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ata

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Freei

jdbxjI"Ve:

AT Tli

THE RE

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Freedom and Necessity:

A LECTURE, •

i3BXjI"Vep\ii:x3 iisr isikto::^^' ooijXjEioe

ON THE 6th APRIL, 1870,

AT THK CLOSK (»K 'IHl-: COLIJIGK .SESSION.

JiV

THE UEV. liEOKGE PAXTON VOlliMJ, M.A.,

TROFRSSOR OK MKVTAL ANP MoRAI, I'H1L()(*0:'HY, KNO\' COUl-Ki. K, lUKUNTO.

it
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T O R ( ) N T O :
A 1) A M , S "I" K V K N S O N ^^ CO.,

Ill I.ISIIKRS K\l> IIOOKSKIM kS.

The followin"- Lecture was delivered in Knox' Colle.^-e at
the close of last Session, and is now published at the request
of some gentlemen who heard it, and who wish to have it
placed in their hands, that they may consider at leisure the
views which it contains.

Toronto, Canada,

i8th April, iSjo.

FREEDOM AND NECESSITY:

A LECTURE.

Gkntlkmi n,

I purpose, in this Lecture, to inquire whethef,
and in what sense, men are free agents ; , and whether, and in
what sense, their actions are necessary.

In discussing these questions, we shall be groping in the
dark, unless we have perfectly clear conceptions of what
action is. I observe, therefore, that, by voluntary action I
mean an exertion of energy by an intelligent being, a sub-
jective putting forth of effort, in the direction of an end
which is in the mind's view. In this definition, which I give,
not with the idea that any definition can explain the nature
of action, but simply to assist you to the exercise of that
reflection through which alone the thing defined can be
understood, the two essential points involved are, that volun-
tary action is a subjecti ve deter mination, and that it is
directed towards^ an end. Let us look at these a little more
particularly.

In the first place, voluntary action is a subjective energy^
issuing, no doubt, in certain objective results, but by no
means to be confounded with these. For instance, I lift a
glass of water, and raise it to my lips, and drink the water,
in order to quench my thirst. As a number of separate
movements may here be distinguished, let us fix attention on
the first — the stretching forth of the hand to the glass ; and
let us suppose that this is consciously done with a view to
the quenching of thirst as the ultimate end to be attained.
In such a case, the true action is not the outward movement,
but tlie energy which is ex,erted by the being whom I call
myself, and which results in the movement.

Of course, we describe the action by referring to the move-
ment. We say : the hand is moved towards the glass. This

FRKKDOM A\l> XKCKSSI'IV

mode of speaking is all that the ordinary purposes of life
require. But, if we desire to investigate the matter philo-
sophicall)', we must look beneath the surface of verbal
cx])ression, and not derive our views of what actions are,
from the language in which they are customarily described.
tThe movement of the hand is the purely mechanical effect
/of certain muscular contractions and expansions, produced
through the application to the muscles of the stimulus of the
nervous force, in precisely the same way in which the convul-
sion of the limbs of a dead frog follow a galvanic shock.
Such movement, therefore, is not my action, properly so^
called, but only a result connected, and not even proximately
connected, therewith.

This is the first point : — voluntary action is a .Mubjective
fc'icrgy. The next is : — it is directed to a definite end in the
'mind's view.

To say that voluntary action is consciously directed to-
wards an end, is the same thing as to say that it is done from
motive ; the presence of a desirable end to the mind being
what constitutes moti\e.

There is a class of philos(?phers who carr\- out the doctrine
of Association, and of Habit, as depending on Association,
in such a manner as leads them to assert, t|-i:it volnptn ry
actions may be done without motiv e. Utilitarian moralists,
for instance, like Mr. John Stuart Mill, who believe in the
existence of disinterested affections, are obliged to take this
ground. For, their theory of life is, that pleasure is the only
motive by which human beings can be influenced. And yet
they believe in disinterested affections. How do they recon-
cile the.se seemingly inconsistent principles ^ They attempt
to do so, by showing that_disinterested affections are gene-|
rated, mainly through the hiBucncc of association,_out of a
primitive root of pure regard for. Self ; and that, wheii the\'
have been thus generated, the voluntary actions, in which
they manifest themselves, are done from habit, without mo_
tive. Mr. Mill, after remarking that " a person of confirmed
virtue, or any other person whose purposes are fixed, carries
out his purposes without any thought of the pleasure he has
in contemplating them, or expects to receive from their ful-
filment," adds : ♦' this, however, is but an instance of that

