and exhaustively treated by luys in "the brain and its functions," but i have not room here to go into it fully. briefly put, the scientific explanation may be expressed thus: the brain cells have power to receive and to _repeat_ impressions. when a new sensory impulse arises it awakens these impressions by means of the fibres of association. it is as though the brain were a phonographic "record." upon this "record" there is printed, let us say, some moral lesson, as "look not upon the wine when it is red in the cup." on the word "wine" being heard the association fibre which links the idea of wine to the moral idea of temperance sets the "record" in motion, and memory recalls the caution, "look not upon the wine in the cup." it is as if a "record" on which is printed a song by dan leno were joined up with a battery which, upon hearing the word "leno," would start the "record" to repeat the song. i hope i have made that clear. i will now conclude by quoting from dr. saleeby a passage dealing with the important subject of "association." i take it from "the cycle of life": nerve cells are significantly incapable of division and reproduction.... all the experience of living merely modifies, the state of the cells already present. the modification is memory. but though a nerve-cell cannot divide, it can send forth new processes, or nerve-fibres from itself--what we call a nerve being simply a collection of processes from a nerve-cell. throughout the brain and spinal cord we find great numbers of nerve processes which simply run from one set of nerve-cells to another, instead of running to a sense-organ, or a muscle, or a gland. such fibres are called _association_ fibres, their business being to associate different sets of nerve-cells. it is conceivable that an exceptional development of such fibres may account for the possession of a good memory, or, at any rate, for the power easily to learn such co-ordinations as are implied in violin-playing, billiards, cricket, or baseball. granting the power of nerve-cells, even when adult, to form new processes, it might be supposed that the exercise of this power accounts for the acquirement of certain habits of thought or action. now, whether or not nerve-cells have power to form new association fibres late in life, it is important to notice that the association fibres which exist at birth or form in childhood are the means by which one idea suggests another; and the means by which, as i said just now, upon the utterance of the word "wine" all we have remembered to have read or heard about wine is repeated by the memory "record." and, just as a phonograph record can only repeat the song or speech that is printed upon it, so the memory can only repeat what it contains, and it contains nothing that has not been printed there through the medium of the senses. that is why the word "marriage" carries with it no moral revulsion against polygamy in the mind of a turk. the brain of a turk has no "record" on its grey matter of any moral teaching against polygamy. and the "still small voice" does not make good the absence of the "record," and tell him that polygamy is wrong. this being so, what becomes of the theory that conscience is a mysterious agent of god implanted in the mind of man to guide him to do right and to shun wrong? a cannibal chief was told by a missionary that it was wicked to have two wives. he went away and _ate_ one wife. the missionary had printed on his brain "record" the lesson that to have two wives was wrong; but there was no "record" there to tell him he must not kill one wife and eat her. where was the "still small voice," the "divine guide to right conduct"? chapter ten--free will the free will delusion has been a stumbling block in the way of human thought for thousands of years. let us try whether common sense and common knowledge cannot remove it. free will is a subject of great importance to us in this case; and it is one we must come to with our eyes wide open and our wits wide awake; not because it is very difficult, but because it has been tied and twisted into a tangle of gordian knots by twenty centuries full of wordy but unsuccessful philosophers, the free will party claim that man is responsible for his acts, because his will is free to choose between right and wrong. we reply that the will is not free; and that if it were free man could not know right from wrong until he was taught. as to the knowledge of good and evil the free will party will claim that conscience is an unerring guide. but i have already proved that conscience does not and cannot tell us what is right and what is wrong: it only reminds us of the lessons we have learnt as to right and wrong. the "still small voice" is not the voice of god: it is the voice of heredity and environment. and now to the freedom of the will. when a man says his will is free, he means that it is free of all control or interference: that it can over-rule heredity and environment. we reply that the will is ruled by heredity and environment. the cause of all the confusion on this subject may be shown in a few words. when the free will party say that man has a free will, they mean that he is free to act as he chooses to act. there is no need to deny that. _but what causes him to choose?_ that is the pivot upon which the whole discussion turns. the free will party seem to think of the will as something independent of the man, as something outside him. they seem to think that the will decides without the control of the man's reason. if that were so, it would not prove the man responsible. "the will" would be responsible, and not the man. it would be as foolish to blame a man for the act of a "free" will, as to blame a horse for the action of its rider. but i am going to prove to my readers, by appeals to their common sense and common knowledge, that the will is not free; and that it is ruled by heredity and environment. to begin with, the average man will be against me. he knows that he chooses between two courses every hour, and often every minute, and he thinks his choice is free. but that is a delusion: his choice is not free. he can choose, and does choose. but he can only choose as his heredity and his environment cause him to choose. he never did choose and never will choose except as his heredity and his environment--his temperament and his training--cause him to choose. and his heredity and his environment have fixed his choice before he makes it. the average man says "i know that i can act as i wish to act." but what causes him to wish? the free will party say, "we know that a man can and does choose between two acts." but what settles the choice? there is a cause for every wish, a cause for every choice; and every cause of every wish and choice arises from heredity, or from environment. for a man acts always from temperament, which is heredity, or from training, which is environment. and in cases where a man hesitates in his choice between two acts, the hesitation is due to a conflict between his temperament and his training, or, as some would express it, "between his desire and his conscience." a man is practising at a target with a gun, when a rabbit crosses his line of fire. the man has his eye and his sights on the rabbit, and his finger on the trigger. the man's will is free. if he press the trigger the rabbit will be killed. now, how does the man decide whether or not he shall fire? he decides by feeling, and by reason. he would like to fire, just to make sure that he could hit the mark. he would like to fire, because he would like to have the rabbit for supper. he would like to fire, because there is in him the old, old hunting instinct, to kill. but the rabbit does not belong to him. he is not sure that he will not get into trouble if he kills it. perhaps--if he is a very uncommon kind of man--he feels that it would be cruel and cowardly to shoot a helpless rabbit. well. the man's will is free. he can fire if he likes: he can let the rabbit go if he likes. how will he decide? on what does his decision depend? his decision depends upon the relative strength of his desire to kill the rabbit, and of his scruples about cruelty, and the law. not only that, but, if we knew the man fairly well, we could guess how his free will would act before it acted. the average spoiling briton would kill the rabbit. but we know that there are men who would on no account shoot any harmless wild creature. broadly put, we may say that the sportsman would will to fire, and that the humanitarian would not will to fire. now, as both their wills are free, it must be something outside the wills that makes the difference. well. the sportsman will kill, because he is a sportsman: the humanitarian will not kill, because he is a humanitarian. and what makes one man a sportsman and another a humanitarian? heredity and environment: temperament and training. one man is merciful, another cruel, by nature; or one is thoughtful and the other thoughtless, by nature. that is a difference of heredity. one may have been taught all his life that to kill wild things is "sport"; the other may have been taught that it is inhuman and wrong: that is a difference of environment. now, the man by nature cruel or thoughtless, who has been trained to think of killing animals as sport, becomes what we call a sportsman, because heredity and environment have made him a sportsman. the other man's heredity and environment have made him a humanitarian. the sportsman kills the rabbit, because he is a sportsman, and he is a sportsman because heredity and environment have made him one. that is to say the "free will" is really controlled by heredity and environment. allow me to give a case in point. a man who had never done any fishing was taken out by a fisherman. he liked the sport, and for some months followed it eagerly. but one day an accident brought home to his mind the cruelty of catching fish with a hook, and he instantly laid down his rod, and never fished again. before the change he was always eager to go fishing if invited: after the change he could not be persuaded to touch a line. his will was free all the while. how was it that his will to fish changed to his will not to fish? it was the result of environment. he had learnt that fishing was cruel. this knowledge controlled his will. but, it may be asked, how do you account for a man doing the thing he does not wish to do? no man ever did a thing he did not wish to do. when there are two wishes the stronger rules. let us suppose a case. a young woman gets two letters by the same post; one is an invitation to go with her lover to a concert, the other is a request that she will visit a sick child in the slums. the girl is very fond of music, and is rather afraid of the slums. she wishes to go to the concert, and to be with her lover; she dreads the foul street and the dirty home, and shrinks from the risk of measles or fever. but she goes to the sick child, and she foregoes the concert. why? because her sense of duty is stronger than her self-love. now, her sense of duty is partly due to her nature--that is, to her heredity--but it is chiefly due to environment. like all of us, this girl was born without any kind of knowledge, and with only the rudiments of a conscience. but she has been well taught, and the teaching is part of her environment. we may say that the girl is free to act as she chooses, but she _does_ act as she has been _taught_ that she _ought_ to act. this teaching, which is part of her environment, controls her will. we may say that a man is free to act as he chooses. he is free to act as _he_ chooses, but _he_ will choose as heredity and environment cause _him_ to choose. for heredity and environment have made him that which he is. a man is said to be free to decide between two courses. but really he is only free to decide in accordance with his temperament and training. brown is a member of parliament. he is given to understand that by suppressing his principles he may get a seat in the next cabinet. brown is very anxious to get into the cabinet. he is ambitious. his wife is ambitious. he wants to make a name; he wants to please his wife. but he has been taught that to sacrifice one's principles for a bribe is disgraceful. now, his ambition is part of his heredity; the things he has been taught are part of his environment. the conflict in his mind is a conflict between the old adam and the new; between the older egotism and the newer altruism. it is a conflict between good heredity and bad heredity; between heredity and environment; and the victory will be to the stronger. if brown is very ambitious, and not very conscientious, he will take the bribe. if his conscience is stronger than his ambition, he will refuse it. but to say that he is free to choose is a misuse of terms: he is only free to decide as the stronger of the two motives compels him to decide. and the motives arise from heredity and environment. macbeth was ambitious; but he had a conscience. he wanted duncan's crown; but he shrank from treason and ingratitude. ambition pulled him one way, honour pulled him the other way. the opposing forces were so evenly balanced that he seemed unable to decide. was macbeth free to choose? to what extent was he free? he was so free that he could arrive at no decision, and it was the influence of his wife that turned the scale to crime. was lady macbeth free to choose? she did not hesitate. because her ambition was so much stronger than her conscience that she never was in doubt. she chose as her over-powering ambition compelled her to choose. and most of us in our decisions resemble either macbeth or his wife. either our nature is so much stronger than our training, or our training is so much stronger than our nature, that we decide for good or evil as promptly as a stream decides to run down hill; or our nature and our training are so nearly balanced that we can hardly decide at all. in macbeth's case the contest is quite clear and easy to follow. he was ambitious, and his environment had taught him to regard the crown as a glorious and desirable possession. but environment had also taught him that murder, and treason, and ingratitude were wicked and disgraceful. had he never been taught these lessons, or had he been taught that gratitude was folly, that honour was weakness, and murder excusable when it led to power, he would not have hesitated at all. it was his environment that hampered his will. we may say that wellington was free to take a bribe. but his heredity and environment had only left him free to refuse one. everyone who knew the iron duke knew how his free will would act if a bribe were offered him. we may say that nelson was free to run away from an enemy. but we know that nelson's nature and training had left him free only to run after an enemy. all the world knew before the event how nelson's free will would act when a hostile fleet hove into view. heredity and environment had settled the action of nelson's free will in that matter before the occasion to act arose. we may say that nelson's will was free in the case of lady hamilton. but it seems only to have been free to do as lady hamilton wished. when nelson met an enemy's fleet, he made haste to give them battle; when he met lady hamilton he struck his flag. some other man might have been free to avoid a battle; some other man might have been free to resist the fascinations of a friend's wife. horatio nelson was only free to act as _his_ nature and _his_ training compelled _him_ to act. to nelson honour was dearer than life; but lady hamilton was dearer than honour. nelson's action in lady hamilton's case was largely due to the influence of environment. to hesitate in war was universally regarded as shameful. but, in nelson's environment, a love intrigue was condoned as an amiable human weakness. hence the failure of nelson's will and conscience to resist the blandishments of the handsome emma. we may say that jack sheppard and cardinal manning were free to steal, or to refrain from stealing. but we know that the heredity and environment of the thief had made robbery, for him, a proof of prowess, and a question of the value of the spoil; and we know that the cardinal would not have stolen the crown jewels if he could; that he did not want them, and would not have taken them if he had wanted them. we say that a drunkard and a lifelong abstainer are free to drink or to refuse a glass of whisky. but we know that in both cases the action of the free will is a foregone conclusion. in all cases the action of the will depends upon the relative strength of two or more motives. the stronger motive decides the will; just as the heavier weight decides the balance of a pair of scales. in macbeth's case the balance seemed almost even: lady macbeth's persuasion brought down the scale on the wrong side. if the will were free, it would be independent of the temperament and training, and so would act as freely in one case as in another. so that it would be as easy for the drunkard as for the lifelong abstainer to refuse to drink; as easy for the thief as for the cardinal to be honest; as easy for macbeth as for lady macbeth to seal the fate of duncan. but we all know that it is harder for one man than for another to be sober, or honest, or virtuous; and we all know that the sobriety, or honesty, or virtue of any man depends upon his temperament and training; that is to say, upon his heredity and his environment. how, then, can we believe that free will is outside and superior to heredity and environment? in the case of the slum children rescued by dr. baraado and others we know that had they been left in the slums their wills would have willed evil, and we know that when taken out of the slums their wills willed good. there was no change in the freedom of the will; the will that is free in whitechapel is free in manitoba. the difference was the environment. in canada as in london the environment controlled the will. "what! cannot a man be honest if he choose?" yes, if he choose. but that is only another way of saying that he can be honest if his nature and his training lead him to choose honesty. "what! cannot i please myself whether i drink or refrain from drinking?" yes. but that is only to say you will not drink because it pleases _you_ to be sober. but it pleases another man to drink, because his desire for drink is strong, or because his self-respect is weak. and you decide as you decide, and he decides as he decides, because you are _you_, and he is _he_; and heredity and environment made you both that which you are. and the sober man may fall upon evil days, and may lose his self-respect, or find the burden of his trouble greater than he can bear, and may fly to drink for comfort, or oblivion, and may become a drunkard. has it not been often so? and the drunkard may, by some shock, or some disaster, or some passion, or some persuasion, regain his self-respect, and may renounce drink, and lead a sober and useful life. has it not been often so? and in both cases the freedom of the will is untouched: it is the change in the environment that lifts the fallen up, and beats the upright down. we might say that a woman's will is free, and that she could, if she wished, jump off a bridge and drown herself. but she cannot _wish_. she is happy, and loves life, and dreads the cold and crawling river. and yet, by some cruel turn of fortune's wheel, she may become destitute and miserable; so miserable that she hates life and longs for death, and _then_ she can jump into the dreadful river and die. her will was free at one time as at another. it is the environment that has wrought the change. once she could not wish to die: now she cannot wish to live. the apostles of free will believe that all men's wills are free. but a man can only will that which he is able to will. and one man is able to will that which another man is unable to will. to deny this is to deny the commonest and most obvious facts of life. the will is as free in one nation and in one class as in another. who would more willingly return a blow, an irish soldier, or an english quaker? who would be readier to stab a rival, an english curate, or a spanish smuggler? the difference does not concern the freedom of the will: it is a difference of heredity and environment. the wills of a priest and a sailor are free--free to make love in every port, and to swear in every breeze. the difference is one of environment. the free will party look upon a criminal as a bad man, who could be good if he wished: _but he cannot wish_. the free will party say that if smith wills to drink he is bad. but we say that smith drinks, and to drink is bad; but smith drinks because he is smith. the free will party say, "then he was born bad." but we say "no: he was born smith." we all know that we can foretell the action of certain men in certain cases, because we know the men. we know that under the same conditions jack sheppard would steal and cardinal manning would not steal. we know that under the same conditions the sailor would flirt with the waitress, and the priest would not; that the drunkard would get drunk, and the abstainer would remain sober. we know that wellington would refuse a bribe, that nelson would not run away, that buonaparte would grasp at power, that abraham lincoln would be loyal to his country, that torquemada would not spare a heretic. why? if the will is free, how can we be sure, before a test arises, how the will must act? simply because we know that heredity and environment have so formed and moulded men and women that under certain circumstances the action of their wills is certain. heredity and environment having made a man a thief, he will steal. heredity and environment having made a man honest, he will not steal. that is to say, heredity and environment have decided the action of the will, before the time has come for the will to act. this being so--and we all know that it is so--what becomes of the sovereignty of the will? let any man that believes that he can "do as he likes" ask himself _why_ he _likes_, and he will see the error of the theory of free will, and will understand why the will is the servant and not the master of the man: for the man is the product of heredity and environment, and these control the will. as we want to get this subject as clear as we can, let us take one or two familiar examples of the action of the will. jones and robinson meet and have a glass of whisky. jones asks robinson to have another. robinson says, "no thank you, one is enough." jones says, "all right: have another cigarette." robinson takes the cigarette. now, here we have a case where a man refuses a second drink, but takes a second smoke. is it because he would like another cigarette, but would not like another glass of whisky? no. it is because he knows that it is _safer_ not to take another glass of whisky. how does he know that whisky is dangerous? he has learnt it--from his environment. "but he _could_ have taken another glass if he wished." but he could not wish to take another, because there was something he wished more strongly--to be safe. and why did he want to be safe? because he had learnt--from his environment--that it was unhealthy, unprofitable, and shameful to get drunk. because he had learnt--from his environment--that it is easier to avoid forming a bad habit than to break a bad habit when formed. because he valued the good opinion of his neighbours, and also his position and prospects. these feelings and this knowledge ruled his will, and caused him to refuse the second glass. but there was no sense of danger, no well-learned lesson of risk to check his will to smoke another cigarette. heredity and environment did not warn him against that. so, to please his friend, and himself, he accepted. now suppose smith asks williams to have another glass. williams takes it, takes several, finally goes home--as he often goes home. why? largely because drinking is a habit with him. and not only does the mind instinctively repeat an action, but, in the case of drink, a physical craving is set up, and the brain is weakened. it is easier to refuse the first glass than the second; easier to refuse the second than the third; and it is very much harder for a man to keep sober who has frequently got drunk. so, when poor williams has to make his choice, he has habit against him, he has a physical craving against him, and he has a weakened brain to think with. "but williams could have refused