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.

1. 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.

2. 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. 230.) 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. 17.) 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. 1,) 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 1. Inanimate,—as water, wind, steam, magnetism, &c.; 2. Animate, but insensible,—as the life and affinities of plants; 3. 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. 291.)

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. 39.)

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:

1. Absolute and necessary connexion of motives and volitions. 2. Absolute and necessary connexion of volitions and effects. 3. Absolute and necessary connexion of all sequents and antecedents in nature. 4. Absolute and necessary connexion of all things existent with a first and necessary principle or cause. 5. 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 2d 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 5th; 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. 1. 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.” 2. 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. 6. p. 276, 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. 1. p. 466.)

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. 6, p. 470.)

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.

1. 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.

2. 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.

3. 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.

4. 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.¹

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.² 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.