I t

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^:.' I

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; i

A i.KcrniK. 5

famili.'ir fact, the power of habit, and is in no wise confined
to the case of virtuous actions. Many indifferent thin^s»
w'liich men originally did from a motive of some sort, they
continue to do from liabit. Sometimes tiiis is done uncon-
sciously, the consciousness coming only after the action ; at
other times, with conscious volition, but volition whicli has
become habitual, and is put in operation by the power of
habit." — Now, I am not at present arguing against Utilita-
rianism, though the view, for which I am contending, is, I
believe, fatal to the Utilitarian theory. I am concerned sole-
ly with the assertion, that, when a certain course of conduct
lias become habitual, actions may be done with conscious
volition, and yet without motive. This I cannot admit. For,
why is aii^: ^ing called a„r)iiotive ? Because, as it is in the
vievv of the mind, it stimulates to action. Why do Utilita-
rians say that pleasure is a motive .■* Because pleasure is an
end which men aim at in the actions whicli they perform.
No other possible account of motive can be given, than that
it is the end — the ultimate or true end — aimed at, which,
contemplated by the mind, stimulates to action. Well, then,
if a good Samaritan, to whom the practice of benevolence
has become habitual, aims at the relief of a sufferinir neiirh-
hour, without any thought of the pleasure that is to accrue
to himself, or without the thought of any thing, except bene-
fiting the sufferer, is not the desire of attaining this end the
motive of his action, in j)recisely the same sense in which the
desire of pleasure is the motive, where pleasure is the end
sought ? I do not deny that habit may lead to spontaneous
action, where no end is consciously sought, and therefore no
motive felt. I object to Mr. Mill's statements, only in so far
as they relate to voluntary action. Habit renders voluntary
action, in an accustomed course, easy. It does so, by strength-
ening the impulses towards the line of conduct to which we
have habituated jurselves, and rendering weak the opposing
influences. The practice of benevolence, for example, may
have become so habitual, that the claims of Self may have
practically ceased to make their voice heardiin the presence
of distress calling for relief But this is j^^ the arnihilation
of motive. It is merely the triumpl^KM^ne motive over
another ; the TV///, Vhh', Vici, of a^^^pfj^ieror, who is scar^

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6 FR.CEDOM AND NICCKSSITV.

\y, if at all, conscious of the resisting forces, which pass away
before his disciplined and imperial sweep.

Havinj^ thus endeavoured to make clear the true conception
of voluntary action, I am now prepared to indicate, what, in
my opinion, philosophy is competent to teach regardin}^' the
free agency of man, on the one hand, and the necessity of
human actions, on the other. — I have asserted that men pos-
sess a power of voluntary action. In this lies their freedom. —
I have said also that voluntary action is performed under thcN.
influence of motives ; aiid this, I beheve, constitutes the sole
necessity that governs human actions. — These two articles
form the Thesis, which, in the remainder of the Lecture I am
to develop and illustrate.

That men possess a power of voluntary acting, in the sense
which has been described, is a proposition for the truth of
which I can only appeal to consciousness. If I am conscious
of any thing, I am conscious of being an agent ; — not indeed
of producing any outward results, but of putting forth energy,
with which experience shows that such and such outward
results are connected. I am conscious, at one moment, of
listening to catch a sound ; at another, of directing my eyes
towards the countenance of a friend ; again, of endeavouring
to lift a weight ; and, again, of resisting an impulse towards
a particular gratification.

In saying that it is in the reality of this power of acting^
that freedom consist.s, I take a position different, in some
measure, both from that of T^d wards, and from that of Ed-
wards' opponents. T/icf hold that man's freedom is a Liberty
of Indifference, in virtue of which, the mind, when solicited
by a variety of motives, may choose any course, either this
or that; /il\ that it is liberty to do as w^e will ; a doctrine,
which may, at first sight, appear to be much the same as the
former, but nevertheless is quite distinct. Let us look at these
theories a little more closely.

The so-called Liberty of Indifference is a supposed equili-
brium of the Will, not indeed with respect to its inclination,
but with respect to its power or ability to choose, in virtue of
which, as I have »aid, when different, motives present them-
selves, it can go either wayu ^he ass, between the two
bundles of hay, may be inclined towards the bundle on the

pass away

conception
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ardin}^" the
icccssity of
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ecture I am

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A IJX'TURE. 7

right ; or it may be inclined towards the bundle on the
left ; but, to which ever side the needle of inclination point,
the Will, with respect to its power of choosing, remains in
equilibrium, so that it can select either the one direction or
the other. — Such a doctrine, if the language in which it is
expressed is to be taken with any degree of strictness, will
not bear examination. I'or, the only ground on which the
Liberty in question can be asserted, is the testimony of con-
sciousness. If we are not conscious of a Liberty of Indiffer-
ence, we can form no idea of what those mean, who contend
for it. But we are not conscious of it. I'^or, consciousness
declares only what is. In regard to what may be, it is dumb.
I am conscious of freedom in every thing that I do ; in other
words, I am conscious of being the real, and not the mere
nominal, agent ; but it is a contradiction in terns to speak of
my being conscious o( freedom, in regard to what is not being
done, and never may be done.