the first glass." no. because in his case the desire to drink, or to please a friend, was stronger than his fear of the danger. or he may not have been so conscious of the danger as robinson was. he may not have been so well taught, or he may not have been so sensible, or he may not have been so cautious. so that his heredity and environment, his temperament and training, led him to take the drink, as surely as robinson's heredity and environment led him to refuse it. and now, it is my turn to ask a question. if the will is "free," if conscience is a sure guide, how is it that the free will and the conscience of robinson caused him to keep sober, while the free will and the conscience of williams caused him to get drunk? robinson's will was curbed by certain feelings which failed to curb the will of williams. because in the case of williams the feelings were stronger on the other side. it was the nature and the training of robinson which made him refuse the second glass, and it was the nature and the training of williams which made him drink the second glass. what had free will to do with it? we are told that _every_ man has a free will, and a conscience. now, if williams had been robinson, that is to say if his heredity and his environment had been exactly like robinson's, he would have done exactly as robinson did. it was because his heredity and environment were not the same that his act was not the same. both men had free wills. what made one do what the other refused to do? heredity and environment. to reverse their conduct we should have to reverse their heredity and environment. let us take another familiar instance. bill hicks is a loafer. he "doesn't like work." he used to work, but he was out on strike for six months, and since then he has done no more work than he could help. what has changed this man's free will to work into a free will to avoid work? hicks used to work. he was a steady young fellow. why did he work? he did not know. he had always worked. he went to work just as he ate his dinner, or washed his hands. but he did not think much. he lived chiefly by custom; habit. he did things because he had always done them, and because other men did them. he knew no other way. he worked. he worked hard: for nine hours a day. he got twenty-five shillings a week. he paid twelve shillings for lodging and board, and he spent the rest, as others spent it, on similar boots and coats, and a better suit, and the usual amount of beer and tobacco, and the usual music hall. he thought those things were necessary, or rather he felt that they were. he did not love his work. there was no interest in it. it was hard, it was dirty, there was no credit to be got by doing it. it was just an affair of habit--and wages. then he was half a year on strike. he had less food, and less beer, and no music hall. but he had a very great deal less work, and more liberty, and--no "boss". men love liberty. it is a love that is bred in the race. they do not love shovelling clay into a barrow, and pushing the barrow up a plank. there is nothing in it that appeals to their humanity: and it is dirty, and laborious, and it makes a man a prisoner and a slave. hicks found that the difference between working and loafing was a difference of food, clothing, and beer, on the one hand, and on the other hand, of unpleasant and hard labour. he found he could do with much less beer and beef, and that liberty was sweet. he did not think this out. he seldom thought: he was never trained to think. but the habit of toil was broken, and the habit of freedom was formed. also he had found out that he could live without so much toil, and live more pleasantly, if more sparely. what had changed the free will of hicks from a will to work to a will to loaf? change of experience: change of environment. now hicks is as lazy, as useless, and as free as a duke. but, someone asks, "where was his pride; where was his sense of duty; where was his manhood?" and it seems to me those questions ought to be put to the duke. but i should say that bill hicks' pride and sense of duty were just overpowered by his love of liberty, his distaste for soulless toil, and his forgetfulness of the beautiful moral lesson that a man who will not work like a horse for a pound a week is a lazy beast, whilst the man who does nothing--except harm--for a hundred thousand a year, is an honourable gentleman, with a hereditary seat in the house of peers. in fact hicks had found his heredity too strong for his training. but what had free will to do with it? the duke has a free will. does it ever set him wheeling clay up a plank? no. why not? because, as in the case of hicks, heredity and environment cause the duke to love some other. "but the duke has no need to work." that is how hicks feels. "but hicks could work if he liked." so could the duke. but neither of these men _can_ "like." that is just what is the matter with them both. two boys work at a hard and disagreeable trade. one leaves it, finds other work, "gets on," is praised for getting on. the other stays at the trade all his life, works hard all his life, is poor all his life, and is respected as an honest and humble working man; that is to say, he is regarded by society as mr. dorgan was regarded by mr. dooley--"he is a fine man, and i despise him." what causes these two free wills to will so differently? one boy knew more than the other boy. he "knew better." all knowledge is environment. both boys had free wills. it was in knowledge they differed: environment! those who exalt the power of the will, and belittle the power of environment, belie their words by their deeds. for they would not send their children amongst bad companions or allow them to read bad books. they would not say the children have free will and therefore have power to take the good and leave the bad. they know very well that evil environment has power to pervert the will, and that good environment has power to direct it properly. they know that children may be made good or bad by good or evil training, and that the will follows the training. that being so, they must also admit that the children of other people may be made good or bad by training. and if a child gets bad training, how can free will save it? or how can it be blamed for being bad? it never had a chance to be good. that they know this is proved by their carefulness in providing their own children with better environment. as i have said before, every church, every school, every moral lesson is a proof that preachers and teachers trust to good environment, and not to free will, to make children good. in this, as in so many other matters, actions speak louder than words. that, i hope, disentangles the many knots into which thousands of learned men have tied the simple subject of free will; and disposes of the claim that man is responsible because his will is free. but there is one other cause of error, akin to the subject, on which i should like to say a few words. we often hear it said that a man is to blame for his conduct because "he knows better." it is true that men do wrong when they know better. macbeth "knew better" when he murdered duncan. but it is true, also, that we often think a man "knows better," when he does not know better. for a man cannot be said to know a thing until he believes it. if i am told that the moon is made of green cheese, it cannot be said that i _know_ it to be made of green cheese. many moralists seem to confuse the words "to know" with the words "to hear." jones reads novels and plays opera music on sunday. the puritan says jones "knows better," when he means that jones has been told that it is wrong to do those things. but jones does not know that it is wrong. he has heard someone say that it is wrong, but does not believe it. therefore it is not correct to say that he knows it. and, again, as to that matter of belief. some moralists hold that it is wicked not to believe certain things, and that men who do not believe those things will be punished. but a man cannot believe a thing he is told to believe: he can only believe a thing which he _can_ believe; and he can only believe that which his own reason tells him is true. it would be no use asking sir roger ball to believe that the earth is flat. he _could not_ believe it. it is no use asking an agnostic to believe the story of jonah and the whale. he _could not_ believe it. he might pretend to believe it. he might try to believe it. but his reason would not allow him to believe it. therefore it is a mistake to say that a man "knows better," when the fact is that he has been told "better" and cannot believe what he has been told. that is a simple matter, and looks quite trivial; but how much ill-will, how much intolerance, how much violence, persecution, and murder have been caused by the strange idea that a man is wicked because _his_ reason _cannot_ believe that which to another man's reason seems quite true. free will has no power over a man's belief. a man cannot believe by will, but only by conviction. a man cannot be forced to believe. you may threaten him, wound him, beat him, burn him; and he may be frightened, or angered, or pained; but he cannot _believe_, nor can he be made to believe. until he is convinced. now, truism as it may seem, i think it necessary to say here that a man cannot be convinced by abuse, nor by punishment he can only be convinced by _reason_. yes. if we wish a man to believe a thing, we shall find a few words of reason more powerful than a million curses, or a million bayonets. to burn a man alive for failing to believe that the sun goes round the world is not to convince him. the fire is searching, but it does not seem to him to be relevant to the issue. he never doubted that fire would burn; but perchance his dying eyes may see the sun sinking down into the west, as the world rolls on its axis. he dies in his belief. and knows no "better." chapter eleven--self-control the subject of self-control is another simple matter which has been made difficult by slovenly thinkers. when we say that the will is not free, and that men are made by heredity and environment, we are met with the astonishing objection that if such were the case there could be no such things as progress or morality. when we ask why, we are told that if a man is the creature of heredity and environment it is no use his making any effort: what is to be, will be. but a man makes efforts because he wants something; and whether he be a "free agent," or a "creature of heredity and environment," he will continue to want things, and so he will continue to make efforts to get them. "but," say the believers in free will, "the fact that he tries to get things shows that his will is free." not at all. the fact is that heredity and environment compel him to want things, and compel him to try for them. the earth does not move of its own free will; but it moves. the earth is controlled by two forces: one is centrifugal force, the other is the force of gravity. those two forces compel it to move, and to move in a certain path, or orbit. "but a man does not move in a regular path or orbit." neither does the earth. for every planet draws it more or less out of its true course. and so it is with man: each influence in his environment affects him in some way. in every case the force of heredity compels us to move, and the force of environment controls or changes our movements. and as this is a subject of great importance, and one upon which there is much confusion of thought, i shall ask my readers to give me their best attention, so that we may make it thoroughly clear and plain. the control of man by heredity and environment is not the end of all effort; on the contrary, it is the beginning of all effort. we do not say that the control of the earth by gravity and centrifugal force is the end of its motion: we know that it is the _cause_ of its motion. but, we shall be told, "the earth cannot resist. it is compelled to act man is free." man is not free. man is compelled to act. directly a child is born it begins to act from that instant until the end of its life, it continues to act it _must_ act it cannot cease from action. the force of heredity compels it to act. and the nature of its actions is decided: . by the nature of the individual: which is his heredity. . by his experiences and training: which are his environment therefore to cease from all action is impossible. therefore it is nonsense to say that if we are creatures of heredity and environment we shall cease to act. but, it may be said, a man can cease from action: he has power to kill himself. well: the earth has power to destroy itself if it is caused to destroy itself. and man cannot destroy himself unless he is caused to destroy himself. for the nature of a man--through heredity--is to love life. no man destroys himself without a cause. he may go mad, he may be in great grief, he may be disappointed, jealous, angry. but there is always a cause when a man takes his own life. and, be the cause what it may, it belongs to environment. so that a man cannot even take his own life until heredity and environment cause him to do it. but there is a second argument, to the effect that if we believe ourselves to be creatures of heredity and environment we shall cease to make any effort to be good, or to be better than we are. those who use such an argument do not understand the nature and power of environment. environment is powerful for good as well as for evil. well. we have seen that it is impossible for us to cease to act. now we are told that we shall cease to act well. but our acting well or ill depends upon the nature of our heredity and environment. if our heredity be good, and if our environment be good, we _must_ act well: we cannot help it. if our heredity be bad, and if our environment be bad, we must act ill: we cannot help it. "what? do you mean to say i cannot be good if i try?" is it not evident that you must have some good in you if you wish to try? that good is put there by heredity and environment. "but even a bad man sometimes tries to be good." that is slovenly thinking. 'a man who is _all_ bad has no desire for good. any man who has a desire for good is not all bad. therefore a man who is "bad" never tries to be good, and a man who tries to be good is not "bad." when it is said that a bad man tries to be good the idea is that a very imperfect man tries to be rather better. and he tries to be rather better because heredity or environment causes him to wish to be rather better. before a man can wish to be good he must know what goodness is. all men are born destitute of knowledge. to know what goodness is he must learn. all learning is environment. but when a man knows what is good, and wishes to be good, he will try to be good. he cannot help trying. and he will try just as hard, and just as long as his temperament and training cause him to try; and he will succeed in being just as good as his temperament and training cause him to be. and his temperament is heredity, and his training is environment. it does not follow, then, that because a man is that which heredity and environment make him, he will be nothing, for they will _make_ him something. it does not follow that he will be bad, for they will make him good or bad, as they are good or bad. "then," exclaims the confused opponent, "the man himself counts for nothing: he is a mere machine." no. he is not a "mere machine": he is a mere man; and he counts for just as much as his heredity and environment amount to, for his heredity and environment are _he_. "but to tell a youth that he is a creature of heredity and environment would discourage him." not if he understood what was meant. as we want to get this subject perfectly clear let us put a speech in two ways. a youth tells his father that he would like to be a painter. the father's reply may be varied as follows. first, let us suppose the father says: "you will be just as good a painter as your heredity and environment allow, or compel you to be. "if you have any hereditary talent for the art, so much the better. but painting requires something more than talent: it requires knowledge, and practice. the more knowledge and practice you get the better you will paint. the less hereditary talent you possess, the more knowledge and practice you will need. therefore, if you want to be a good painter, you must work hard." the second speech would leave out the word hereditary before the word talent, and would begin, "you will be just as a good a painter as your talent and industry will make you." otherwise the speeches would not differ. but are we to suppose that the first speech would discourage a boy who wanted to be a painter? not at all: if the boy understood what heredity and environment mean. it tells him that he can only be as good a painter as _his_ talent and _his_ industry will make him. but it does not tell him what are the limits of his industry and talent, for nobody knows what the limits are. that can only be settled by trying. to know that he cannot get more out of a gold reef than there is in it, does not discourage a miner. what he wants is to get all there is in it, and until he wants no more, or believes there is no more, he will keep on digging. it is so with any human effort. we all know that we cannot do more than we can, whether we believe in free will or no. but we do not know how much we can do, and nobody can tell us. the only way is to try. and we try just as hard as our nature and our desire impel us to try, and just as long as any desire or any hope remains. not only that, we commonly try when the limit of our attainment is in sight. for we try to get as near the limit as we can. for instance. a young man adopts literature as his trade. he knows that before he dips a pen into a bottle that he will _never_ reach the level of shakespeare and homer. but he tries to do as well as he can. a miner might be sure that his reef would not yield a million; but he would go on and get all he could. so it is in the case of a desire for virtue. a man knows that he cannot be better than his nature and his knowledge allow him to be. he knows that he will never be as good as the best. but he wants to be good, and he tries to be as good as he can. the fact that a private soldier is not likely to get a commission does not prevent him from trying to get a sergeant-major's stripes. the knowledge that he is not likely to get twenty-one bull's-eyes in a match does not prevent a rifleman from getting all the bull's-eyes he can. so with our young painter. all desire is hereditary. all knowledge is environment. the boy wants to be a painter, and he knows that industry and practice will help to make him a good painter. therefore he tries. he tries just as hard as his desire (his heredity) and the encouragements of his master and his friends (environment) cause him to try. we do not say that it is no use trying to be good, no use trying to be clever. on the contrary, we say that no man can be good or clever unless he does try; but that his desire to try, his power to try, and his knowledge of the value of trying are parts of his heredity and environment a boy says, "i cannot do this sum." his friend says, "try again. i had to try six times; but i did it." that encouragement is environment. a man says, "i cannot keep steady. i have tried." his friend says, "yes, you can. try again. keep on trying. try for your children's sake." that speech is environment. we advise a weakly lad to try a course of gymnastics, and encourage him to persevere. that is environment. in another book of mine, "god and my neighbour," i said something that was pounced upon as inconsistent with my belief. one paper asked what i would give to "cancel that fatal admission." many critics said in their haste that i had "given my case away." but i am so far from regretting that paragraph that i will repeat it here, and will prove that it is not inconsistent with my belief, and that it does not "give my case away." the passage is as follows: i believe that i am what heredity and environment made me. but i know that i can make myself better or worse if i try. i know that because i have learnt it, and the learning has been part of my environment. what is there in that paragraph that is inconsistent with my belief? "i know"--how do i know anything? _all_ knowledge is from environment. "i know" (through environment) that i can do something "if i try." what causes me to try? if i try to write better, or to live better, it is evident that i wish to write better, or to live better. what makes me wish? heredity and environment. it may be inherited disposition to do the things called good. it may be love of approbation. those are parts of my heredity. it may be that i wish to do the things called good because i have been taught that i ought to do them. that teaching would be part of my environment therefore the desire to be good, or better, and the knowledge that i can be good, or better, if i try, arise from and belong to heredity and environment. "but to try. does not that show free will?" i have just proved that i try because i wish to succeed, and that environment has taught me that i cannot succeed without trying. "but does not the free will come in when i decide whether to do good or bad things?" no. for that has already been decided for me by heredity and environment, which have made me wish to do good things. so there is nothing wrong with that paragraph. the fault was in my critics, who had failed to understand the subject upon which they were trying to argue. a man can only try if heredity or environment causes him to want to try, and he can only keep on trying as long as heredity and environment cause him to keep on. one man is born with more talent than another. and one man is born with more industry, or with more ambition, or with more hope, patience, determination, than another. and the man who is more ambitious, or more patient, or more hopeful, or more determined, will try harder, and will try longer than the man who is less ambitious, or hopeful, or determined. heredity settles that. but the man who has less of the qualities that make one try, may be spurred on by a teacher, a friend, or a powerful motive, and so may try harder and longer than the stronger man. as, for example, a man who has given up trying to succeed in some enterprise, may fall in love, and then the added desire to marry the woman he loves, may cause him to try harder than ever, and may lead him to succeed. but these things belong to his environment. not only that, but they are a proof that environment can move a man when free will fails. for the man has a free will before he falls in love. but he loses heart, and does not succeed in his enterprise. but love, which is environment, supplies a new desire, and he does succeed. why does he succeed? because he wants to marry, and he cannot marry until he succeeds. this desire to marry comes of environment, and it rules the will, and compels the will to will a further effort. is it not so? although we say that man is the creature of heredity and environment, we do not say that he has no self-control. we only say that his self-control comes from heredity and environment, and is limited and controlled by heredity and environment. he can only "do as he likes" when heredity and environment cause him "to like," and he can only "do as he likes," so far and so long as heredity and environment enable him to go on. a man "can be good if he tries," but not unless heredity and environment cause him to wish to try. but for heredity he could not lift a finger: he would not have a finger to lift. but for environment he could not learn to use a finger. he could never know good from bad. we all know that we can train and curb ourselves, that we can weed out bad habits, and cultivate good habits. no one has any doubt about that. the question is what causes us to do the one or the other. the answer is--heredity and environment. we can develop our muscles, our brains, our morals; and we can develop them enormously. but before we can do these things we must _want_ to do them, and we must know that we _can_ do them, and how to do them; and all knowledge, and all desire comes from environment and heredity. a youth wishes to be strong. why? say he has been reading mr. sandow's book. he is told there that by doing certain exercises every day he can very greatly increase his strength. this sets him to work at the dumb-bells. there