Mr. J. S. Mill, after bringing forward, in opposition to the
advocates of freedom, the argument which has just been
stated, drawls tlu^ conclusion, in a tone of considerable exul-
tation, that the cause of freedom is lost. The appeal to
consciousness, on which alone the assertion of freedom can
be based, fails, because the circumstance which the witness is
called to prove is one to which he cannot possibly depone.
Mr. Mill's position here is impregnable, if the true conception
of freedom be that which his argument assumes it to be.
But I deny that this is the true conception of freedom. Wei
are conscious of being free, not in respect of things which we|
are not doing and may never do, but in the actions which we
perform. When we serve God, we serve him freely. When
we commit sin, we sin freely. We are not forced to obey
God. We are not forced to disobey God. We are conscious,
when we obey, that we do it without constraint. We are
conscious, when we disobey, that we do it without constraint-
Consciousness, therefore, is a competent witness to human
freedom, when the fact of freedom is rightly conceived ; this
fact being nothing more than the true and proper agency of
the being whose freedorfi is asserted.

In reasoning against the dogma of Liberty of Indifference,
I have taken the position, that we are conscious oi freedom in

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^acting, but not o^ /nrdiyni h> act in one or othci of a \ariety
of ways in which wc arc not acting at the nionicnt. Hut it
may be said : do wc not speak perpetuall)* of men beinj^ at
h'berty to adopt one or other of two courses that ma}- be open
to them ? I answer : u c <,1(\ Ihe lanj^uaj^'^e is popular ; it
expresses briefl)- aiul intelii^ibl) wiiat is intended by those
who use it ; ami t<> object to it, in ordinarj- discourse, would
be mere pedantry. 1 am at liberty either to leave the plat-
form on which I stand, or to remain in my present position.
Undoubtedl)-, 1 am, l^ut what is here asserted is something
altogether different from the liberty of Indifference on which
1 have been remarking. The meaning is; — 1 have learned,
from past experience, that certain motions of my limbs are
consequent on certain subjccti\e encrj^ies ; aij^uinj^, then,
from the past to the future, 1 believe, that if I were at tiie
present moment to put fo''th such and such energies, these
would issue in movements of ipy limbs, m virtue of which 1
should, step t)ff the platforms-while, if the requisite energie,
be not i)ut forth, 1 shall remain where I am. Rut, though I
am convinced that the one result or the other shall take piace,
according as certain subjectisc energies are or are not exerted;
the conviction is not a datum of consciousness ; it is an infer-
ence from experience, and oih- ha\ing nothing whatever to do
with my free agcnc) , properl)- so called, but only with the
outward results which ex])erit;nce teaches us to connect witii
particular exertions of free agenc)'.

In opposition to those who contend for an unthinkable
Liberty of Indifference, ICdwards represents our liberty as
consisting in power to do as we will, or in (what he regards
as being the same thing) the absence of hindrance to our
doing as we will. How widely this is removed from the
Liberty of Indifference, wiLli which it might at first sight, be
confounded, will be apparent, when we attend to the mean-
ing which Edwards attaches to the language he employs.
By willing, he understands the choice or preference of the/
mind ; and, by doing, the result arising upon our choice^
according to the constitution of things, we know not how.
The choice, he calls ' n act of Will ; the result of the choice,
\] ; a voluntary action ; thus {most unhappily, in my opinion)
1 distinguishing an act of Will from a voluntary action. But

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action. But

■'/,

A I.KCTURK. 9

he admits that we arc not conscious of the voluntary action ;
we are conscious only of the act of Will, and of an expecta-
tion, founded on experience, that the action will follow.
" There is nothing," he says, " which I am conscious of while
I walk, but only of my preferring or choosing, through suc-
cessive moments, that there should be such alterations of my
external sensations and motions, together with a concurring
habitual e.xpc^ctation that it will be so ; having e\er found by
e.xpcrience, that on such an immediate preference such sensa-
tions do actually, instantaneously, and constantly arise."
r'rom this it is plain, that, when ICdwards speaks of our being
at liberty to do as we will, he does not mean that we are
aF "liberty to choose one or other of two alternatives, or at
liberty to do any thing, in the sense of exerting any subjec-
tive energy ; but what he means is this : — supposing our
choice to have been made in a particular manner, if there is
no hindrance in the way, to [prevent our choice taking effect
in those outward results which experience has taught us \o
connect with particular volitions, then, and in that regard, we
are free. The example, by which he illustrates his doctrine,!
is : a bird, let loose, is at liberty to fly. Its cage being open,'
there is no hindrance to its Hying.

I cannot but wonder at the laudations which this view of
liberty has received from a host of eminent writers. In my
opinion it has no merit whatever. On the contrary, by repre-
senting liberty as lying merely in the absence of hindranct
to the effects of our actions, effects confessedly occurrinjfk
beyond the sphere of consciousness, it tends to obscure and]
perplex the great truth, that there is a freedom of which we|
are conscious. No reasonings ever have been, or ever will be,
able to drive out of men's minds the conviction that they are
free ; free, not in the Edwardian sense, but with a liberty
which belongs to their very nature as rational beings, and
with which neither the presence nor the absence of hindrances
to the motions of their limbs has any thing to do. A man
bound in chains is a free agent, as truly as if the fetters were
removed. — He is not free, you say, to cast off his chains.
The bird is not at liberty to fly. — I answer : what you mean
by this, is, that no efforts which the man can put forth would
result in breaking his chains. Granted. But what has that

1 X

: J

FREEDOM AND NECESSITY

to do with the matter ? You are metely asserting that cer-
tain external consequences would not follow from the man's
actings. But the question of freedom, at least the only one
worth discussing, is not, what consequences we are led by
experience to believe would tollow certain actions, but whether
the subjective energi*. , which constitute our actions, are the!
unconstrained forth-puttiugs of a power inherent in Self ; ini
other words, whether men arc veritable, and not mere nomi-
nal, agents.

It is on the miserable view of freedom, which considers it
as having reference to the results of action, rather than as
lying in the r'=^ality of the power of acting, that Locke, with
whose statements, on this point, the remarks of Edwaids very
closely coincide, proceeds in determining how far human free-
dom reaches How far human freedom reaches ! Are we
not fiee, if free at all, in every action we perform ?
But let us hear Locke. Liberty, he tells us, is " the
power in any agent to do or forbear any particular action
a;.cording to the determination or thought of tlie mind,
whereby cither of them is preferred to the other." And from
this conception of liberty he draws tiio conclusion that we are
free, as far as we can produce resuUb. but no farther. Thus,
I am free to throw a quoil twenty yr.rds, but not to throw it
..wo hundred. (3r, to give an illustration in Locke's own
words : — " a man falling into the water (a bri: ge breaking
under him) has not herein liberty, is noc a froe agr.nt. For,
though he has volition, though he prefers hi.; not falling to
falling, yet, the forbearance of that motion not being in his
power, the stop or cessation of tiiat motion follows not upon
his volition, and therefore he is not free." It seems to me
that the more correct account of such a case would be, that
" herein" the man does not act at all, cither freely or neces-
sarily. The general statement, that liberty is the power
which we have to do ^r to forbear any particular action,
according to the preference of the mind, I could accept, if it
meant no rrore than this, that we are free, in as much as we
are veritable agents. But this is not Locke's meaning He
unambiguou.sly uses the word action to denote, not the sub-
jective energy which the living being exerts, but the result in
which that energy issues. Of course, if any one chooses to

s
ie

A LECTURE.

define action in this way, he can do so. And, if he chooses
also to define freedom, so as to make it indicate merely the
extent to which results follow our subjective exertions of
energy, he can do so. But I repeat, '.hat this is not the free-
dom of which we ore conscious, since It is only from expe-
rience that we Irani to connect certain result? with our
exertions of energy. And I say still far'.her, that it is not
the freedom whicn forms the basis of our responsibility. We,
feel ourselves, as true agents, to be responsible foi what we]
do ; — for the energies which we direct towards certain cndi
equally responsible whether the ends be attained or not.

With these remarks on the first Article of my Thesis, which
places freedom in tlie possession of a ver''.abie power of
voluntary action, I proceed to the second, in which voluntary
action is considered as prompted by motive.