may be many motives impelling him. one group form a general desire to be strong: that is heredity. but the spur that moves him is sandow's book, and that spur, and the information as to how to proceed, are environment. the youth begins, and for a few months he does the exercises every morning. but they begin to get irksome. he is tired, he has a slight cold, he wants to read or write. he neglects the exercises. then he remembers that he cannot get strong unless he perseveres and does the work regularly, and he goes on again. or he neglects his training for awhile, until he meets another youth who has improved himself. then he goes back to the dumb-bells. is not this, to our own knowledge, the kind of thing that happens to us all, in all kinds of self-training, whether it be muscular, mental, or moral? what causes the fluctuations? let the reader examine his own conduct, and he will find a continual shifting and conflict of motives. and he will never find a motive that cannot be traced to his temperament or training, to his heredity or environment. a man wants to learn french, or shorthand. let him ask himself why he wants to learn, and he will find the motive springs from temperament or training. he begins to learn. he finds the work difficult and irksome. he has to spur himself on by all kinds of expedients. finally he learns, or he gives up trying to learn; and he will find that his action has been settled by a contest between his desire to be able to write shorthand, or to speak french, and his dislike to the drudgery of learning; or that his action has been settled by a conflict between his desire to know shorthand, or french, and his desire to do something else. he does the thing he most desires to do. and all desire comes from heredity or from environment. every member of his body, every faculty, every impulse is fixed for him by heredity; every kind of knowledge, every kind of encouragement or discouragement comes of environment. i hope we have made that quite clear, and now we may ask to what it leads us. and we shall find that it leads us to the conclusion that everything a man does is, at the instant when he does it, the only thing he _can_ do: the only thing _he_ can do, _then_. "what! do you mean to say-?" yes. it is startling. but let us keep our heads cool and our eyes wide open, and we shall find that it is quite true, and that it is not difficult to understand. chapter twelve--guilty or not guilty? we are to ask whether it is true that everything a man does is the only thing he could do, at the instant of his doing it. this is a very important question, because if the answer is yes, all praise and all blame are undeserved. _all_ praise and _all_ blame. let us take some revolting action as a test. a tramp has murdered a child on the highway, has robbed her of a few coppers, and has thrown her body into a ditch. "do you mean to say that tramp could not help doing that? do you mean to say he is not to blame? do you mean to say he is not to be punished?" yes. i say all those things; and if all those things are not true this book is not worth the paper it is printed on. prove it? i have proved it. but i have only instanced venial acts, and now we are confronted with murder. and the horror of murder drives men almost to frenzy, so that they cease to think: they can only feel. murder. yes, a brutal murder. it comes upon us with a sickening shock. but i said in my first chapter that i proposed to defend those whom god and man condemn, and to demand justice for those whom god and man have wronged. i have to plead for the _bottom_ dog: the lowest, the most detested, the worst. the tramp has committed a murder. man would loathe him, revile him, hang him: god would cast him into outer darkness. "not," cries the pious christian, "if he repent." i make a note of the repentance and pass on. the tramp has committed a murder. it was a cowardly and cruel murder, and the motive was robbery. but i have proved that all motives and all powers; all knowledge and capacity, all acts and all words, are caused by heredity and environment. i have proved that a man can only be good or bad as heredity and environment cause him to be good or bad; and i have proved these things because i have to claim that all punishments and rewards, all praise and blame, are undeserved. and now, let us try this miserable tramp--our brother. guilty or not guilty? the tramp has murdered a child for her money. what is his defence? i appear for the prisoner, and claim that he is not responsible for his act. (cries of shame! bosh! lynch him!) i will first of all remind the court of the reasons upon which i base my claim. (gentleman in white tie rises and declaims vehemently against the immorality of the defence. talks excitedly about the flood gates of anarchy, and the bulwarks of society, and is with difficulty persuaded to resume his seat.) clerical environment does not make for toleration and sweet reasonableness. i proceed to open my case. every quality of body or mind possessed by a child at birth has been handed down to the child by its ancestors. the child could not select its ancestors; could not select its own qualities of body and mind. therefore the child is not to blame for any evil quality of body or mind with which it is born. therefore this tramp was not to blame if, at the moment of birth, his nature was prone to violence or to vice. the prisoner is a criminal. he is either a criminal born, or a criminal made. if he is a "born criminal" he is a victim of atavism, and ought not to be blamed, but pitied. for it is not a fault, but a misfortune, to be born an atavist. had a tiger killed the child, we should have to admit that such is the tiger's nature; as it is the nature of a lark to sing. but, if the prisoner is an atavist it is _his_ nature to be furious and cruel. we cannot, however, be sure that a man is a "born criminal" because he commits a murder. so great is the power of environment for evil, as well as for good, that perhaps the most innocent and humane man in this court might, by the influence of an evil environment, have been made capable of an act as horrible. if the prosecution adopt the course i expect them to adopt, and claim that the unfortunate prisoner "knew better": if they succeed in proving that the prisoner was well-educated, carefully brought up, and never in all his life was once exposed to any evil influence, then i shall claim that such evidence proves the prisoner to be atavist, and entitles him to a verdict of unsound mind. because no man whose whole environment had been good, would be capable of murdering a child for a few coppers, unless he were an atavist or insane. on the other hand, if it should appear, in the course of evidence, that the prisoner was born of criminal and ignorant parents, was brought up in an atmosphere of violence and crime, was sent out, untaught, or evilly taught, and undisciplined, to scramble for a living; if it should be proved that he fell into bad company, that he turned thief, that he was sent to prison and branded as a felon: if it should be proved that he has been hunted by the police, flogged with the "cat" by warders, bullied by counsel, denounced by magistrates and judges; if it should be proved that he has been treated at every turn of his wretched career as a wild beast or a pariah; if it should be proved that he has been allowed to degenerate into an ignorant, a savage, a bestial and a drunken loafer; then, i shall plead that this miserable man has been reduced to his present morose, cruel, and immoral state by evil environment; and i shall ask for a verdict in his favour. (cries of monster! hang him! lynch him!) it is said the prisoner is an inhuman monster. he has been made a monster by a monstrous heredity; or he has been made a monster by a monstrous environment. no man of sound heredity ever becomes a monster save by the action of an evil environment. say the prisoner is an atavist; a man bred back to the beasts. then he is entitled to be judged by the standard we apply to beasts. some of you will remember poe's story of the murder in the rue morgue, in which a terrible murder is done by an ape. in such a case our horror and our anger would probably cause us to shoot the ape. but that would be the uprising within us of our own atavistic and brutish passions; it would not be the result of our promptings of our human reason. reason might prompt us to kill the ape as a precaution against a repetition of violence. but anger and hate are not reasonable, not human: all anger and all hate are bestial--like the hate and the anger of the tramp. but if the prisoner is not an atavist, or brute-man, if he has been reduced to his present moral state of environment, ask for some measure of compensation from the society; unjust laws, and dishonest social conditions, and immoral neglect are responsible for the fact that a brother man has been allowed, or rather compelled, by society, to grow up an ignorant and desperate savage. be that as it may, the prisoner is a creature of heredity and environment; and, as he is bad, the heredity, or the environment, or both, must be bad. and i ask for a verdict in the prisoner's favour. will any man on the jury say me nay? the prisoner has defied the law, he has injured society, has outraged morality. have law and morality not injured him? has society not injured him? he has committed a terrible crime, for which it is claimed that he should be punished. who shall be punished for the crimes of the law and of society against him? there is much proper and natural sympathy expressed by the prosecution with the parents of the murdered child. is there no sympathy with this unhappy victim of atavism, or of society? this prisoner has been bred as a beast, or treated as a savage, until he has become a savage and a beast. here stands a human being, poisoned, battered, and degraded beyond all human semblance. here stands a brother man, whose soul has been murdered by inches, has been murdered by the society that now hales him here to be denounced, and execrated, and hanged. do i speak truth, or falsehood? is logic true? are facts true? that which society has here planted it has here to reap. not all the law, the piety, and education in the wide, wide earth can make this ruined and degraded prisoner the man he might have been. not all the repentance we can feel, not any compensation we can offer can buy him back the soul we have destroyed. it is too late. gentlemen of the jury, is it nothing to you? you are accessories to the fact. i appeal to your justice, to your pity-- (a voice: how much pity had he for the child?) none. there is no pity in his soul. either his forefathers put none there, or society has destroyed it. (cries of monstrous! immoral! preposterous! shame!) i hear cries of monstrous and immoral. but i do not hear any voice say "false." is there a man in court can impeach my reasoning, or disprove my facts? is there a man in court can deny one statement i have made? is there a man in court can break one link of the steel chain of logic i have riveted upon our metaphysicians, our moralists, our kings, our judges, and our gods? you say my defence is unreasonable and immoral. you dread the effects of justice and of reason upon society. you talk of crime and cruelty, of law and order. you want the prisoner punished. you ask for justice: but you want revenge. give me a fair hearing, and i will speak of these things to you. when you cry out that to deny responsibility is immoral you are thinking, at the back of your heads, that men can only be kept within the law by fear; that wrong-doing can only be repressed by punishment. it is the old and cruel conventions of society that hold you fast to the error that blame and punishment are righteous and salutary. it is ignorance of human nature that betrays you into the belief that men can be made honest and benevolent by cruelty and terror. punishment has never been just, has never been effectual. punishment has always failed of its purpose: the greater its severity, the more abject its failure. men cannot be made good and gentle by means of violence and wrong. the real tamers and purifiers of human hearts are love and charity and reason. you seem to think it is a noble thing to be angry with a criminal, and to be angry with me for defending him. but it is always ignoble to be angry. some of you deny this blood-stained murderer for your brother; but directly your features are distorted by passion, directly your fury overcomes your reason, directly you begin to shriek for his blood, your close relationship to him appears. reason, patience, self-control, these are lacking in the savage criminal: i look around for them in vain amongst the crowd in this court. i said that i would take note of what our christian friend said about repentance. i will speak to that question now. there are few who so often forget the tenets of their own religion as the clergy. i have found it so. the clergy are always amongst the first to raise the cry of immorality when one speaks against punishment as unjust, or useless. yet the clergy preach the doctrine of repentance. it is only a few weeks since the english papers printed a letter from a murderer under sentence of death, in which he spoke of meeting his relatives "at the feet of jesus." in a week from the date of his letter he expected to be in heaven. in a month from the time when he murdered his wife, he expected to be with jesus, and to live in happiness and glory for ever. that is what the prison chaplain had taught him. it is what the clergy do teach. they talk of the folly and the immorality of abolishing prison and gallows; and then they offer the perpetrators of the most inhuman and terrible crimes a certainty of everlasting bliss in a sinless heaven. if it is immoral and absurd to say that all criminals are sinned against as well as sinning; if it is immoral and absurd to say that we ought not to hang a man, nor to flog, nor to imprison him, what kind of morality and wisdom lie in offering all criminals an eternity of happiness and glory? the clergy are that which their environment has made them. what kind of reasoning can we expect from men who have been taught that it is wicked to think? before you are angry with me for defending the prisoner be sure that you are not confounding the ideas of the criminal and the crime. i hate the crime as much as any man here; but i do not hate the criminal. i am not defending evil; i am defending the evil-doer. before you plume yourselves too much upon your superior morality and greater love of justice, allow me to remind you that i am asking that the world shall be moral, and not only this man: i am demanding justice for _all_ men, and not for a few. but you--you think you have acted righteously and honourably when you have hanged a murderer; but you have not a thought for the inhuman social conditions that make men criminals. this prisoner is but a type: a type of the legion victims of a selfish and cowardly society. every day, in every city, in every country, innocent children are being poisoned and perverted by millions. which of you has spoken a word or lifted a hand to prevent this wholesale wrong? what man of you all, who are so fierce against crime, so loud in praise of morality, has ever tried in act or speech to combat the crime and the immorality which society perpetuates: with your knowledge and consent? you who are so anxious to punish crime, what are you doing to prevent it? when i ask for a verdict in the prisoner's favour you assume that i would set him free, assuring him that he is an injured man and that fate compelled him to the act of murder. do you think, then, that i would release a tiger amongst the crowd in a circus, or that i would allow a homicidal maniac to go at large in the streets of a city? it would be folly to give to this brutalised and ignorant tramp a message which hardly a man in this court is sufficiently educated and refined to understand; it would be folly to set at liberty a besotted savage: it would be unsafe. but i say to _you_ that the prisoner is a victim of heredity and environment, that he has been debased and wronged by society, and that to punish him is unjust. (a woman's voice: "the monster! kill him.") madam, there is not a woman here can be sure that any child she bears may not be driven by society to stand some day in the dock. but still. you are not satisfied. some of you, at any rate, still frown and set your teeth hard. logic or no logic, he has murdered a baby. there stands my clerical friend, with knitted brows, and fire in his eyes. but that his calling checks his fierce old saxon heredity this parson would echo the stern speech of carlyle to the criminal: "scoundrel! know that we for ever hate thee!" ah! i thought so. the cloud begins to clear from the face of my clerical friend: the crowd look hopeful. grim old thomas appeals to you. the prisoner _is_ a scoundrel, and you _do_ hate him. nothing i have said, so far, has shaken that feeling. he is a scoundrel, and you hate him. what is more, you cannot forgive me for not hating him. you cannot believe that i am a natural man. i _ought_ to hate him. well, my friends, how do we feel about a shark? i think you will find that men hate a shark. and i think you will find that they hate him more bitterly than they hate a tiger. and i think you will find that they believe they hate the shark because he is cruel. but that seems to me a mistake. the shark is not so cruel as a cat; it is not so cruel as a shrike; it is nothing like so cruel as a european lady. for though the shark will devour any animals it can reach, it does not deliberately torture them. now the cat tortures the mouse, the shrike impales flies or beetles upon a thorn, and leaves them to die, and the european lady eats lobster, which has, to her knowledge, been boiled, alive. but the shark kills human beings. so do tigers, so do lions, and so do men. but the shark is horrible. yes; now we are getting nearer the real root of our hatred. the shark is horrible. and so is the murderer. but there is a difference between horror and hate. the murderer is horrible to me, far more horrible than the shark, just as a mad man is more horrible than a mad dog; just as a human corpse is more awful than the carcase of a deer. the criminal makes me shudder, he makes my flesh creep; my whole nature recoils from him. but i do not hate him, and i do not blame him. which of us does not admire and honour an innocent, graceful, and charming girl? to all of us, men and women, her presence is more delightful than a garden of sweet flowers. think of some such amiable and gentle creature. then imagine that we meet her ten years hence, and find her a drunken harlot, wallowing in the gutter. think of her then so hideous, filthy, and obscene; think of her debased, indecent, treacherous; think of her incapable of honesty, of gratitude, of truth; think of her sullied and broken and so vile that she would betray her only friend for a glass of gin: think of her well, and ask yourselves how should we feel towards her. some of us would blame her: some of us would pity her: some of us would try to befriend her: but hardly one of us could endure her touch, her speech, her gaze. she has become a horror in the light of the day. my clerical friend and i would stand before her sick and sorry and ashamed. we should be alike dismayed and shocked: we should be alike touched and repelled. but there in that tragic moment would appear the likeness and the difference between us. he would not _understand_. the unfortunate woman has been rendered physically and morally loathsome to us. so has this murderer. but that should cause us to pity, and not to hate them; it should inspire us not to destroy them; but to destroy the evil conditions that have brought them, and millions as unfortunate as they, to this terrible and shameful pass. the bitterest wrong of all is the fact that these fellow-creatures of ours have been degraded below the reach of our help and our affection. looking into my own heart, and recalling my experience of men and women, i must own that there is not one in a thousand of us who might not have become a shame and a horror to our fellows had our environment been as cruel and as hard as the environment of these from whom we shrink appalled. and when i read of a murder, when i see some human wreck, so repulsive and unsightly that my soul is sick within me, and my flesh shudders away from the contact, i crush the anger out of my heart, and remember what i am and might have been, and that this man, this woman, now so dreadful or so vile, is a victim of a state of society which most of us believe in and uphold. i cannot hate these miserables, but i cannot love them. i could not sleep in a dirty bed, nor eat a rotten peach, nor listen to a piano out of tune, nor drink after a leper or a slut, nor make a friend of a sweater, nor shake the hand of an assassin, nor sit at table with a filthy sot. but to drive our fellow-creatures into disgrace and crime beyond redemption, and then to hate them or to hang them; is that just? to loathe and punish the victims of society, and never lift a hand against the wrongs that are their ruin, is that reasonable? i ask for a verdict in the prisoner's favour; but i cannot ask that he be set at liberty. we could not liberate a smallpox patient nor a lunatic. although the prisoner ought not to be punished, it is imperative that he be restrained. being what he is: being what society has made him, he is not fit to be at large. we must defend ourselves against him. we must protect our children from him, even although we have failed to protect other children against society. i ask the jury for a verdict in the prisoner's favour. i leave the prisoner to their justice and to their reason. that is my case. chapter thirteen--the failure of punishment does it do a man any good to hang him? does it do us any good to hang him? is any human being in the wide world edified or bettered when a man is hanged? is it any _use_ hanging men? that it is unjust to hang a man we have seen. but is it any use? there is a certain school of moralists who are angered and alarmed by the mere suggestion that men should cease to blame and punish each other. they protest that virtue would die out and morality become a mockery if we ceased to scold, and whip, and execute each other. they seem to believe that injustice and ferocity are the best exemplars of justice and human kindness. dr. aked, minister of pembroke chapel, liverpool, declaiming against what he called "this preposterous notion of moral irresponsibility," declared that "it is the doctrine of every coward, of every cur, of every thief who ever pilfered from his master's till, of every seducer and traitor the world has seen." i whisper the name of torquemada, and pass on. dr. aked, supposing, for the sake of illustration, that he who has been a bad man, said: if, in the mercy of god, the day comes when i see myself as i am, when there is no more shuffling, when to myself myself is compelled, even to the teeth and forehead of my faults, to give in evidence--if such a day comes, no juggling with words, _no nonsense about not knowing any better_ or being driven by education upon organisation, by environment acting on heredity, will serve to conceal from my soul the hideous view of its own guilt. and yet dr. aked is a minister of the christian religion, and a professed follower of christ, who said of his murderers, "_father forgive them, for they know not what they do_." i might imitate dr. aked, and denounce the idea that punishment makes men virtuous and docile as the idea of every tyrant, of every religious persecutor, of every wife-beater, of every martinet, of every bully and brute the world has ever seen. but i prefer to look calmly and sensibly at the evidence. that mighty moral ruler, king henry viii., during his reign did, according to the author of _elizabethan england_, hang up seventy-two thousand thieves, rogues, and vagabonds. now, sir thomas more, who was one of the finest men england ever bred, and was lord high chancellor under henry viii., has put it upon record, in his great and noble work, _utopia_, that these severe punishments were not only unjust, but ineffectual. i will quote from sir thomas: one day when i was dining with him (cardinal archbishop morton) there happened to be at table one of the english lawyers, who took occasion to run out in a high commendation of the severe execution of justice upon thieves, who, as he said: were then hanged so fast, that there were sometimes twenty on one gibbet; and upon that he said he could not wonder enough how it came to pass, that since so few escaped, there were yet so many thieves left who were still robbing in all places. upon this, i, who took the boldness to speak freely before the cardinal, said there was no reason to wonder at the matter, since this way of punishing thieves was neither just in itself, nor good for the public; for as the severity was too great, so the remedy was not effectual; simple theft not being so great a crime that it ought to cost a man his life; and no punishment, how severe soever, being able to restrain those from robbing, who can find out no other way of livelihood; and in this, said i, not only you in england, but a great part of the world, imitate some ill masters that are readier to chastise their scholars than to teach them. there are dreadful punishments enacted against thieves, but it were much better to make such good provisions by which every man might be put in a method how to live, and so be preserved from the fatal necessity of stealing, and dying for it.... if you do not find a remedy to these evils, it is a vain thing to boast of your severity of punishing theft; which, though it may have the appearance of justice, yet in itself is neither just nor convenient; for if you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their manners to be corrupted from their infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded from this, but that you first make thieves, and then punish them? in confirmation of the statement of henry the eighth's lord chancellor, we have the evidence of harrison, that after these , executions of henry, there were more thieves than ever in the next reign. harrison, who wrote in the reign of elizabeth, says of the "rogues and vagabonds": "the punishment that is ordained for this kind of people is very sharp, and yet it cannot restrain them from their gadding." in that day any one convicted, "on the testimony of two honest and credible witnesses," of being a "rogue," "he is then immediately adjudged to be grievously whipped, and burned through the gristle of the right ear, with a hot iron of the compass of an inch about." amongst the "rogues" were included actors, jugglers, fencers, minstrels, and _tinkers!