A preliminary verbal explanation must iiere be made. We
have seen that Edwards distinguishes voiuptarv action from
act of Will ; m waning, by the lait^r, the a.t of c.'e mind
whereby we choose any thing ; and, by the forme, the effect
conseciuent upon our clioice. On the viev/whi.h I Iv.veuk.-n
of action, as a subjective encrg}', there is no disti^ v'on b.>
tween act of Will, and voluntary action. An act o'' WM is
a voluntary action ; and there is no other kind of voianiary
action. I act, by w liiing. I bend my arm — in so far a". I,
the living being, do any thing in the case — by wil'ing to b.nid
it. Hence, in speaking of motives, it is immater'al whel'^er
we suy, that they influence the Will, or that they prompt to
action. The two statements are identical.

Can we, th jn, define the relation of motives to the W^i", or
to the conduct, more precisely than by^ simply ; .lying, that
glQJtij^e§,,.«ifluef\ce the chof?*tv ^^r that men act from mw-i-t-v^iiB .-•
T do not believe tiiM we can. Rut, as you are awcue pni'oso-
phers of both the schools, whose views we have been exam-
ining, are of a contrary opinion. On the one hc.nd, T'dwards
tells us, that the stronge:;t motive determine) ih^ Will,
according to a law of necessity. On the other hand, h"s
opponents hold, that the mind, by whatever noli . s .c may
be solicited, po.ssesses a selfrdetermining power. It is my task
to show, as I hope to be able to do, that a criticism of these
conflicting theories leads to. the conclusion, that there is no

FRKEDOM AND NECESSITY

truth held by the disputants on either side, which is not sub-
stantially held by b(^th ; the system of neither party contain-

thinkable truth

id above what I hi

mg any positiV(

mentioned, that men act from motives.

The principle of Edwards is, that the strongest motive
determines the Will. But, whatever there may be in this
doctrine, vc may at all events simplify the formula, by strik-
ing out the word " strongest." For, what is meant by
strongest motive.' There is no conceivable test, by which-
the relative strength of two contending motives can be esti-
mated, except the actual result in which a struggle between
them issues. A strain is brought to bear ui)on a cable.
•Which of the two forces is tlie stronger, the strain, or the
tenacity of tliC rope } Wait, and you shall see. If the rope
break ; the former. If it do not break ; the latter. So, (I
suppose Edwards ^\•ould say,) when two motives act upon the
Will, we can judge of their relative strength by the result,
(jood. Then, the stronger motive' is. b)- definition, that which
prex'ails And hence the formula : the strongest motive de-
termines the Will, is reducible tt) this : the motive, which
determines the Will, determines the Will ; — a ])roposition, in
which the utmost amount of truth that can possibly be con-
tained, is, that the Will is determined by motives.

The word " strongest "' seemed to be somewhat, but has
turned out to be nothing. It has vanished ; and the simpli-
fied formula remains in our hands: motives determine the Will.
Does this express an\- thing more than the fact, that volun-
tary action is performed from moti\'e J To discover what
more it expresses, if an\- tliing, we must inquire what the
determination spoken of is. It is explained to be a species
of causal relation, in which motives stand to volition. In
fact, the so o positive proof which lulwards gives for his doc-
trine, and hercfore the sole means we have for ascertaining
the precise import of that doctrine, is founded on the princi-
ple, that whatever comes to pass must have a cause. This,
in substance, is also the one positive argument employed by
Leibnitz, in his Theodicee, and in his correspondence with
Clarke, in support of a conclusion similar to that of Edwards.
We may safely assume, therefore, that it contains the whole
' gist of the matter.

A LECTURE.

ijfis that he employs the term cause " in a
1 than that in vvhifih* it is sometimes
used." He defines it as " any antccedent/*'i|ither natural or

Edwards e
sense more ext

moral, positive or net^W||i|i, on which an Fvdff', either a thing
or the manner and circumstance of a thing, so depends, that
it is a 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."
It is plain, that, in this definition, several things, of entirely
distinct sorts, are brought together under a common name.
A cause is any antecedent, on which the result depends in
any way. Ikit there may be various antecedents, on which
the result depends in various ways ; and therefore our voli-
tions may have different causes, to which they are in different
ways due. For instance, the sustaining power of the Creator,
exercised from moment to moment, is a ground or reason
why our volitions are. rather than not ; for, if this sustaining
power were withdrawn, we should cease to exist. The Divine
power is the efficient cause, to which our existence, as beings
possessed of the power of Will, is to be ascribed. I need not
say that it is not in this sense that motives arc held by philo-
sophers of the school of I'Alwards to be the causes of cur
\'olitions. Neither are the)' considered to be of the nature of
physical causes. What then .^ They are regarded as moral
causes; and the necessity, which is 'conceived to attach to
their operation, is a moral necessity.