_ harrison toasts that our laws against felons were more humane than those of the continent. let us consider the leniency of elizabeth's day. a woman who poisoned her husband was burnt alive. other poisoners were boiled alive, or scalded to death in "seething water or lead." heretics and witches were burnt alive. murderers were hanged alive in chains. harrison adds: "we have use neither of the wheel nor of the bar as in other countries; but when wilful manslaughter is perpetrated, besides hanging, the offender hath his right hand commonly stricken off, before or near the place where the act was done, after which he is led forth to the place of execution and there put to death according to the law." for treason men were "hanged, drawn, and quartered." for felony, which was anything from highway robbery to theft of a piece of bread, men, women, and children were hanged. there were over offences for which the penalty was death. for "speaking sedition against a magistrate" the offender had both his ears cut off. if a prisoner refused to plead he was pressed to death under heavy weights. harrison says that "there is not one year" in which three or four hundred "rogues" are not "eaten up by the gallows." and then he goes on to remark that so many are the idle rogues, that "except some better order be taken, or the laws already made be better executed, such as dwell in uplandish towns and little villages shall live but in small safety or rest." a hundred years ago there were over two hundred offences for which the punishment was death. boys and girls were hanged for theft. mr. collinson, in _facts about floggings_, says that in there were at one time over fifty prisoners in england waiting to be hanged, and that one of them was a child of tender years. mr. collinson says: the inefficiency and brutality of all this torture and bloodshed became obvious to the people, through the propaganda of a few daring and enlightened reformers, and it was swept away. but let us come nearer home. about a dozen years ago the late mr. hopwood, k.c., recorder of liverpool, was good enough to give me his opinions on the subject of harsh and lenient punishment. mr. hopwood said: i was first convinced of the uselessness of harsh sentences by attendance at two courts of sessions about thirty-five years ago. the two courts were those of manchester and salford--towns very similar as to population and conditions of life. in salford the sentences were uniformly lenient. in manchester they were uniformly severe. people said manchester would be purged of crime; that all the criminals would flock to salford. it was not so. the state of things continued for some years, and caused no increase of crime in the one, nor decrease of crime in the other town. hence it becomes evident that a great deal of useless punishment was inflicted in manchester. i was a young barrister at the time, and i took the lesson to heart. mr. hopwood only claimed a negative result. he said: "i do not say i have reduced crime, but only that i have reduced punishment without increasing crime. for instance, i claim that during my six years at this court i have saved three thousand years of imprisonment." when i remarked "that saved a great waste of money," he answered that it was "a great saving of humanity." he claimed that life and property were at least as secure under a clement judge as under a cruel one, and that his system saved much suffering and shame, not only to the prisoners, but also to those dependent upon them. he said that very often his treatment had a good effect upon the prisoners: "do you know, often they are ashamed to come back." mr. hopwood told me that at first he met with strong opposition, but that his example had such an effect that the local magistrates had come "to give six or ten months' imprisonment in cases where formerly the offenders would have got seven years." asked whether his leniency had caused criminals to flock to liverpool, mr. hopwood answered, "not at all"; and his denial was backed by the statement of the chief constable that "crime was decreasing to an appreciable extent." mr. hopwood told me he would like to release one-third of those men then in prison, and, he added, "another third ought never to have gone there." asked what that meant, he said that one-third of the prisoners were innocent. my own observation, in the police-courts afterwards, convinced me that he was quite right. finally, after showing me that the boasted cure of garrotting by "the cat" was a fiction, "there never was a garrotter flogged," mr. hopwood asked me to go and see some of our prisons, remarking, gravely: the prison system is cruel and vile. the prisoners are starved, tortured, and degraded. the system should be altered at once. it is inhumanly severe upon the guilty, and, in my opinion, a good third of those in our gaols are _not_ guilty. dr. james devon, medical officer at glasgow prison, told the royal philosophical society in that city, in , that "with milder methods of repression we have not more, but less, crime: and certainly much less brutality." dr. hamilton d. wey, of elmira reformatory, 'elmira, n. y., says: "the time will come when every punitive institution in the world will be destroyed, and be replaced by hospitals, schools, workshops, and reformatories." dr. lydston, professor of criminal anthropology, writes as follows: "try to reform your man, try to purify and elevate his soul, and if he does not come to time, lock him up or hang him." this has been the war-cry of the average reformer through all the ages. "make a healthy man of your criminal, or prospective criminal, give him a sound, well-developed brain to think with, and rich, clean blood to feed it upon, and an opportunity to earn an honest living--then preach to him if you like." this is the fundamental principle of the scientific criminologist. which is the more rational? havelock ellis says in his work on "the criminal," "flogging is objectionable, because it is ineffectual, and because it brutalises and degrades those on whom it is inflicted, those who inflict it, and those who come within the radius of its influence." the recorder of liverpool told me that millions were wasted upon prisons which ought to be spent upon detection. "make detection swift and certain," said he, "and crime will cease. no one will steal if he is sure he will be caught every time." this is proved by the revenue service. penalties did not stop smuggling; but it has now become almost impossible to run a cargo: the coast is so closely guarded. dr. lydston, in _the diseases of society_, says: the prospective criminal once born, what does society do to prevent his becoming a criminal? practically nothing.... what is the remedy at present in vogue? society punishes the vicious child after a criminal act has been committed, and sends the diseased one to the hospital to be supported by the public, after he has become helpless. even in this, the twentieth century, the child who has committed his first offence is in most communities thrown by the authorities into contact with older and more hardened criminals--to have his criminal education completed. the same fate is meted out to the adult "first offender." we have millions for sectarian universities, millions for foreign missions, but few dollars for the redemption of children of vicious propensities or corrupting opportunities, who are the product of our own vicious social system. every penal institution, every expensive process of criminal law, is a monument to the stupidity and wastefulness of society--and expenditure of money and energy to cure a disease that might be largely prevented, and more logically treated where not prevented. lombroso, the great italian criminologist, said, in : there are few who understand that there is anything else for us to do, to protect ourselves from crime, except to inflict punishments that are often only new crimes, and that are almost always the source of new crimes. to what does all this evidence tend? from the day of sir thomas more to the present hour, it has been claimed by wise and experienced men that punishment is not only unjust, but worse than useless. and the statistics of crime have always supported the claim. there was more crime in the fifteenth century, when penalties were so severe, than there is to-day. there were worse crimes. there was more brutality. the abolition of cruel punishments has diminished crime. the abolition of flogging in the army and navy has not injured either service. the improvement in school discipline has not lowered the moral standard of boys and girls. but, it may be urged, the decrease in crime, and the improvement in morals are not due only to the increased leniency of punishments. they are due also to the spread of education, and to the improved conditions of life. exactly. that is my case. decrease of punishment, and increase of education, have diminished crime and improved morals. punish less, and teach more; blame less, and encourage more; hate less, and love more; and you will get not a lowering, but a raising of the moral standard; not an increase in crime, but a decrease. and the improvement will be due to alteration for the better of--environment. chance has placed me very often in positions of authority. i have been in charge of rough and reckless men: soldiers, militiamen, navvies, workers of all sorts. i have never found it necessary to be harsh, nor to threaten, nor to drive. i have always found that to respect men as men, to treat them fairly and quietly, and to show a little kindness now and again, has sufficed to get the best out of them. i have gone into the midst of a crowd of irish soldiers, all drunk, and all fighting in true donnybrook fashion, and have got order without a hard word, without making a single prisoner. directly they recognised me they calmed down. had i been a sergeant disliked by them they would have thrown me downstairs. i have found the wildest and the lowest amenable to reason and to kindness. one of the greatest ruffians in the regiment once spoke rudely to me in camp, and even threatened me. i was then a lance-corporal, and a mere boy. i sat down and talked to the bruiser quietly for a few minutes, and from that day he would have done anything for me. there was a blackguard in my company who once threatened to murder me. a few months later he was taken ill in the night and i attended to him, and probably saved his life. he never forgot it. it was but a small kindness, and he was what is generally called a scoundrel, but he showed his gratitude to me all the rest of the time i was in the army. as a child i was brought up under strict discipline. i felt that it was a wrong method. i have "spoilt" my children; and they are better than i ever was. parents beat their children for their own errors. if a father cannot gain the respect and obedience of his children, it is because he is foolish, or violent, or ignorant. children, soldiers, and animals are alike in one respect: they know and respect strength and reason. the quiet manager, officer, sergeant, parent, who knows his own mind, who keeps his temper, who is not afraid, can always get discipline and order. if i thought any one under my control or care was afraid of me, i should feel ashamed. if a master rules only by fear of punishment he is not fit to rule at all. when those over whom we happen to be placed in authority feel that we deserve their respect, we get it if you want to know whether a man is fit for command, put him with men who are not bound to obey him. put him with his equals, where he has no power to punish nor to harm. thus you will find the real leader of men: the man who leads with his brains. i knew a young lieutenant once, a boy of twenty. he met a boy private in town, and saw that he had been drinking. had he made a prisoner of the boy, the private would have got punished for drunkenness, and would have got drunk again. but the young officer sent for the boy the next day and said, "if i were you, thomas, i wouldn't drink. it is a poor game, and your people would not like it" that boy was cured. that same officer, if the men were unsteady on parade, would stand quite still and _look_ at them. he had clear blue eyes, and his look was not stern, it was calm and confident. it brought the whole company to attention without a word. the officer was a _man_, and the men knew it, and they knew it because _he_ knew it the boss who begins to bully is not sure of himself. children, soldiers, workers, and animals know by instinct when the boss is not sure of himself. those who put so much trust in blame and punishment do not understand human nature. i said in a previous chapter that a man could not believe a thing unless his reason told him that it was true. i now say that a man cannot help believing a thing when his reason tells him it is true. the secret of reform is to make men understand. the terrors of capital punishment, the terrors of the "cat," even the terrors of hell-fire fail to awe the criminal. that is because the criminal is stupid or ignorant, and lacks imagination. he hears of hell, and of death. but he cannot imagine either. he seldom thinks. he seldom looks beyond the end of his nose. discipline is not preserved in the army by the dread of the "cat," nor of the cells. it is kept by the fact that the wildest and most reckless man knows that he _must_ obey, that the whole physical and moral force of the army is united to insist upon obedience. if he disobey an order he will be punished. he does not care a snap of his fingers for the punishment. but he knows that after he has done his punishment drill the order will be repeated, and that he will be obliged to obey. he knows that the sentiment of the army is against him until he does obey. i have seen an officer get a battalion into a mess on parade, and then lose his temper and bully the men.. and i have seen another officer on the same day drill the men and get them to work like a machine. the first officer did not know how to give the orders. the second knew his business, was sure that he did know it, and so let the men feel that he knew it. it is with parents as with those two officers. the one who knows his duty, and does it properly, never has any occasion to lose his temper. it is time solomon's rod followed the witches' broom. it is time the "cat," and the chain, and the cell, and the convict's dress, and the oakum and the skilly, and the gallows followed the rack and the thumbscrew and the faggot and the wheel. it is time the leaders of the people were taught to lead. it is time the educated and the uneducated were given some real education. it is time that tyranny, cruelty, self-righteousness, superstition, and the bad old conventions of an ignorant past, gave place to reason, to science, to manhood. "but," the penal moralist will demand, "if you propose to abolish blame and punishment, what do you propose to put in their place?" and i answer, "justice, knowledge, and reason--in fact, an improved environment." the cause of most of our social and moral troubles is ignorance. by ignorance i do not mean illiteracy only: there are many classical scholars who are really ignorant men. no: i mean ignorance of human nature and of the essentials to a happy and wholesome human life. it is this kind of ignorance which divides the people into two classes: rich and poor--masters and slaves. it is this kind of ignorance which causes men to sacrifice health, happiness, and virtue for the sake of vanity, and idleness, and wealth. it is the kind of ignorance which keeps twelve millions of people in a rich and fertile country always on the verge of destitution. it is this kind of ignorance which saddles mankind with the cost of armies, and fleets, and prisons, and police. it is this kind of ignorance which breeds millions of criminals, and educates them in crime. it is this kind of ignorance which splits a great nation into castes, and sects, and makes the realisation of the glorious ideal of human brotherhood impossible. it is this kind of ignorance which drives professing christians to neglect the teachings of christ. it is this kind of ignorance which makes possible the millionaire, the aristocrat, the sweater, the tramp, the thief, the degenerate, and the slave. it is this kind of ignorance which keeps the children hungry, drives the men to drunkenness, and the women to shame. it is this kind of ignorance which is answerable for all evil environments from which hate, and greed, and poverty, and immorality spring, like weeds from a rank and neglected soil. we cannot get rid of this most deadly form of ignorance by means of blame and punishment. there is only one way to drive out ignorance, and that is by spreading knowledge. what knowledge? knowledge of human nature and of the essentials to a happy and wholesome life. it is bad for men to be rich and idle; it is bad for men to be ill-fed, ill-clothed, ill-housed, ill-taught, unhonoured, and unloved. whilst life is a sordid scramble, in which the prizes are pernicious wealth, and luxury, and idleness, and in which the blanks are hunger, ignorance, vice, unhappiness, the prison, and the gallows; immorality and crime must flourish as pestilence flourishes in a filthy, pent, and insanitary city. it is sad to see the custodians of the public morality bewailing the wickedness of men, and fostering the evil surroundings from which evil springs. it is as foolish as to bewail the presence of malarial fever, to punish the victims for spreading the disease, and at the same time to refuse to drain the marsh from which the malaria comes, because it is the property of a grand duke, who wishes to shoot wildfowl there. what do i propose should be done. why that, my friends, is another story. what i propose at present to do is to prove that crime and immorality are _caused_: to show what the causes are; and to point out that the recognised remedies are ineffectual. while we have an idle rich, and a hungry and ignorant poor, we cannot get rid of vice and crime. to punish the criminals we have made, is unjust and useless; to pray for deliverance from plague: we must look to the drains--we must improve the environment. no man should be idle. no man should be rich. no man should be ignorant, no man destitute. every man should have a chance to earn the essentials to a wholesome, happy, temperate, and useful life. every child should be nourished, and taught, and trained. crime, vice, disease, poverty, idleness: all these are preventable evils. but we cannot drain our marshes, because, little as we heed the misery of the people, the ignorance and hunger of the children, the despair of the men and the degradation of the women, we are marvellously tender of grand ducal sport. it is mammon we worship, not god; it is property we prize, not life; it is vanity we love, and not our fellow-creatures. we are an ignorant, atavistic people; and our priests are wondrous moral. chapter fourteen--some objections answered the upholders of the doctrine of free will commonly fall into the error of considering heredity and environment apart from each other. father adderley, in a lecture given at saltley, told his hearers that "all our great scientists agree that people have the power to overcome their hereditary tendencies." perhaps: but they can only get that power from environment; and if the environment is bad they will not get that power. but the most surprising example of this mental squinting is afforded by the rev. c. a. hall, who may be said to squint with both eyes. for, in a lecture given at paisley, this gentleman first shows that we can overcome our heredity, and then shows that we can overcome our environment and yet it never occurred to him that to prove the freedom of the will we must be able to overcome our heredity and environment together. mr. hall's argument may be stated thus: by the aid of environment we can overcome our heredity; by the aid of heredity, or of good environment we can overcome bad environment; therefore we are superior to heredity and environment. it is like saying: by means of natural intelligence and a good teacher i can become a good scholar; by means of natural intelligence and a good teacher i can correct the errors of a bad teacher. therefore i do not depend upon intelligence nor teaching for my knowledge. but i have answered messrs. adderley and hall in my chapter on self-control. an example of a similar error is afforded by a clergyman who wrote to me from warrington. he said: you can never hope to improve the social environment until you _persuade_ men that they can rise superior to their circumstances. the men are to be "persuaded" to rise. and what is that persuasion, but a part of their environment? and if men are "persuaded" to try, and succeed, to whom is the victory due? is it not due to the "persuasion"? of course it is. and the persuasion came from outside themselves, and is part of their environment. the same clergyman said, "if heredity and environment have made the individuals of whom society is made up, heredity and environment have made society itself," and asked me how i could logically accuse society of injuring any one. a strange question based upon a misunderstanding. the criminal injures society, society injures the criminal. i accuse both of injurious action. i _blame_ neither. i say both are that which heredity and environment made them. i say neither can help it. but i say that both can be _taught_ to help it, and that _both_ should be taught to help it. is there anything illogical in that? this brings me to the rev. charles marson, a very clever and witty man, who is hopelessly muddled over the simple matter. in "the religious doubts of democracy," mr. marson says: now, as reform starts by a feeling and conviction of blame, and cannot start at all unless it can say: "this is wrong. it might be right. this ought not to be and is, and need not be" so, if the answer is: "but this was as mathematically fixed at its birth as the path of a planet in its orbit," the poor reformed can only say, "sorry i spoke"; and if he speaks again it will be to laugh at the clarion for wasting ink in blaming orbits which are mathematically fixed. indeed, if i were a burglar, i would invest part of my swag in endowing determinists to pour arguments and ridicule upon christian magistrates and criminal codes, with their active and irritating blame. certainly, if i were lord rackrent, i should invite my anti-reform friends, the determinists, to dinner, take them to the opera, and send them round to address the socialists, at my expense. mr. blatchford, being anxious to fight against the doctrine of sin, builds a fatalist rampart, looks over the top, and says: "can man sin against god? his actions are fixed." we walk round behind him and say: "can man sin against man? can social systems sin against man?" and the very rampart of fatalism he has erected hinders him from escaping from a withering fire, except by backing into obscurantism and ultra-toryism. this is the same error, differently stated. if man cannot be blamed, society cannot be blamed: therefore everything must remain as it is. i often wonder where the clergy learn their logic. men cannot be blamed: society cannot be blamed. but both can be _altered_: by environment. that is to say, if heredity and environment have endowed some man with reason and knowledge and inclination for the task, that man may be able to improve society, or the individual, by _teaching_ one or both. and the teaching will be environment. we cannot, as mr. marson pointed out in his article, "blame" environment; but we can attribute evils to the action of environment, and we can change the environment, always provided that heredity and environment have endowed us with the needful knowledge and brains for the purpose. let us look at the facts. there is a very terrible disease called diphtheria. it is caused by a small fungoid bacillus, and it has killed myriads of children, and caused much suffering and grief. do we blame "the vegetable bacillus"? no. we cannot blame a bacillus. so i say we cannot blame diphtheria for killing children. no sane person ever suggested blame in such a case. but do we take any the less trouble to fight against diphtheria? we do not "blame" a rat for eating our chickens, nor a boat for capsizing in a breeze, nor a lunatic for setting fire to a house, nor a shark for eating a sailor. but has any sane person ever suggested that we should not try to keep rats out of the henhouse, nor to ballast a faulty boat, nor restrain a madman from playing with fire, nor to rescue a sailor from a shark? mr. marson asks ironically whether a social system "can be naughty," whether a social system may be praised logically, blamed logically, and held responsible logically. i reply that a social system cannot be logically "blamed," any more than a shark, a disease, a fool can be logically blamed. but a social system may be approved or disapproved, and may be altered and abolished. we cannot "blame" a man's environment, in the strict meaning of the word. but we may attribute a man's crime, or shame, or ruin to his environment. we do not blame prussic acid for being lethal; but we do not allow chemists to sell it in large quantities to every casual stranger. _why?_ because it is _poison_. well, the influenza bacillus is poison, falsehood is poison, vice is poison, greed and vanity and cruelty are poison; and it behooves us to destroy those poisons, and so to improve our social system and the environment of our fellow-men. we come now to the idea that to teach men that all blame is unjust is to encourage them to do wrong. this idea is expressed, with characteristic clumsiness and obscurity, by bishop butler, in that monument of loose thinking and foggy writing, "the analogy of religion." what butler wanted to say, and tried to say, in more than words of his irritating style, is simply that a child brought up to believe that praise and blame were unjust, would be a plague to all about him, and would probably come to the gallows. the reader will find it in chapter vi. of "the analogy." now, i quite believe that if the matter had to be explained to a child by bishop butler the effect would be fatal, because the poor bishop did not understand it himself, and was not good at explaining things he did understand. but the child would be in no danger if he were instructed by a man who knew what he was talking about, and was able to say what he knew in plain words and clear sentences. and i can say from my experience of children that i find them readier of apprehension, and clearer thinkers than i have found most clergymen. as i have dealt with this argument in my chapter on self-control i need not go over the ground again. but i may say that we should teach a child that some things are right and some are wrong, and why they are right and why they are wrong; and that he was not to blame others because they either do not know any better, or are unable to do any better, and we should teach him that one learns to be good as one learns to write or to swim, and that the harder one tries the better one succeeds. and we should feel quite sure that the child would be just as good as his heredity and our training made him; and as for his coming to the gallows, if _all_ children were taught on our system _there would be no gallows to come to_, and very few looking for that sacred instrument, the sight of which convinced gulliver that he was "once more in a christian country." is it necessary for me to answer the charge of presumption brought against me by dr. aked? dr. aked says i am presumptuous because i deny the belief of great and holy men of past ages. he says that the agreement of cheyne and perowne in praise of the fifty-first psalm is typical of the world's consensus of opinion. and this psalm is the cry of a broken heart for deliverance from sin. dr. aked goes on as follows: to-day we are asked to believe that all this is a delusion. we are told that man could not and cannot sin against god. we are invited to believe that the men of every age and nation whose hearts have bled in sorrow over accomplished sin, who have cried in anguish of soul for deliverance from the body of this death, whose joy in the realisation of divine forgiveness has flowed in strains of immortal joy over countless generations, were ignorant and foolish persons, inventing their sufferings and imagining their solace, and needing some journalist of the twentieth century to teach them that no man could really sin against god! we are, apparently, expected to believe that the author of this psalm and the author of the "second isaiah," that paul and augustine, the author of "thomas a'kempis," and john bunyan, knew nothing of psychology and nothing of divinity, that they never understood their own experience, and, though they have interpreted humanity to uncounted millions of the children of men, yet lived and died in crass ignorance of the workings of the human heart the proposition is not modest. that any man should be found, however flippantly, to advance it is marvellous. that any human being should be found to accept it seriously is incredible. dr. aked's argument amounts to a claim that we should believe in free will because most men believe in it, because many good and great men have believed in it. but many millions of men have believed in a material hell. in which dr. aked does not believe. many good and great men have believed in a material hell, and millions of men (some of them good and clever) still believe in a material hell. and dr. aked does not believe in it. and when the doctrine of hell-fire was first assailed, what did the dr. akeds of the time declare? that without the fear of hell men would be wicked, and would do wrong in defiance of god; and that the theory that there was no hell of fire was "incredible." and what is this charge of audacity which dr. aked brings against me for denying sin? it is just the charge that was brought against charles darwin when he had the immodesty to declare that the human species was evolved from lower forms. how was that theory met by the dr. akeds of the time? darwin was ridiculed and denounced, and nearly all the religious world was aghast at his folly and his irreverence, and his presumption in advancing a theory which was contrary to the teachings of holy writ. but darwin's theory was _true_. darwin's theory was true, and i claim that this theory is true. is it any answer to tell me that i am presumptuous in opposing the beliefs of great men past and present? darwin opposed the general belief, and darwin was right and the general belief was wrong. is it any more reasonable to condemn this theory for traversing the fifty-first psalm than it was to condemn evolution for traversing the book of genesis? are we never to deviate from the beliefs of our forefathers, be the evidence against those beliefs never so strong? how, then, shall knowledge increase or progress be possible? presumptuous to deny what great men in the past believed? then the world is flat, and the sun goes round the world, and polygamy is right, and saturday is the sabbath day, and all jews, mohammedans, buddhists, confucians, and pagans will be damned, and the abolition of witch-burning was a mistake, and luther was presumptuous for resisting the authority of the church of rome, and dr. aked is presumptuous for differing from the church of england. in such absurdities does the clerical mind entangle itself when it tries to think. mr. marson says that if he were a burglar he would spend some of the money he stole in paying lecturers to teach the doctrine that men ought not to be blamed for their actions. but if all men were trained upon our principles there _would not be any burglars_. however, let us see what mr. marson means. he means that if punishment and blame were abolished burglars and other wrongdoers might go scot free, and might rob, or kill, or cheat; and no one should say them nay. but mr. marson is a clergyman, and does not understand. it is a strange notion this, that if you do not blame a man you cannot interfere with him. we do not blame a lunatic: even a christian does not blame a lunatic. but we do not allow a madman to go round with an axe and murder people. we do not hang a madman, nor punish him in any way. if a murderer is proved to be mad he is pardoned and--restrained. so, although we might not blame a thief, or a sweater, or a poisoner, it does not follow that we should allow him to go on stealing, or sweating, or murdering. we propose to defend society from the individual; but we propose to do more than that: we propose to do what the christian does not attempt to do--we propose to defend the individual from society. the christian method of dealing with the burglar is to neglect him in his childhood and his youth, to allow him to become a burglar, from sheer lack of opportunity to become anything else, and then to lecture him and send him to prison. but, my christian friends, how do you find your system work? if you tell bill sykes he is a bad man, that the angels will not love him, that the fat successful sweater or idler will loathe and despise him, and if you send bill to prison and hard labour for a term of years, will it always happen that william will repent and reform, and become a building society or a joint-stock bank himself? or do you find that poor bill hardens his heart, and hates you; and that he comes out of your shameful prison, and from your cowardly and savage whips and chains, and burgles and drinks again, and learns to carry a revolver? if we want to get rid of evil we must remove the _cause_ of evil. it is useless to punish the victim. it is with moral evils as with physical evils. when an epidemic of fever or smallpox comes upon us we do not punish the sick, nor blame them. but we isolate the sick, and we attack the _cause_ of the sickness, by attending to matters of hygiene and sanitation. that is how we ought to deal with moral sickness. men do not live badly because they are "wicked," but because they are ignorant. the remedy lies in the study and adoption of the laws of the science of human life. if we are to have a moral people we must first of all have a healthy people. if the working classes are to be made sober and pure and wise, the other classes must be made honest, and to be made honest they must be taught what honesty is. but the christian cannot teach what honesty is because he does not know. he cannot attack the causes of vice and crime, because he does not understand that vice and crime are caused. he has been taught that men do wrong because they will not do right, and that they can do right if they will. the christian blames the criminal, and punishes him, because the christian believes that the criminal has a "free will." but we should not blame nor punish the criminal, because we know that he is a victim of heredity and environment. so we should restrain the criminal, and try to reform him; and we should attack the environment which made him a criminal, and is still making more criminals, and we should try to alter that environment, and so prevent the making of more criminals. for the hardened criminal, restraint may be necessary. it may be impossible to reform him. it may be too late. but it is not too late to save millions of innocent children from a like disaster and disgrace. it is not too late to prevent evil in the future, though we cannot atone for the evil wrought in the past. we know, and the christian knows, that where a murderer destroys one life society destroys thousands. we know that all through our pursy civilisation, in all the fine cities of our wealth, our culture, and our boastful piety, the ruin of children, the production of monsters, the desecration of human souls, is going steadily and ruthlessly on. we know this, and the christian knows this; but we propose to prevent it, to stop it, by striking at the root _cause_: the christian hopes to check it by lopping off here and there one of the fruits. that is one reason why i claim that humanism is a better religion than christianity; that is one reason why i claim that christianity is a failure. what is the cause of crime? the christian does not know. what is the cause of ignorance? the christian does not know. what is the cause of poverty? the christian does not know. for ages the christians trusted to religion to rid them of pestilence. science taught them to _prevent_ pestilence. now they trust to religion to rid the world of vice and crime. it is the same old error. science has shown us the causes of vice and crime: science teaches us that we must attack the causes. but the world is very ignorant in affairs of moral sanitation; and has an almost religious veneration for the sacredness of grand ducal ducks. as for the children--why do not their parents take care of them? perhaps because the parents were neglected by _their_ parents. and which is the better, to go back for a dozen generations blaming parents, or to begin now and teach and save the children? chapter fifteen--the defence of the bottom dog friends, i write to defend the bottom dog. it is a task to stagger the stoutest heart. with nearly all the power, learning, and wealth of the world against him; with all the precedents of human history against him; with law, religion, custom, and public sentiment against him, the unfortunate victim's only hope is in the justice of his case. i would he had a better advocate, as i trust he some day will. the prosecution claim a monopoly of learning, and virtue, and modesty. they may be justified in this. i do not grudge them such authority as their shining merits may lend to a case so unjust, so feeble, and so cruel as theirs. many of the gentlemen on the other side are christian ministers. they uphold blame and punishment, in direct defiance of the teaching and example of jesus christ. the founder of their religion bade them love their enemies. he taught them that if one stole their coat they should give him their cloak also. he prevented the punishment of the woman taken in adultery, and called upon him without sin to cast the first stone. he asked god to forgive his murderers, because they knew not what they did. in not one of these cases did christ say a word in favour of punishment nor of blame. christians pray to be forgiven, as they forgive; they ask god to "have mercy upon us miserable sinners"; they ask him to "succour, help, and comfort all that are in danger, necessity, and tribulation," and to "show his pity upon all prisoners and captives"; how, then, can christians advocate the blame of the weak, and the punishment of the persecuted and unfortunate? i suggest that men who do not understand their own religion are not likely to understand a religion to which they are opposed. as i am generally known as a poor man's advocate, i ask you to remember that i am not now appearing for the poor, but for the wrong-doer. there are many very poor who do no serious wrong; there are many amongst the rich, the successful, and the respectable, whose lives are evil. one does not live half a century without knowing one's world pretty well. i know the honourable and noble lord, full of gout, vainglory, and stealthy vices; i know the fashionable divine, with pride in his heart, milk on his lips, and cobwebs in his brain; i know the smug respectability, with low cunning under his silk hat, and chicanery buttoned up in his irreproachable frock coat; i know the fine lady, beautiful as a poppy, who is haughty from sheer lack of sense; i know the glib orator of mean acts and golden words; i know the elected person of much dignity and little wit,' and the woman of much loveliness and little love. i have to defend men and women whose deeds revolt me, whose presence disgusts me. i have to defend them against the world, and against my own prejudices and aversion. for i also have a heredity and an environment, and therefore crochets, and passions, and antipathies. though i can defend all victims of heredity and environment, though i can demand justice for the worst, yet my nature loathes the bully and the tyrant, and still more does it loathe the mean: the man of the judas spirit, who barters children's lives, and women's souls, and the manhood of cities, for dirty pieces of silver. such a wretch is not to be hated, is not to be punished: he is to be pitied and i am to defend him. but when i think of him my soul is sick. i feel as if a worm had crawled over me. i cannot help this. i cannot endure him. i am not big enough: i lack the grace. i pity him profoundly; but my pity is cold. i pity the devil-fish, and the conger eel; but i could not touch them. they are repulsive to me. it is very difficult for us to separate the man from his acts. it is very difficult for us to hate and to loathe the acts, without hating and loathing the man. this is the old, old adam in us, rebelling against the new altruism and the new reason. we are still a long way behind our ideals. it is no part of my plan to flatter the world. i know you, my brothers and sisters, too well for that. there is a strong family resemblance between us. your ancestors, also, had tails. and then, like thoreau, "i know what mean and sneaking lives many of you lead." the majority of you, indeed, are still little better than barbarians. the mass of you waste your lives and starve your souls for the sake of beads and scalps, and flesh and firewater. your heroes are, too, often, mere prowling appetites, or solemn vanities, ravenous for pudding and praise; mere tailor-made effigies, to stick stars upon, or feathers into; mere painted idols for ignorance to worship; embroidered serene-emptiness for flunkeys to bow down to: kings and things of shreds and patches. yes. we are all painfully human, and under a régime of blame and punishment may count ourselves extremely lucky if we have never been found out. do not let us stand in too great awe of our ancestors. they also trafficked and junketted in vanity fair. the prosecution lay stress upon the universal custom and experience of mankind the world has never ordered its life by rules of wisdom and understanding. it has paid more court to the rich than to the good, and more heed to the noisy than to the wise. the world has imprisoned as many honest men as rogues, has slain more innocent than guilty, has decorated more criminals than heroes, has believed a thousand times less truth than lies. is it not so, men and women? does not common experience support the charge? let us, then, understand each other, before we go any farther. the glory of manhood and womanhood is not to have something, but to be something; is not to get something, but to give something; is not to rule but to serve. the greatness of a nation does not lie in its wealth and power, but in the character of its men and women. with greatness in the people all the rest will follow, as surely as when the greatness of the people wanes the rest will be quickly lost. the history of all great empires tells us this: japan is just now repeating the lesson. what is it most men strive for? wealth and fame. these are prizes for little men, not for big men. they are prizes that often inflict untold misery in the winning, and are nearly always a curse to the winner. vice and crime are fostered by luxury and idleness on the one hand, and by ignorance and misery on the other hand. the poor are poor that the rich may be rich; and the riches and the poverty are a curse to both. consider all the vain pride and barbaric pomp of wealth and fashion, and all the mean envy of the weakly snobs who revere them, and would sell their withered souls to possess them. is this decorative tomfoolery, are this apish swagger and blazoned snobbery worthy of _men_ and _women?