You will keep in mind, that we are trying to discover, how
much, if any thing, is contained in the proposition : motives
determine the Will, beyond what is involved in the .statement,
that voluntary action is performed from motive. The nut of
the question lies in the word " determine ;" and we have got
thus far in our process of clearing up what that word implies :
wt have ascertained, namely, that the meaning intended to
be conveyed, is, that motives are the moral causes of ouii
volitions, and that the necessity which attaches to their ope-|
ration is a moral necessity. But what do the expressions,
moral cause, and moral_iiecessit}-, mean .' I do not know
. that any other answer can be given, than- that tIj£^denote
the relation which, subsists between the nature of an intelli-
' gent agent, and the ends, which, in given circumstances, he
prefers, or the actjons^ which, under given circumstances, h'e

■\

FREEDOM AND NECESSITV

voluntarily performs. One person is tempted to sti al a auni
of money. He is a good man, and resists the lempiation.
Another is tempted to steal. He i.-; a bad man, a. id j^ives
way to the templatiou. In general, the course which a pcr-
^•on takes when certain ends, in any ixspec t de:/u-ab'e, are
present to his mind, will depend on the answer to ihe ques-
tion : what sort of a person is he .'* With given motives
brought to bear upon you, you, being such a perse. i ;'s you
are, act as you do ; whereas, if you hiid bcc;n a different sort
of person, you would have acted differently.' — 1 h's wi'l pro-
bably be accepted by tlie most t.horough-;/;G^ng dis' ip'cs of
Edwards as a substantiallv correct .statement of what 's mc;:t
essential in the doctrine iiaiatained by that wriler. And
now observe what it amounts to. A man's a-iions, -"n given
circumstances, depend, according to a law of moral causat'on,
on his nature. What the man does, flows, by moral pcce >
sity, from what he is. But what co inception can we iorm of
our nature, except through the actings which exhibit it .'' We
know v/hat we are, only in knowing w!i..'.t we do. Actions
are merely the evolution of nature, — n^vture unfold! og itself.
The doctrine of moral necessity, therc^o'^e, in so far a; it pre-
tends to go beyond the simple fact that men act f'om mot*v>' s,
is a mere truism. " In presence of given desiraNe ende, a man
niist chooi' as lie does'^ Of course, he mu-t ; ^or, ".o sjpposc
his choice to be different from what it "'^, would be to suppo.;e
that he is a different man from what he is. ' His aclions uinst
have a nioVid canse ; they niiisi be aeeording to his nature'. Of
course, they must ; ,for we conceive nature ,• of tivs or Ihat
particular sort, o^y by conceiving the aclio ■- in v.iv h it
develops itself^r In admitting such sL. vcni ■> :; ^lod ' \.sof^ t'.^s,
we are mani^^stly admitting no.Uiig .xcpt that a man,
being whcit he is, and being pLt. od "i ihe cJ cuni:-,tun es in
which he is plac«.d, acts with a \ i w lo i se al'ainm nt of die
ends, whose presence to the mind o;- 'ut^':; ^l.e mc'vo*^, by
which, on ihe Edwardian systen;, die Wi.i is held to be
determined.

We have seen, that, in the otvv i'uo a;"d inx' i'^'b'e sense

in which motives can be said 'o dca ■mine the WI:!, the

'iphrase expresses nothing nio.j .:i\\ \\\Ji ri-.n act from

Inolivcs. Let us now turn to th<^ oth>:r s'cie, and consider the

A LECTURK

posiiion o^ <bor;e who contend for a sclf-d'jtermininj^ power
of the Will

What is this scK-Jctermining power ? Edwards finds him-
self unab.e to conceive that the Will can determine itself to
any particular act, otherwise than by a previous iict. Why
do I will in such a manner ? Because I will. And why do
I will i:o will in this manner ? Because 1 will. And why do
I will to will to will in thus manner ? Because I v/ill. And
so on we .'^o, down the bottomlc.:s inclined plane of an infinite
series of volitions, as the conditi(.n o*^ ai y volition whatever
ta!: infj place. If this be what is meant by the self-determining
power of the; Will, Scif-determinatlon is manifestly impossible.