_ the powdered flunkeys, the gingerbread coaches, the pantomime processions, the trumpery orders and fatuous titles: are they any nobler or more sensible than the paint, the tom-toms, and the brummagen jewels of darkest africa? and the cost! we are too prone to reckon cost in cash. we are too prone to forget that cash is but a symbol of things more precious. we bear too tamely all the bowing and kow-towing; all the fiddling and fifing, all the starring and gartering, and be-feathering and begemming, all the gambling and racing, the saluting and fanfaring, the marching and counter-marching, all the raking in of dividends, and building up of mansions, all the sweating and rackrenting, all the heartless vanity, and brainless luxury, and gilded vice: we should think of them more sternly did we count up what they cost in men and women and children, what they cost in brawn and brain, and honour and love, what they cost in human souls--what they cost in bottom dogs. happiness cannot be stolen; nor won by cheating, as though life were a game of cards. the man who would be happy must find his duty, and do it. in no other way can man or woman find real happiness, under the sun. but the world, so far has quite a different creed. and the common experience, on which the christians so much depend, is not on the side of the angels. and that is why the bottom dogs are so numerous, and why so many of us lead "such mean and sneaking lives." descendants of barbarians and beasts, we have not yet conquered the greed and folly of our bestial and barbarous inheritance. our nature is an unweeded garden. our hereditary soil is rank. talk about the trouble of bringing up children: what is that to the trouble of educating one's ancestors? o, the difficulty i have had with mine. my friends: you have read my statement of the case for the bottom dog; you have read the arguments i have used in support of that statement: you have read the evidence, and you have read my answers to the arguments of the other side. i claim to have proved that all human actions are ruled by heredity and environment, that man is not responsible for his heredity and environment, and that therefore all blame and all punishment are unjust. i claim to have proved that blame and punishment, besides being unjust are ineffectual. i claim that the arguments which apply to heredity and environment apply also to the soul, for since man did not create the soul he cannot be responsible for its acts. i claim to have explained the so-called "mysteries" of conscience, and of the "dual personality," and to have proved them to be the natural action of heredity and environment. i claim to have proved that morality comes through natural evolution, and not by any kind of super-natural revelation. i claim to have proved that the argument from universal experience is fallacious, and to have shown that universal experience has misled us in the manner of human responsibility as in so many other matters. i claim to have proved that the theory here advocated is based upon justice and reason, and is more moral and beneficient than the christian religion, under which so much wrong, and waste, and misery continue to exist unchecked and unrebuked. i claim to have proved that the prosecution do not understand the case, and that their arguments are for the most part mere misrepresentations or misunderstandings of the issues and the facts. it remains for me now to say a few words as to the wrongs suffered by my unfortunate client; and as to the necessity for so altering the laws and customs of society as to prevent the perpetration of all this cruelty and injustice; of all this waste of human love, and human beauty, and human power. we are sometimes asked to think imperially: it would be better to think universally. illimitable as is the universe, it appears in all its parts to obey the same laws. its suns may be told by millions; but matter and force compose and rule them all. carlyle spoke of the contrast between heaven and vauxhall; but vauxhall is in the heavens, by virtue of the same law that there holds canopus and the pleiades. we think of the dawn-star as of something heavenly pure, and of the earth as grey in sorrow and sin; but the earth is a star--a planet, bright and beautiful as venus in a purple evening sky. we gaze with wondering awe at the loveliness and mystery of the galaxy, that bent beam of glory whose motes are suns, that luminous path of dreams whose jewels are alive; but we forget that whitechapel, and oldham, and chicago, and the black country, are in the milky way. in that awful ocean of space are many islands; but they are all akin. in the "roaring loom of time." howsoever the colours may change, the pattern vary, the piece is all one piece; it is knit together, thread to thread. all men are brothers. from the age beyond the aryans the threads are woven and joined together. _all_ of us had ancestors with tails. all the myriads of human creatures, since the first ape stood erect, have been like leaves upon one tree, nourished by the same sap, fed from the same root, warmed by the same sun, washed by the same rains. all our polities, philosophies, and religions, grow out of each other. we can never fully understand any one of them until we know the whole. comparative anatomy, comparative philology, comparative mythology, all comparative sciences, tell us the same story of growth, of evolution, of kinship. babylon and egypt, india and persia, greece and rome, gothland and scandinavia, britain and gaul; osiris, krishna, confucius, brahma, zoroaster, buddha, christ, mahomet: all are parts of one whole, all parts related each to other. the oldest nations speak in our languages to-day, the oldest savages survive in our bodies, the oldest gods have part in our religious forms and ceremonies, the oldest superstitions and faults and follies, still obscure our minds and impede our action. we cannot thrust the dead aside and stand alone: the dead are part of us. we cannot take a man and isolate him, and judge and understand him, as though he were a new and special creation. he is of kin to all the living and the dead. he stands one figure in the great human pageant, and cannot be taken out of the picture: cannot be cut out from the background--that background of a thousand ages, and of innumerable women and men. he belongs to the great human family: he, also, is in the milky way. old families, and noble families are made of parchment or paper: there is but one real family of flesh and blood, and that reaches back to the clot of jelly in the sea, and we all belong to it. when i hear some little brick lane brother talking about the true faith, as taught in a tin chapel in upper tooting, i think of the star-readers of the aryan hills, of the dead gods, and the obliterated beliefs of ancient conquerors, long since eaten by worms, and of the shrivelled corpse in the museum who has lain grinning in his sandhole for thirty thousand years, amongst his grave pots, and ghost charms, and the uneaten food for the long journey to the great beyond. when i hear honourable members prating in the house about "imperial questions," i think of the famished seamstress, the unemployed docker, the girl with the phossy jaw, whom the honourable gentleman "represents." when i read of the gorgeous stage-management of the royal pageants, i remember the graves of the balaclava men, in the manchester workhouse field, where the sods were spread out level over the neglected dead. when i see beautiful sculptures and paintings of greek womanhood, i remember how, coming out of the art gallery where i had been looking at the picture of andromache, i saw a white-haired old englishwoman carrying a great bag of cinders on her bent old back. when i hear the angelic voices of the choirs, and see the golden plate on cathedral altars, i ask myself questions about that bridge of sighs where london women drown themselves in their despair, and about that child in the workhouse school who tamed a mouse because he must have something to love. when a callow preacher babbles to his grown-up congregation about sin and human nature, i remember the men and women i have known: the soldiers, the navvies, the colliers, the doctors, the lawyers, the authors, the artists; i remember the dancing-rooms in the garrison town, and the girls, and how they were womanly in their degradation, and sweet in spite of their shame; and i wondered what the reverend gentleman would answer them if they spoke to him as they often spoke to me, in words that were straight as blades, and cut as deep. and often, when i mix with the crowds in the streets, or at the theatre, or in public assemblies, i feel that i am in the presence of the haunted past, and the whole human story unfolds itself to my mind: the primeval savage with "his fell of hair," fighting with other savages, under "branching elm, star-proof"; the ethiopian warrior in his battle chariot; the bent slave, toiling on the pyramid; the armed knight errant, foraying, and redressing sentimental wrongs; the fearless viking, crossing oceans in his open galley, to discover continents; the gladiator in the roman arena; the greek stoics, discoursing at the fountain; drake singeing the king of spain's beard; st. francis preaching to the birds; the buddha, giving his body to the famished tigress; the aryan at the plough, the phoenician in his bark, the californian seeking gold, the whaler amongst the ice, the ancient briton in his woad--all the mysterious and fascinating human drama of love and hate, of hunger and riches, and laughter and tears, and songs and sobbings, and dancing and drunkenness, and marriage and battle, and heroism and cowardice, and murder and robbery, and the quest of god. that wonderful human mystery-play, how softly it touches us, how deeply it moves us, with its hum of myriad voices, its vision of white arms, and flashing weapons, and beckoning fingers, and asking looks, and the ripple of its laughter, like the music of hidden streams in leafy woods, and the lisp of its unnumbered feet, and the weird rhythm of its war songs, and the pathos of its joy-bells, and the pity of its follies, and its failures, and its crimes--the pity; "the pity of it, the pity of it." possessed, then by this dreaming habit, this janus-like bent of mind, i cannot think of the bottom dog apart from the whole bloodstained, tearstained tragedy of man's inhumanity to man. for the bottom dog is a child of all the ages, he plays his part in a drama whereof the scene is laid in the milky way. he recalls to us the long wavering war between darkness and light, the life and death struggle of the brute to be a man, the painful never-ceasing effort of man to understand. we cannot look back over that trampled and sanguinary field of history without a shudder; but we must look. it reaches back into the impenetrable mists of time, it reaches forward to our own thresholds, which still are wet with blood and tears, and on every rood of it, in ghastly horror, are heaped the corpses of the men, and women, and children slain by the righteous, in the name of justice, and in the name of god. though the gods perished, though the vane of justice veered until right became wrong, and wrong right, yet the crimes continued, the horrible mistakes were repeated; the holy, and the noble, and cultivated still cried for their brother's blood, still trampled the infants under their holy feet, still forced the maidens and the mothers to slavery and shame. men and women, is it not true? from fear of ghosts and devils, and for the glory of the gods of india, of babylon, of egypt, of greece, of rome, of france, of spain, of england, were not millions tortured, and burnt, and whipped, and hanged, and crucified? witchcraft, and heresy, idolatry, sacrifice, propitiation, divine vengeance; what seas of blood, what holocausts of crime, what long-drawn tragedies of agony and moody sweat do these names not recall? and they were all mistakes! they were all nightmares, born of ignorance and superstition! we have awakened from those nightmares. our gods no longer lust after human blood. we know that heresy is merely difference of education, that there never was a witch; we know that all those millions wept and bled and died for nothing: that they were tortured, enslaved, degraded and murdered, by the holy, through ignorance, and fear, and superstition. if we turn from the crimes and blunders of prophets and of priests to the laws of kings and parliaments, we find the same ignorance, the same ferocity, the same futility. i could fill a bigger book than mine with the mere catalogue of the punishments and the instruments of torture invented by tyrants, and land-grabbers, and superior persons for the protection of their privileges, and their plunder, and their luxury and ease. for thousands of years the whip, the chain, the rack, the gibbet, and the sword, have been used to uphold the laws made by robbers, and by idlers, and by ambitious lunatics., to punish the "crimes" of the ignorant and the weak. men and women, is it not true? and all the agony and blood and shame were ineffectual. and always blame and punishment bred hate, and savagery, and more crime. "but it is different to-day." it is the same to-day. the laws to-day are defences of the foolish rich against the ignorant and hungry poor. the laws to-day, like the laws of the past, make more criminals than they punish. the laws keep the people ignorant and poor, and the rich idle and vicious. the laws to-day, as in the day of isaiah, enable the rich to "add field to field, until the people have no room." the laws to-day sacrifice a thousand innocent children to preserve one useful, lazy, unhappy, superior person. the laws to-day punish as a criminal the child who steals a loaf, or a pair of boots, and honour as a grandee the man whose greed and folly keep the workers off the land, and treble the rents in the filthy and indecent slums where age has no reverence, and toil no ease, and where shame has laid its hand upon the girl child's breast. what was the old denunciation of those who cried "peace, peace, when there is no peace," and what shall we say of those priests and holy men who cry "morality, morality," where there is no morality, where usury and exploitation are honoured arts: where crime and vice are taught to the children as in a school? if you sow tares, can you reap wheat? if you sow hate can you reap love? if you sow wrong can you reap right? if you teach and practise knavery, can you ask for purity and virtue? the laws were made by ignorant and dishonest men, they are administered by men ignorant and selfish; they are dishonest laws; good for neither rich nor poor; evil in their conception, evil in their enforcement, evil in their results. there need not be any such things as poverty and ignorance in the world. the earth is bounteous, and yields enough, and more than enough, for all. men and women: i beg of you to do all that is in your power to change the unjust laws, and the uncharitable and unreasonable opinions, which make the deadly environment that fosters vice and crime. for, besides that the laws are unjust, that the teachings of our superior persons are untrue, that blame and punishment must fail as they have always failed, there is the awful _waste_--the waste of life, and love, of beauty and power that the present cruel system entails. think of the loveliness of a good woman, the blessing of her; think of the sweetness and the joy of an innocent child, of the value and nobility of an honest man. picture to yourself the kind of woman you would wish your daughter to be, the kind of man you would wish your son to be. then remember what good or bad environment can make of the young. i tell you there is hardly a battered drab, a broken pauper, a hardened thief, a hopeless drunkard, a lurking tramp, a hooligan, but who might have been an honest and a useful citizen under fair conditions. good women: if ever you felt the thrill of a dear child's fingers on your throat or breast, think what millions of such children in our cities must become. good men: if you honour womanhood, if you love your daughters and your wives, think of the women and the girls in the streets, in the fields, in the factories, and in the jails, and then look into your mirrors for a friend to save them. men and women: as the little children are now the ruffian and the harlot once were; as the ruffian and the harlot are now millions of helpless children must become unless you give them sympathy and aid. it is no use looking for help to heaven: we must look upon the earth. it is no use asking god to help us: we must help ourselves. my friends: for the sake of good men, who are better than their gods; for the sake of good women, who are the pride and glory of the world; for the sake of the dear children, who are sweeter to us than the sunshine or the flowers; for the sake of the generation not yet spoiled or lost; for the sake of the nations yet unborn; in the names of justice, of reason and truth, i ask you for a verdict of not guilty. infinity's child by charles v. devet _"you must kill koski," the leader said. "but i'll be dead before i get there," buckmaster replied. "what's that got to do with it?" the leader wanted to know._ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, may . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] * * * * * the sense of taste was always first to go. for a week buckmaster had ignored the fact that everything he ate tasted like flavorless gruel. he tried to make himself believe that it was some minor disorder of his glandular system. but the eighth day his second sense--that of feeling--left him and he staggered to his telephone in blind panic. there was no doubt now but that he had the dread plague. he was glad he had taken the precaution of isolating himself from his family. he knew there was no hope for him now. they sent the black wagon for him. in the hospital he found himself herded with several hundred others into a ward designed to hold less than a hundred. the beds were crowded together and he could have reached to either side of him and touched another ravaged victim of the plague. next to go would be his sense of sight. hope was a dead thing within him. even to think of hoping made him realize how futile it would be. he screamed when the walls of darkness began to close in around him. it was the middle of the afternoon and a shaft of sunlight fell across the grimy blankets on his bed. the sunlight paled, then darkened and was gone. he screamed again. and again. he heard them move him to the death ward then, but he could not even feel their hands upon him. three days later his tongue refused to form words. he fought a nameless terror as he strove with all the power of his will to speak. if he could say only one word, he felt, the encroaching disease would have to retreat and he would be safe. but the one word would not come. four horrible days later the sounds around him--the screams and the muttering--became fainter, and he faced the beginning of the end. at last it was all over. he knew he was still alive because he thought. but that was all. he could not see, hear, speak, feel, or taste. nothing was left except thought; stark, terrible, useless thought! strangely the awful horror faded then and his mind experienced a grateful release. at first he suspected the outlet of his emotions had somehow become atrophied as had his senses, and that he was peaceful only because his real feelings could not break through the numbness. however, some subtle compulsion within him--some power struggling in its birth-throes--was beginning to breed its own energy and he sensed that it was the strength of that compulsion that had subdued the terror. he was at peace now, as he had never been at peace before. for a time, he did not question--was entirely content to lie there and savor the wonderful feeling. he had lost even the definition of fear. no terror now from the slow closing of the five doors; no regrets; no forebodings. only a vast happiness as he seemingly viewed life, suffering, and death as a man standing on a cliff looking out over a great misty valley. but soon came wonder and analysis. he looked backward and thought: _it was a world, but not my world. these are memories but not my memories. i lived them and knew them--yet none of them belongs to me. strange--this soul-fiber with which i think--the last function left to me--is not a soul-fiber i have ever known before._ and he knew. _i have never existed before this moment._ he could not prove it nor explain it there in the dark house of his thinking. but he knew it was true. he wondered if he had taken over the body and mind--complete with all the mental trappings--of some other being. or whether he had been just now conceived, full-blown and with memories of a synthetic past perhaps implanted also in the minds of those with whom he was supposed to have come in contact. he did not know. he was only sure that, before this moment, he had not been. * * * * * with the realization came the certainty that he would not die. the force he felt within him--he was not certain whether it was a part of himself, or the evidence of an outside control--was too powerful. the inner spontaneity gathered strength until it became a striving, persistent vital force, a will of imperious purpose. it moved him and he moved his tongue and spoke. "i will not die!" he shouted. some time later he grew aware that his sense of hearing had returned. he heard a voice say, "he was in the last stages about an hour ago, before he spoke. i thought i'd better call you." "you did right," a second voice answered. "what's his name?" "clifford buckmaster." they're talking about me, he thought. like a burst of glory, sight returned. he looked up and saw two men standing beside his bed. the older man wore a plain black suit. the younger was dressed in the white uniform of a doctor. "he can see now," the older man said. his was a voice buckmaster disliked. "it looks as if he's going to recover," the doctor said. "that's never happened before. do you want me to leave him here with the dying ones?" "no. wheel him into your office. and leave us alone there. my name is james wagner. you have, of course, heard of me. i am the director of security." buckmaster still rested in his hospital bed. they had screwed up the back until he sat almost straight. in his mouth there was a slight tang and knew the sense of taste returned. when he was able to feel again he would be entirely well. yes, he'd heard of wagner before. he nodded. "and i know who you are," wagner said. "you are one of the underground that is trying to overthrow the general. that is correct, is it not?" almost with surprise buckmaster felt wagner's words register in his mind. his implanted memories were still strange to him. but he recalled them quickly. twenty years before, in , the great atomic war had ended. in the beginning the two giants faced each other across the separating oceans. no one was certain who sent the first bomb across in its controlled rocket; each side blamed the other. the methods of each were terrible in their efficiency. the great manufacturing cities were the first to go. after them went the vital transportation centers. striving mightily for an early advantage each country forced landing armies on the enemy's shores. the armies invaded with their hundreds of thousands of men--and the bombings continued. the colossus of the western hemisphere had set up autonomous launching stations, so that if and when their major cities had all been bombed, their ruling bodies decimated and scattered--even if there were no longer any vestiges of a central authority--the launchings would continue. the autonomous units had been a stroke of master planning, so ingenious that it was logical the giant of eurasia had devised a similar plan. * * * * * by the time the bombs had all been used, or their stations rendered incapable of functioning, the major cities were blackened, gutted, inoperative masses of destruction. soon the invading armies no longer received orders, or supplies of rations and arms. when this happened they knew governments they represented had ceased to exist. they were forced to live by the ingenuity of their commanders and their ability to forage. they could not even capitulate; there was no one to whom they could surrender. those armies with weak commanders fell apart and one by one their men died at the hands of hostile natives, or hunger. the armies under strong commanders, like general andrei koski, of the eurasian command, carved themselves a place in their new environment. koski had landed with a force of seventy thousand on the east coast of old mexico. his army was different from the other invaders only in a secret weapon which they brought with them. the weapon's appearance was simple but it carried the potentiality of destruction for a world. acting under previous orders from his government, koski began moving northward, and was soon cutting a swath a hundred miles wide up the west bank of the mississippi. by the time he reached the southern border of minnesota he realized from what he saw on all sides, that for all practical purposes the war was over. his only choice now was to find a means of survival for himself and his men. when koski reached duluth he circled the city. almost miraculously it had escaped the bombs. its population was only a little over two hundred thousand, and koski still retained nearly fifty thousand hardened fighting men. however, duluth, koski found, was governed by earl olson, an ex-brigadier and a man equally as strong as himself. the city was fortified, and garrisoned by a force of well trained civilians who would fight to their death to defend their city and families. and they were well led by olson. koski knew he could capture the city if he decided to, but the price would be too dear. he moved on along the lakeshore and took over the city of superior. here he entrenched himself solidly and set up an efficient military government. by law every woman in the city still capable of bearing children was forced to take two husbands, at least one of which must be a ruskie, as the invaders were called by the natives. in this way koski insured a plentiful supply of children, most of whom would be loyal to him. a bonus of ten thousand dollars was offered to any woman from the outlying districts who would move to superior and take two of its citizens in marriage. after the first hesitation, the girls and young women and widows flocked in from their barren farms and hamlets. by the end of twenty years the city had grown to near one hundred fifty thousand. duluth in the meantime grew to three hundred thousand. earl olson ruled absolutely, but wisely and well. between the two cities an alert truce held through the years and mutually advantageous trade flourished. koski, in his city, held all authority in his own tight grip, administered by his former officers and backed by the undeviating loyalty of his soldiers. his rule was stern and when necessary, bloody. it might have been bloodier except for the threat of intervention by olson. * * * * * there are always men who fret under the hand of tyranny and the underground had gradually risen until it grew into a powerful organization. its demands were for a representative government chosen by vote of the people. this, of course, koski refused. as a consequence the underground formed an active resistance, with the avowed purpose of killing koski. a retaliatory blood bath was prevented only by the threat of intervention by olson, who had many friends in the underground, especially his brother-in-law, lester oliver. but right now none of this seemed very important to buckmaster. not important enough for him to bother answering. "answer when you're spoken to!" wagner roared. for a moment buckmaster deliberated not replying. just how unusual was the difference he had discovered in himself? could he be hurt by someone like wagner? he decided to wait until later to put it to the test. "what do you want me to say?" he asked. "i'm going to lay my cards on the table," wagner said. "i want you to come over to our side." still not very interested, buckmaster asked, "why should i?" "i think i can give you some very good reasons. in fact, unless you're a bigger fool than i think you are, i can convince you that it is the only wise thing to do. because of your relatively smaller numbers, the plague has caused havoc in your underground." "yes," buckmaster answered. "but we will have a vaccine before long." he knew this was purely bluff. "possibly." wagner pulled his cheeks up but his eyes remained chilled and cold. he had the trick of smiling mirthlessly. "but even if i were to grant you that, we estimate that already nearly half of your organization is dead from the plague. there will be more before you can do anything. the rest we can hunt down at our leisure. so you see, even if we let you live, you'd soon be a man without a party." "we could start all over again if we had to." the first signs of feeling came back with a twinge of pain at the tip of the little finger on his left hand. "i doubt it very much." "what would i be expected to do?" buckmaster asked. "simply this. go back among your former comrades and act normal. but let me know what they're planning. in time we'd get them anyway, but with your help, the job will be easier--cleaner, let us say." "in other words, you want me to act as the judas ram?" "call it what you like," wagner's eyes narrowed. "just remember that you've nothing to lose." "and after?" "you can name your own price. within reason, of course." "and if i refuse?" * * * * * wagner laughed. it wasn't necessary for him to answer. buckmaster had seen the results of wagner's sadism in the past. whatever else might be mystifying to him he knew one thing: the instinct of self-preservation was still as strong as ever. he did not want to take the chance that the extraneous will he felt within him would be strong enough to combat what wagner would try to do to him. "let's say i agree," he said. "what comes next?" "can you move your limbs yet?" wagner asked. buckmaster flexed his fingers and lifted his arms. "i believe i'm strong enough to walk," he said. "by the way," wagner inquired, "have you any idea why you didn't die?" buckmaster shook his head. "well, no matter. lie back and relax. now look into my eyes. concentrate on the right one." buckmaster knew what was coming now. mind contact! subtly he felt the first tentative probe of wagner's thought antenna. one part of his brain accepted it passively, but another part used the probe as a bridge. wagner's thoughts seemed unguarded. buckmaster easily read everything there. he had to hide his surprise at what he learned. things that wagner, by no process of logic would ever reveal to him. reflections concerning the plague. remembrances of snatches of conversation with the general. wagner's relations with women. sex occupied many of his thoughts. the fear of olson was there, in spite of wagner's brave words earlier. then buckmaster read about himself in wagner's mind and was certain something was wrong here. he saw that wagner had no intention of ever letting him live, no matter how useful he might be. there was death for himself as soon as that usefulness was over. "damn it," wagner cursed, "relax. let your mind open up to me. are you deliberately trying to get yourself back in trouble by being stubborn?" then he knew. the contact had been one-way. he had read wagner's mind because wagner had not realized he could do it, and had not thrown up a guard. cautiously buckmaster let fragments of careful thoughts escape. the moment he lowered the barriers of his mind he felt wagner's power beat against him, wave upon wave. the sensation was frightening. wagner seemed satisfied. buckmaster could read very little in his mind now. "done," wagner said. "now, one last warning. don't try to double-cross me, or you'll regret the day you were born." buckmaster's choices of action were very few. he doubted that he could make it but at least he should try to get to duluth. at the toll bridge across the arm of the lake he bought a ticket. nobody bothered him. he breathed easier as he rested against the iron railing waiting for the gate to open; then stopped breathing as a tall man--one of the ruskies--leaned over beside him and said, "it won't work, friend." buckmaster tore up his ticket. strangely, there was a sense of relief. the force--the presence within him--whatever it was, wanted him to return to his friends. it didn't compel him, it used no coercion. it merely presented good reasons for doing so. he could do more good there than by fleeing, it suggested. and, so strongly as almost to blot out all other emotions, was the implanted desire--an urgent, compelling command--to stay and kill koski. as buckmaster started back, the thought struck him: was he merely a pawn being moved by this inner power? did he no longer have freedom of action? was his will still his own? * * * * * wagner was annoyed to receive the summons from koski. he fumed inwardly as he mounted the stairs to the general's second floor receiving room. it was always humiliating to be summoned like a common officer when he was in fact the ruler of the city. koski had slipped baldly during the past few years but wagner knew better than to put the old figurehead out of the way. he needed the power of that prestige until he had made his own position impregnable. originally wagner had been an unlettered lad from the steppes. when he had been made koski's orderly, he had used his native cunning and slyness to ingratiate himself with the old commander. soon koski had made him his personal adjutant. from that advantageous position of trust it had been relatively simple for him to use his insidious talents to secure advantages for himself. during the process of organizing superior's government wagner had used his influence to get his own adherents appointed to key posts. by the time koski began to succumb to the ravages of senility, wagner held the most powerful position in the city--that of security administrator. by now koski was so far gone that he did not even realize he did not rule; that the city's functions had come under the control, direct and indirect, of wagner. "you wanted to see me, sir?" wagner asked. "yes," the general answered, the shaggy hairs of his eyebrows meeting in a frown. "have the doctors found a remedy for the plague yet? it has gone so far now that soon the manpower we must have for the campaign will be threatened." "not yet, sir, but they are within sight of it." wagner was always careful to keep the scorn he felt from his voice. the old dodderer was useful and must be pampered--for awhile. the general still clung to his dream of the campaign. his ultimate plan, from the time he had taken over superior, had been to use the city as a base from which to spread his rule, until he had control of the entire continent--in the name of the mother country, of course. he had never let himself see that it was but a dream. he was certain that he would find other pockets of his fellow-men who, like himself had set up autonomous governments. with their aid he still hoped for an ultimate victory over the enemy. this would always remain enemy territory to him. "if we don't stop the plague before it spreads to our own men, i'll be forced to use the weapon," koski growled. his great bony features had lost all power of expression except their habitual scowl, but his voice was still deep and vibrant. "i'll kill every man, woman, and child in the country!" wagner had to admire the will to destruction that still rode the old man. he may have weakened in his mind but he had never softened. and the weapon? it was the one secret that wagner had not been able to learn. "yes, sir," wagner agreed. "if you should ever feel the need to use the weapon, i ask you to remember that my only wish is to be of aid to my general." koski's washed blue eyes grew crafty. "i fully realize that. but i will need no help. you may accept my compliments and withdraw." wagner muttered a soft oath under his breath as he bowed humbly. * * * * * "as you can see, i didn't die," buckmaster said. the two chairs in the small room were occupied by the men he faced. he sat on a steel-framed bed. "no." lester oliver was thoughtful. "i'm wondering why you didn't. do you have any explanation?" "only something that you wouldn't understand, unless it happened to you," buckmaster answered. "i couldn't explain it." "try." oliver spoke softly, but buckmaster knew that behind that softness oliver hid a bulldog tenacity. carefully, patiently buckmaster told about the force, trying to make them sense it as he had. "you feel then," cecil cuff, the other man in the room, said, "that you're in the grip of something over which you have no direct control?" "yes." "are you certain that it is not the contact wagner imposed on you?" "it came before wagner was present," buckmaster replied. cuff turned to oliver. "i know he believes what he is saying," he said. "but it's obvious that his mind has been tampered with. if we let him live, we'll be taking the risk that the general and wagner are getting at us, through him." "that's right," oliver answered. "i think he should be killed," cuff said. oliver was thoughtful for a long moment. "what do you think, clifford?" he asked gently. he always called buckmaster by his first name. buckmaster breathed deeply. "naturally i want to live," he answered. "but from the viewpoint of the underground, i suppose cuff is right." "you say that you feel that this force is a protective one," oliver said. "does it seem to you that perhaps we couldn't kill you--that it would prevent us?" buckmaster searched for words to express his thoughts. "i feel," he said, "that it won't let me be killed. it seems that i have a mission to fulfill, and that it won't let me die--at least not until i accomplish what it desires. however, i feel also that it will, or can, do nothing concrete to prevent my being killed. it will probably aid me by convincing you that it would be better to let me live." "do you feel that its purpose might be much the same as ours, and that it will attempt to convince us of that?" oliver asked. "something like that," buckmaster answered. "at least the urge to kill koski is so strong within me that i know i would not hesitate if i had the chance, even if it meant my own life." "would you attempt to stop us if we tried to kill you?" "no." oliver closed his eyes. he was silent for so long that it seemed he must be sleeping. but buckmaster knew that oliver's brain worked with lightning speed while his body reposed. oliver was the most intelligent man he had ever known. he was head of the underground solely because he was the fittest man for the job. * * * * * finally oliver spoke. "we'll come back to it later," he said. "did you learn anything that might help us, clifford?" "i learned that the plague is spread by contact--only after the first symptoms show themselves. i read that in wagner's mind before he realized that i was reading his thoughts." "that will help. you say you made contact before you became _en rapport_ with wagner. can you control what you let him learn through you?" "i believe i can, but i can't be certain." "if you could be certain, we wouldn't have to kill you," oliver said. "you would be taking a chance," buckmaster replied. "we can't afford to take any chances," cuff said. "he--" "you're forgetting one thing, cecil," oliver interrupted. "as things stand right now, we're a lost cause. the plague has killed many of our best men. the only thing that keeps koski from staging a blood-bath is his fear of governor olson in duluth. and pretty soon he won't have to fear that. we have only to lose another key dozen and olson will have no friends here to aid." "may i offer a compromise?" buckmaster asked. "as matters stand now, our only chance of winning freedom from koski's savage rule is to kill him. and to do that we will have to kill wagner first. am i correct?" "yes." oliver raised his head. "what do you have to suggest?" "let me try to kill wagner. if i succeed our cause will have taken a big step. if he kills me first, then you've lost nothing more than if you'd killed me yourselves." after a barely perceptible hesitation oliver nodded in agreement. for the rest of the day buckmaster improvised a simulated course of action to let seep through to wagner whenever he felt a probe. he kept his mind blank otherwise and was quite certain that he carried on the deception well. he caught nothing from wagner in return that was not deliberately let through. he suspected that his own control was as good. though he had not had the practice at this that wagner had. toward evening he improvised a crisis. the underground was plotting something big, he transmitted. he made the need for action imperative and asked for a personal interview. at first wagner demurred. he wanted buckmaster to stay on and give first hand reports. buckmaster gave hints in return that he was suspected by the other members, and indicated that he must leave while still able to. finally wagner agreed. "you realize the risk you're taking, coming with me, cecil?" buckmaster asked. "i do," cuff said with his unchangeable reserve. "but you'll need my help." buckmaster wished he himself could remain as cool. his own nerves felt like wires that had been drawn too tightly. cuff was tall and robust, with a pessimistic outlook on life. he seemed to sit back and watch life and its peoples as a spectator, willing to fight ruthlessly for what he believed was right, but never expecting to discover anything fine enough in his fellow men to hope for anything better from them. he had touched the borders of an existence that was mean and hard and dirty and he had long ago despaired of finding anything else. yet there was nothing apathetic about his personality. life's illusions were gone, but its fascination remained. * * * * * "i didn't think you trusted me too much," buckmaster said. cuff acknowledged the statement by nodding his head. "i believed that you might be under wagner's power. wagner is a brute trying to break us. on this trip you're going to make your own heaven or hell, and if you've got the courage to face it, i'll back you up." in the administration building the girl at the information desk told them, "the director will see you in a moment." she led them into a waiting room. three hard-faced men, all wearing black shirts, came in. they had the mark of killers about them. "stand up." they checked buckmaster and cuff for weapons. none was found. all five took the elevator to the sixth floor. wagner was seated at his desk waiting for them when they walked into his office. he smiled his mirthless smile. "i see you brought company," he said. "we'll get two birds with one stone." buckmaster knew then that there was little use trying any further deception. wagner knew. if he were able to squeeze through just a short ten seconds the job could still be done. the three bodyguards stood a few yards behind them. "i have something here that will interest you," buckmaster said. slowly, unhurriedly, but wasting no motion, he unbuttoned one flap on his shirt and reached a hand inside. he peeled back the long strip of adhesive tape covering the cavity below his ribs. he pulled out the small single-shot derringer concealed there. he aimed from the waist and put the bullet into the middle of wagner's smile. the smile cracked, and the crack became a shatter, spreading in all directions. buckmaster saw the trap then. he had shot at a reflection of wagner. it had been a cleverly arranged mirror deception. cuff turned to run through the door they had entered. but buckmaster was so certain any attempt to escape would be in vain that he did not even move. cuff found the three guards blocking the doorway. buckmaster watched wagner enter from opposite the cracked mirror. there were two more of his bodyguards with him. when the guards closed in cuff struggled until they spun him back against the wall where his head crashed with a dull crunch. all the fight went out of him and he slumped in the arms of the men who held him. two of the guards held buckmaster's arms. "a couple of fine birds," wagner said as he stood in front of them. cuff straightened with an effort of will and shook his head until his vision cleared. he leveled his glance at wagner. "you're a mongrel cur," he said unemotionally, "licking at the general's boots. he'll throw you another scrap for this day's work." both he and buckmaster knew that he sealed his own fate with the words. the one thing wagner could not tolerate was ridicule, worse in the presence of his own men. buckmaster caught the hard flat explosion in his face and pain in his eardrums as the gun that appeared in wagner's hand went off. as he watched cuff slump he knew the man was beyond torture. he suspected that this was what cuff had wanted. he had taken the easy way out. buckmaster leaned his shoulders back and then with sudden violence pulled his arms free from the guards' grip. he slapped wagner across the mouth with his left hand and brought his right fist around in a short arc that crushed the bone in wagner's nose. he made no resistance as the guards grabbed him and twisted his arm cruelly behind his back. the hurt from wagner's shattered nose brought a bright glisten of pain into his eyes. "that was a mistake," wagner said, the depth of his anger making his voice soft and husky, "i'm going to make you whine like a dog." * * * * * the general was suffering the tragedy of a strong man whose mind was turning senile--and who realized it. only the two alternative objectives remained virile; the campaign and, that failing, the weapon. the weapon gave him his only solace in times of trouble. now, going down into the basement of his house, he sought it out again. letting himself through two thick concrete doors, which he opened with a key that he wore about his neck at all times, he entered the room that held his potentially terrible secret. the outer contour of the weapon was a rectangular frame of rough lumber. inside was a metal box, and in this reposed a semi-glutinous mass of liquid. nothing more. on the shelf above rested a bottle of aqua fortis. quite simple substances--apart. together they could spell the destruction of a world. the dictator himself, had given koski his instructions long before, back in the homeland. "general," you are being sent with an army, but its purpose is to protect your weapon, and to bring it into a position of maximum effectiveness, rather than to fight. you fully understand, i hope, that if you ever have to use it, your mission will certainly be fatal to yourself?" "i understand, sire," koski answered. "i am thankful for the honor you have done me." "your mission is to carry the weapon to a central location on the north american continent. i believe you have the force necessary to accomplish that." koski nodded but said nothing. "the component ingredients of the weapon i know no better than you yourself. it was developed at the institute. its special faculty is its ability to free hydrogen from the moisture in the air, and to start a chain reaction. the physicists tell me that it will sear most of the continent once it starts reacting. about the only spot that would be spared are the dry regions, and maybe not even those. just one thing you must remember--do not use it unless you are certain that the war is definitely lost. do you understand the importance of that command?" "i do," koski answered. "but wouldn't it be better to use it as soon as possible? the lives of my men and myself would be a small price to pay for victory." "true, except for one big question," the dictator replied. "the explosive is so deadly that it was impossible to experiment. there is no such thing as a little bit of it. consequently we are not certain of its effects. we expect, and hope, that it will dissipate itself as it spreads too far from its initial explosion point, but we cannot be certain. it is possible that, once released, it will devastate the entire world. you see now why it must be used only as a last resort?" many times since koski had gone over that conversation in his mind. had the war been lost? neither side had come through with functioning governments. therefore, what course should he take? perhaps the invaders even now ruled the homeland. would he gain, or would he lose the last chance for ultimate victory by setting off the explosive? during the rare moments when his mind cleared, koski realized the small chance the campaign would have. at such times the weapon beckoned. he knew then that the campaign would never be completed in his lifetime. wagner, however, was a very good man, with all the ideals of his country. he would carry on. it needed only a slight variation in the trend of events, to tip that scale one way or the other. even now the general held the bottle of aqua fortis in his hand--undecided. the fate of the world teetered. * * * * * "you aren't so pretty anymore," wagner said. "neither are you," buckmaster answered through battered, bloody lips. he wondered where he found the strength to keep taunting wagner. he could feel that his face was a lumpy mess. one eye was closed and blood, running down into the other, kept blinding him. every muscle in his body ached from the pounding it had taken, and he suspected that his left arm was broken. he sagged in his bonds. wagner, he knew, was deliberately gauging the punishment. he meant to torture him to the verge of death, but he did not intend to let him die without further torment. buckmaster wondered how much more he could stand. long ago he had despaired of any help from the force. he had felt nothing since the torture started. it was evident that it couldn't do anything, or would not, to stop this orgy of sadism. and he knew that any subtle attempts to divert wagner from his sadistic pleasure would be useless. wagner had all the instruments required for refined torture here. it was evident that he had used them many times in the past. he strapped buckmaster's wrists to a waist-high wooden rack. "you'll be pleased to know that i have made a thorough study of the human anatomy," wagner said. "therefore, when i begin cutting off your limbs, one joint at a time, you won't have to worry. i'll see that you do not die--and also that you retain consciousness. i wouldn't want you to miss the exquisite delicacy with which i perform the operations. you'll be a basket case when i get through." wagner picked up a short scalpel with an edge honed to a fine, razor sharpness. "this is a delicate little experiment that i find very effective," he said. he lifted buckmaster's right index finger and cut deeply through the flesh of its tip. the intense acuteness of the sensitive nerves made the agony unbearable. wave after wave of shock sensations struck at his nerve fibers as the blade traced a raw red path through another finger-tip. sickness gathered in his stomach and retched up into his throat to gag him. he sucked in great gulps of air until at last he could stand no more pain and welcome oblivion blanked him out. he returned to consciousness to find wagner still there--waiting. "tsk, tsk," wagner chided. "so you're not so tough, after all? and just when it was getting interesting." this time buckmaster did not have the strength to defy him. he was beaten. he prayed that wagner would tire of his pleasure before he had to stand any more. he wanted to go out still a man, and not a broken hulk, tearful, pleading, begging for mercy. "i think you're ready for something a bit more