But the advocate-- of the self-determining pov\ ,r would
certainly not admit that their position is correctly stated,
when thoy are jepiesenved as conditioning each volition on a
previous voiiilon. No doubt, they are accustomed to use
such expressions, as, that we will 'in thi.s or that manner,
because we choose. IVut it would be unjust to press their
la:igMage too closely, and to compel it to yield the signifixa-
tioii, that every voliiion must be precdod by another. From
their own cxposi'.ioi.s of their views, it ma)' be gathered that
the i")ower of Sclf-dcL^nmiaation, which they claim for the
Will, is neither more nor les-r: than that Libert}' of Indiffer-
ence, which (as we have seen) they ascribe to the Will. A
man is solicited by two opposing motive; ; neither of these,
prior to the man's choice, can be considered as essentially
stronger than its competitor, so as neressaril;/ to determine
the cho' -.e that shall be made ; but the man, while drawn to
the right hand by the one motive, and to the left by the
other, can choose either direction. In popular phrase, he can
choose as he pleases ; by which, however, i.--'. not meant that
liis choice is determined by a previous act of choice, but
simply that he can choo-^e either this or that. The question,
therefore, whether the Will has a Sel." dett rmining power, is
the same as the question, whether the Will has a Liberty of
Indifference. Such Liberty I have already shown to be in-
conceivable. It is an unmeaning e>:pression, unless it denote
something; of which we are conscious ; but conscious of it we
cannot possibly be, for consciousness does not tell us what
we may or may not do, but only what we do. Other reasons

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FREEDOM AND NECESSITY

for rejecting the doctrine of Liberty of Indifference nii^dit
easily be urj^ed ; — the readers of Edwards will remember
with what afflictive minuteness he treats the subject ; — but
the sinLjle brief argument, that has been advanced, is, in my
judgment, so unanswerable, that to add any thing to it would
(to borrow a oimilc of a late President of the United States)
be wasting powder on dead duck:..

If we cannot admit a Self-determining power of the Will,
in the sense that each volition is cc nditioned on a preceding
volition, or in the sense that the will is endowed with a
Liberty gf Indifference, it will scarcely be alleged that there
is any truth in the Self-determination theory, over and above
this, that the mind, in its volitions, is under no constraint, but
is itself the true and proper agent.

What is the conclusion of the whole matter ? Edwards
and his friends tell us that tl.e strongest motive determines
the will. Against this the objection lies, that the word
" strongest " is at best a meaningless superfluity. But it is
worse than superfluous, in as much as it tends naturally and
almost irresistibly to convey the idea that the Will is some-
how forced. I'or, let the position be laid down, that, of two
opposite motives, by which the mind is urged, t! ere is .some-
thing in the one, as compared with ihe other, which can
intelligibly be called superiority of strength, prior to any
action that the mind may take ; then the mind seems to be
reduced to the condition of a balance, with a heavy weight
in one .scale, and a light weight in the other ; and freedom is
destroyed ; in other words, the mind has no power of acting
left to it. The word " strongest," therefore, must be thrown
overboard. Thus simplified, the doctrine of Edwards is, that
motives determine the will. On the other side, it is held that
the will determines itself. Who is in the right .'' Both par-
ties are right, or neither is, according at, their respective
foimulae are interpreted. — ' 7/ie Will determines itself.' True,
if you mean that the mind, in its volitions, is under no con-
straint, but is itself the real and proper agent ; but not true,
or rather unintelligible, if you mean any thing else. — 'Motives
determine the Will! True, if you mean that a man, walking
(for instance) northward rather than southward, does it from
some motive ; D^-false or unintelligible, if you mean more.

mmmm

A LECTURE.

ffcrcncc mi^ht
will remember
subject ; — but
need, is, in my
xxw-g to it would
United States)

^er of the Will,
on a preceding;
iidowed with a
et^ed that there
over and above
D constraint, but

:ter ? Edwards
tive determines

that the word
uity. But it is
is naturally and
le Will is some-
wn, that, of two
.1, t! ere is some- |
ther, which can |
h, prior to any i
nd seems to be |
a heavy weight

and freedom is
power of acting

must be thrown j
Edwards is, that
ie, it is held that
ght ? Both par- \

their respective j
7^' itself! True, |
s under no con- j
It ; but not true,
I else. — 'Motives

a man, walking
ird, does it from |
ou mean more.