subtle," wagner said. he concentrated his gaze on buckmaster's eyes and slowly, cruelly built up a mental strain. the mind contact still held. buckmaster realized that wagner had been keeping this until he was too mentally whipped to fight back. he was surprised then to feel that he fought off the pressure with little strain to himself. still lurking there in his mind, was the force, quiet, hardly felt, but virile, with a sense of dynamic quiescence potency! hope came where all hope had been dead. something within him throbbed like electricity, and he sent a bolt of mental energy at wagner's head. the shock of the emotional concussion brought blood bursting from wagner's nostrils and eye sockets. a red tide poured from his lips. his head dropped loosely and buckmaster knew that wagner was dead even before he fell from his chair. buckmaster sat astounded at the demonstration of power. he sat for a moment listening to the inner voice that sent up its answers to his silent questions. no, it hadn't been able to help him before. its power was not physical. no, it could not help him escape. from here he was on his own. the only satisfaction he received was the closer entity he had found between himself and the force. it seemed to him now that it did not come from the outside. rather it was an essential part of himself. or, more exactly, he was a part of that force. buckmaster worked his wrists backwards in their thongs until he forced the leather straps over the bases of his hands. thus he was able to bend his wrists. slowly, painfully, he brought up his right leg until his foot rested next to his right hand. the left foot next. once he almost lost his balance. but at last he stood with his feet straddling his hands. he exerted all the strength of his leg, arm, and trunk muscles. the pain from his broken arm was a sickening thing but slowly the leather bands began to tear loose from the rivets that held them. a last mighty exertion and he was free. wagner had a private elevator. buckmaster entered and went to a ground floor. he walked out of the building through a tradesmen's entrance into a dusky alley. keeping his good arm in front of his face he staggered around the corner and into a drugstore and reached a phone booth without being observed. he put in a call and crouched in the phone booth for the ten long minutes it took oliver to come for him. "two weeks aren't very long to get you well, clifford," oliver said, "but i'm afraid it's all the time we have. i'm sorry." "you did your best," buckmaster answered, "at least you've got me pretty well patched up." "the last reports were that the police have drawn a ring around this district, and that they're closing in." "do we have any way out?" "i hate to have to say this," oliver said slowly. "but the rest of us can get out--if we don't take you with us." * * * * * buckmaster had expected this. it seemed that he had known from the beginning that he would never live to see the end of this adventure. "it's all right. is there anything i can do to help?" "no. they won't stop us if you aren't along. you're the man they're after. if there were any way i could help you by staying, i'd never leave. but i'd only be captured with you, and nothing gained." "of course i understand." buckmaster rested his hand for a moment on the old leader's shoulder. "don't feel badly about it, lester. the men need you. you owe it to them to get out if you can." oliver gripped his hand. "before i go i want you to know how grateful we are for the help you've given us. without wagner the general won't be nearly as hard to handle. and one other thing: i don't want you to hope too much, but there's still a chance we may be able to get you out. i'm trying a long shot. so if someone comes for you, go with him. in the meantime, keep your chin up." they shook hands again. buckmaster surmised that oliver was trying to give him something to cling to while he waited for the end. then he was alone. three hours later buckmaster spotted the first of his executioners: one of the ruskies that walked with studied unconcern across the street. almost at the same time he heard a rap on the rear door of the apartment. he drew the gun oliver had left with him and walked slowly to the door. "who is it?" "oliver sent me for you," the voice on the other side of the door answered. "come in with your hands up." buckmaster flattened himself against a side wall and shoved his gun into the ribs of a tall young man. "who are you?" "my name is august gamoll," the man said. somehow the name was familiar. he should recognize it, buckmaster thought. abruptly he did. "what are you trying to do?" buckmaster asked harshly. "make a small-time hero of yourself with this grandstand play?" "not at all," gamoll answered. "i'm the long shot oliver mentioned." "you're lying." "then how would i know what oliver said?" "it may be a lucky guess. why should i trust you?" "mainly because you have no choice. what have you got to lose?" he was a cool character. buckmaster shrugged. he hated this playing it blind, but the fellow was right. "o.k.," he said. "you might as well take your hands down. let's go." they went down the stairs. at the rear exit gamoll looked out. he wore no hat. the wind from the alley fluffed the hair on the side of his head. "all clear," gamoll said. "make a dash for it. when you get in the carriage lie low. now!" the die was cast, buckmaster decided. he'd play it to the hilt now, all or nothing. he sprinted across the dirt of the alley and jerked open a door of the carriage. he threw himself inside and hugged the floor. soon the carriage began to roll. when they had travelled about a half block it stopped. buckmaster drew in his breath. this was the critical point. if gamoll could bluff his way through now the rest would be comparatively easy. "give me an escort, captain," he heard gamoll say. "i don't want to get tied up here. i understand there's going to be some shooting soon." "that's right, sir," a crisp military voice answered. "it's best that you get out fast. i'll send one of my men with you." the carriage started forward again. a half-hour later it stopped once more. "you may get up now," gamoll said. "we're going inside. stay close to me." * * * * * "buckmaster was not surprised when he alighted and found himself near a side door to the general's private residence. "i don't get all this," buckmaster said. "you've had me here for six days now, and i've only seen you twice. why should the general's son be hiding me?" "quite simple. i don't like his methods, or his government, any more than you do. oliver knew that when he sent his message to me asking for help." "do you mean to say that you'd help us kill your own father?" "as to that," gamoll said, "if you'll notice, my hair and eyes are brown. "so?" "koski's eyes and my mother's are blue. you probably know that it is genetically impossible for two-blue-eyed people to have a brown-eyed son." "then you're not his son?" buckmaster was silent for a minute. "that's why you took the name of your mother's other husband," he mused. "if you remember, when the law was passed that each woman must have two husbands, the general set the example by marrying a woman who already had a husband. he knows that i am not his son biologically, but i am legally, and i have full inheritance rights. he was too smart--as well as legally exact--to disown me." "that means you'd automatically become the government head if the general died?" "yes. but you're wrong if you think that i am doing this from any selfish motive. if i succeed, i'll institute a democratic form of government at my first opportunity." "i'll wait until i see it," buckmaster answered cynically. "but if it's true, are your ideals strong enough to help us kill him?" for the first time gamoll seemed uncertain of himself. "why is it necessary to kill him, especially now that wagner is dead? we both know that wagner did the actual ruling. and the general is an old man, without much longer to live. we'll win if we do no more than stand by." "he must die--and soon!" buckmaster exclaimed, surprised at the vehemence of the words. so vital had been the command, that he knew what he had said was true: koski _must_ die, in the very near future. though he himself was not certain of the need for such urgency. "i suppose i understand," gamoll said, a trifle uneasily. "you have to act in self-defense. if you don't kill him, he will probably be able to kill many more of your men before he dies. but try to see his side. he is the representative of a cause that is just--to his way of reasoning; so right and so just that he will do anything to advance it. whatever we may think of him, his conscience is clear. i only ask you this: if you can see your way clear to attain your ends without killing him, will you let him live?" for another nine days buckmaster stayed with gamoll. he had nothing to occupy his time. in idle curiosity he went through the books in gamoll's library. the young man owned many good books. before long buckmaster's idle browsing turned to an intent search. for the first time he began finding clues to the mystery that rode within him. his first clue, he thought, was a passage he read in a physics book entitled, "the limitations of science," by sullivan: _research has changed our whole conception of matter. the first step was the experimental demonstration that there exist little electrified bodies, very much smaller than a hydrogen atom, called electrons. measurement was made with the result that the "whole" mass of the electron was found to be due to its electric charge. this was the first indication that the material universe is not the substantial, objective thing we had always taken it to be. matter began to thin away into the completely spectral thing it has now become. the notion of "substance" had to be replaced by the notion of "behavior"._ he passed readily from physics to the more fertile field of philosophy with the groping statement of voltaire: _i have seen that which is called matter, both as the star sirius, and as the smallest atom which can be perceived with the microscope; and i do not know what this matter is._ he pursued this quest readily with the philosopher schopenhauer and passed almost imperceptibly into metaphysics: _i will never believe that even the simplest chemical combination will ever admit of mechanical explanation; much less the properties of light, heat, and electricity. these will always require a dynamical explanation._ _if we can ferret out the ultimate nature of our own minds we shall perhaps have the key to the external world._ _let us say, then, that repulsion and attraction, combination and decomposition, magnetism and electricity, gravity and crystallization, are will._ _will, then, is the essence of man. now what if it is also the essence of life in all its forms, and even of "inanimate" matter? what if will is the long-sought-for, the long-despaired-of, "the thing-in-itself"--the ultimate inner reality and secret essence of all things?_ buckmaster perceived that these men were catching glimpses of something which they called will, order, thing, absolute, and other names but which were all very probably the same thing--and also that which he sought. eagerly he read on. his next clue came from bergson: _thought may begin with its object, and at last, in consistency, be driven, by the apparent necessities of logic, to conceive all things as forms and creatures of mind_. quickly he passed on to spinoza where he found a wealth of food for thought. _is the body merely an idea?_ _is all the mentality that is scattered over space and time, a diffused consciousness that animates the world?_ _there is but one entity, seen now inwardly as mind, now outwardly as matter, but in reality an inextricable mixture and unity of both._ _eternal order ... that betokens the very structure of existence, underlying all events and things, and constituting the essence of the world._ _substance is insubstantial, that it is form and not matter, that it had nothing to do with that mongrel and neuter composite of matter._ bruno said: _all reality is one in substance, one in cause, one in origin; mind and matter are one._ descartes' conception of a homogeneous "substance" underlying all forms of matter intrigued him for a time, and he wrestled mentally with the classic quotation, _i think, therefore i am_. berkeley wrote: _a "thing" is merely a bundle of perceptions--i. e., classified and interpreted sensations_. hegel: _the absolute, transcending the individual limitations and purposes, and catching, underneath the universal strife, the hidden harmony of all things. reason is the substance of the universe._ leibniz: _although the whole of this life were said to be nothing but a dream, and the visible world nothing but a phantasm, i should call this dream or phantasm real enough, if, using reason well, we were never deceived by it_. * * * * * for a time buckmaster left the philosophers and read poetry. he found germs of what he sought in some of them, as goethe's, _the force which draws the lover, and the force which draws the planets are one_. he found it beautifully in a stanza of wordsworth's. _something whose dwelling is the light of the setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air,_ _and the blue sky, and the mind of man;-- a motion and a spirit, all objects of all thought, and rolls through all things._ in the main, however, he found in the poets that the grains of wheat were too few amidst the chaff and returned to philosophy. most of these excerpts, he felt, were clues to the enigma of himself. he knew that these great minds had touched on the very mystery that puzzled him. once again he felt on the verge of _understanding_. did he have all the pieces? could he fit them into the pattern, if he but knew how? or must he need to learn more? suddenly he found the explanation in a book of essays by, the incongruity of it struck him as ironical, an anonymous writer. he read: _for a time, during the middle ages, the theory that all the world, and even the universe, were figments of one giant imagination, swayed the thinkers of the world. the intellect in which this imagination centered was focused in one man, and one man only, in the whole of existence. that man was the one man who "thought." all other men, all other matter, were but imagined props with no actual existence. that man is the one who "thinks!" "you"--and only "you," the person who is reading this--in the whole world. it does not matter what your name might be. it might be...._ clifford buckmaster knew then the mystery of life, who he was, and why. he no longer concentrated, but his eyes read on: _at first glance it would seem that there is a concerted conspiracy to avoid acknowledging this fact. learned men, acquiring wisdom, come to the brink of the great discovery, and then deftly skirt it, blinding themselves to its evidentness. however, on second thought the reason is obvious. the theory is anarchistic; it carries the seeds of its own futility. if they were ever to admit the truth of it, all reason for everything--their very discovery, their very thoughts--would be futile. so they refuse to recognize it._ _your obvious question is, how can i tell you this? who am i--the writer of this essay? the answer is quite simple. i am merely a figment of your imagination, as is everything else about you!_ at last he knew. his first sensation was one of awful, empty solitude. he was one creature--alone. alone in a universe! he was an entity living in a dream world. all about him were the figments of an imagination--presumably his own. and even knowing, he still had no control of events--like a dream that cannot be halted or changed. the people about him were automatons, in fact they possessed no actual substance. even his own body was but a figment--but he could be hurt! he had experienced the most acute pain, and very probably he could be killed. he had, however, little time to brood on it. at that instant in his reflections gamoll jerked open the library door and walked in. "the worst has happened," he exclaimed. "the security police have caught oliver." "what can we do?" buckmaster still could not regard gamoll, or oliver and his friends, as nonentities. "i hate to say this," gamoll said, "but you'll have to get out. i may be able to help oliver escape, but i'll be powerless if they learn that i'm connected with the underground." "they probably wouldn't hesitate to kill you also," buckmaster said. "that wouldn't be too important, if my dying would accomplish anything," gamoll said. "but the underground's only hope seems to be my keeping clear." slowly, almost unobtrusively, a vision rose up before buckmaster's eyes. gamoll's features clouded, became vague, and were gone. in his place stood the general. in the general's hand was a bottle, and before him a wooden frame, holding a metal box with its lid open. buckmaster realized that what he was seeing was happening in some other part of the building. he could see cement walls in the room in which the general stood. probably the basement, he thought. within him the force commanded! he must get to the general, and kill him. the world was on the brink of disaster. and time was running out. * * * * * gradually the whole composite vision vanished and he saw the handsome features of gamoll again. he knew what he had to do now. "i'm leaving immediately," he said. closing the library door behind him he walked unhesitatingly down a long hallway. to either side of him, painted on the walls, were murals, depicting peasants in the fields, harvesting grain. idly he observed the painted figures as he walked, with his brain chilled and numbed of almost all emotion. the painted figures possessed as much reality as anything else about him, he thought disinterestedly. he walked down steps and across an inner courtyard, his legs moving stiffly, lifelessly. he continued up the steps on the far side of the courtyard, his mind shutting out everything around him except the door ahead. when he reached there he stopped. here, he knew, he was at the crossroads. he could move straight ahead through the door, or he could walk around the house and enter the basement through the back. that was the longer way, but probably the safer. and the force urged the second choice. a mood of black frustration swept over him and some perverse stubbornness of his human nature rebelled at this supine abnegation. he knew that he was going to die, and his one last defiant act would be to die in a way of his own choosing. he walked straight ahead. as he opened the door and stepped into a long green-carpeted room he found himself facing three guards. they held guns and the guns were all aimed at him. even before he observed that the guards were firing, he felt the killing slugs enter his body. he knew the bullets had reached vital organs and that he was about to die. within him he felt the force, angry and rebuking. he felt a wrench at the core of his body structure--and he was walking--walking--endlessly--down a long corridor. on the walls to either side of him were the figures of harvesters painted on yellow murals. his body was alive and vital. he walked on, through a doorway and out into a courtyard before he realized what had happened. the force had turned time backward! he was once more on his way to shoot koski. he was exactly the same as he had been the last time but with the addition of his memories of having been shot. and the silent warning that came to him never to expect another second chance. that could not be repeated. this time when he came to the fatal door there was no surge of rebellion and he did not hesitate. he walked around the house until he came to the basement entrance. cement steps led downward. two guards were waiting for him there. one guard fell as buckmaster fired, but he knew with a terrible certainty that he would not be able to kill the other in time to save himself. the guard's bullet crashed into buckmaster's diaphragm and his body jerked once but it did not stop its determined pacing forward. buckmaster fired again but even as he did he felt a second bullet enter his body. it pierced his heart and he knew that he was dead. with dimming vision he watched the guard fall over on his side as his own bullet found its mark. even as buckmaster realized that the bitter fever of life was over for him he knew that his body would not stop. without any directive from the brain it was using the last of the suspended energy in its blood and muscles to walk forward, driving with an awful exertion. on he walked into the cement lined room. the general stood there, oblivious to the noise about him. the hair on the crown of his head parted violently as the bullet from the gun in buckmaster's hand hit its mark. the gun became a weight too heavy for buckmaster's lifeless fingers and dropped to the floor. the last spark of life flickered for a brief moment where it had fled in some inner recess of his brain and he felt the force for the last time. two words it spoke. "well done," and he knew that at last his job was finished. now he would return home! * * * * * buckmaster had reasoned well, considering his natural limitations. but the truth he had discovered was, like most truths, only part of a greater truth. in the far reaches of infinity, beyond the outermost boundaries of space, a thought-voice spoke. "am i going to die?" it asked. "not now," a second entity answered. "the crisis is past." "will the sickness come again?" "not this particular form of malevolent psychosis," the second entity replied. "but perhaps you had better tell me all the facts you know so that i can advise you about the future." "my project, i still believe, was magnificent," the sick entity began. "from the energy of my essence i materialized a world of infinitesimal creatures. i gave them time and space, and built a background of a universe for their wonderment and speculation. they dwelt on their world, lived their lives, and made their tiny, though admirable, advances as they saw their destiny. and then, suddenly, when all seemed beautiful, something went wrong, and i was ill unto death. what did i do that was not right?" "i believe you made your mistake when you gave your creatures free will. they developed their malignancies, as well as their admirabilities. when they developed a malignancy of such virulence that they were in a position to destroy themselves, you made yourself vulnerable to death, through them. the shock of that devastation to you would have killed you. tell me, were your creatures aware that they were figments of your mind?" "some grasped inklings of it, though none were certain. one, a baruch spinoza, came as close to the truth as it was possible, for their finite minds. he wrote: _we are the flitting forms of a being greater than ourselves, and endless while we die. our bodies are cells in the body of the race, our race is an incident in the drama of life; our minds are the fitful flashes of an eternal light. our mind, in so far as it understands, is an eternal mode of thinking, which is determined by another mode of thinking, and this one again by another, and so on to infinity._ that was magnificent. while others who caught inklings of the truth believed that i was an ultimate being, he realized that i, too, had an ultimate being whom i worshipped." "also, if he had been able to perceive how close you were to death," the second entity said, "he would have realized that you were mortal, which no ultimate being can be." "how were you able to circumvent the disaster that so nearly befell me?" "i sent a segment of my own mentality into your conceived world. i gave it a name, implanted a memory of a past into its mind, and that same memory into the minds of those creatures with whom it was supposed to have come into contact, in its past. through that segment i was able to destroy the awful potentiality, as well as the creature who controlled it. the secret now rests with the dead." "is there any chance of a similar recurrence?" "that chance will always exist as long as you persist in allowing your creatures to have free will. i would advise you to destroy it." for a time the patient was silent. "no," it said finally, "without that free will their existence and my entire project would be futile. i will let the free will remain and bear any consequences." "that, of course, is your own choosing," the other said. and so man kept his greatest possession.