It may perhaps be said, that, if the views, which I have
advanced, are well founded, the controversy about man's free
agency, and about the necessity that attaches to human
actions, which has been so vehemently agitated, turns out to
be a dispute about words. The whole thinkable truth, on
the question under discussion, is contained (it seems) in the
two propositions, t hat me n are agents, and that they act from
motives ; propositions not denied, either by Edwams, or By
those against whom Edwards wrote. Have giants, then, been
fighting for ages about nothing } I answer, that I believe
the contending parties to have been substantially agreed on
the great facts of the case ; yet the contest between them was
not therefore altogether about words. The arguments, on
both sides, were directed largely, and, in this respect, to pjood
purpose, against unreal conceptions, which had been associ-
ated with the reality held by both parties in common.
Wishing to extend their knowledge beyond the facts which
f xist to be known, and by this means to provide a support
for convictions that could have stood well enough on their
own behalf, the philosophers, whom I have been venturing to
criticise, evoked Chima^ras from the abyss of inconceivability,
and thrust these forward in front of the simple truth, as its
main stay and hope; here, the Chimaera of Strongest Motives;
thert', the Chimjera of Liberty of Indifference ; phantoms,
which were regarded, the one by the combatants on the one
side, and the other by the combatants on the other, as incon-
sistent with the very life of the truth they had been summoned
to defend ; and which certainly, as only darkening and defac-
ing the truth by the smoke which they threw around it,
behooved by all means to be driven from the field.

Throughout the whole of this Lecture, it has been assumed
that the mental manifestations, of which we are conscious,\
are not the mere products of corporeal organization, but that, |
united with the body, there is in man an imrr^^iterial principl e. I
the subject of thought and feeling, and the agent in volition.
Were this denied, freedom, of course, could no longe- be
maintained ; for the phenomena of mind would be reduced
to the rank of a special class of material phenomena ; — a
very special and distinguished class, no doubt, but still sub-
ject to the same general law with the lower phenomena of

FRKKDOM AND NKCKSSITY

\ 'i

matter, and therefo.c nccessa'-y, in exactly the same manner
in which the falling of a stone to the earth under the earth's
attraction is necessary. Accordingly, those physiological psy-
chologists, who cither deny, or fail to recognise, the existence
of an immaterial principle in man, are, with one consent, ne-
cessitarians, in a sense of the word necessity, in which necessity
and freedom are incompatib'o with one another. We have an
example of this in Professor Bain of Aberdeen. That writer's
view of the Will is as follows. It has two fundamental con-
stituent elements. The first is, the existence of a spontaneous
tendency — the response of the system to nutrition — for move-
ment to take place, independently of the stimulus of feeling.
The second is, the law that connecis pleasure with increased
vitality, and pain with diminished vitality. The manner in
which these laws combine to produce Will, the following quo-
tation will explain : " We suppose movements spontaneously
begun, and accidentally causing pleasure ; we then assume,
that, with the pleasure, there will be an increase of vital
energy, in which increase the fortunate movements will share,
and thereby increase the pleasure. Or, on the other hand,
we suj'pose the spontaneous movements to give pain ; and
assume, that, with the pain, there will be a decrease of energy,
extending to the m.ovements that cause the evil, and thereby
providing a remedy. A few repetitions of the fortuitous con-
currence of pleasure and a certain movement will tend to the
forging of an acquired connection, under the law of Reten-
tiveness or Contiguity, so that, at a future time, the idea shall
evoke the proper movement at once." You will observe, that,
in this theory of the origin of voluntary power, there is an
entire ignoring of any thing that can properly be called the
exertion of energy by the mind. All the stages through
which Professor Bain conducts us, are such as might be laid
down by one who did not believe that there is an immaterial
principle in man, but who held that all the varieties of mental
manifestation are merely the product of organization. Nutri-
tion is received into the system. Nervous currents begin to
flow. Movements follow. A movement accidentally leads
to pleasure ; this heightens the general vitality ; and the for-
tunate movement shares in the increased vitality. Or, a
movement leads to pain ; this lessens the general vitality ;

■. L JWX i'- i* Wl -i H .'* * !* ■ >

A LFXTURE

and the unfortunate movement shares in the diminution of
vitality. Association comes in, and plays its part in strength-
ening the bonds between pleasure and pain, on the one hand,
and certain movements on the other ; and the result is, that,
ultimately, pleasure and pain, whether in fact or in idea, have
a definite *' volitional effect," in the way of tending to pro-
duce movements. — Into an examination of systems of this
class, which contradict, as 1 believe, the most fundamental
facts of human nature, T ha^'c not entered ; but I have limit-
ed myself to what has proved a sufficiently extensive field
for a single lecture, an examination of the ground that must
be taken, on the question of human freedom and of the neces-
sity of human actions, by those who admit that there is a
personal intelligent agent, distinct from the nervous forces,
that flow in response to nutrition, and set the limbs in motion. (■Jt^

A ^ ■••

y .

■p ij w

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