The true conclusion from the foregoing review of opinions and arguments.
All the mighty logicians we have yet named have yielded to “the
demonstration” in favour of necessity, but we do not know that one of them
has ever directed the energies of his mind to pry into its validity. They
have all pursued the method so emphatically condemned by Bacon, and the
result has verified his prediction. “The usual method,” says he, “of
discovery and proof by first establishing the most general propositions,
then applying and proving the intermediate axioms according to these, is
the parent of error and the calamity of every science.”(58) They have set
out with the universal law of causality or the principle of the sufficient
reason, and thence have proceeded to ascertain and determine the actual
nature and processes of things. We may despair of ever being able to
determine a single fact, or a single process of nature, by reasoning from
truisms; we must begin in the opposite direction and learn “to dissect
nature,” if we would behold her secrets and comprehend her mysteries.
By pursuing this method it will be seen, and clearly seen, that “the great
demonstration” which has led so many philosophers in chains, is, after
all, a sophism. We have witnessed their attempts to reconcile the great
fact of man’s free-agency with this boasted demonstration of necessity.
But how interminable is the confusion among them? If a few of them concur
in one solution, this is condemned by others, and not unfrequently by the
very authors of the solution itself. We entertain too great a respect for
their abilities not to believe, that if there had been any means of
reconciling these things together, they would long since have discovered
them, and come to an agreement among themselves, as well as made the truth
known to the satisfaction of mankind. But as it is, their speculations are
destitute of harmony—are filled with discordant elements. Instead of the
clear and steady light of truth, illuminating the great problem of
existence, we are bewildered by the glare of a thousand paradoxes; instead
of the sweet voice of harmony, reaching and calling forth a response from
the depths of the human soul, the ear is stunned and confounded with a
frightful roar of confused sounds.
We shall not attempt to hold the scheme of necessity, and reconcile it
with the fact of man’s free-agency. We shall not undertake a task, in the
prosecution of which a Descartes, a Leibnitz, a Locke, and an Edwards, not
to mention a hundred others, have laboured in vain. But we do not intend
to abandon speculation. On the contrary, we intend to show, so clearly and
so unequivocally that every eye may see it, that the great boasted
demonstration in favour of necessity is a prodigious sophism. We intend to
do this; because until the mental vision be purged of the film of this
dark error, it can never clearly behold the intrinsic majesty and glory of
God’s creation, nor the divine beauty of the plan according to which it is
governed.
Chapter II.
The Scheme Of Necessity Makes God The Author Of Sin.
I told ye then he should prevail, and speed
On his bad errand; man should be seduced,
And flatter’d out of all, believing lies
Against his Maker; no decree of mine
Concurring to necessitate his fall,
Or touch’d with slightest moment of impulse
His free-will, to her own inclining left
In even scale.—MILTON.
The scheme of necessity, as we have already said, presents two phases in
relation to the existence of moral evil; one relating to the agency of
man, and the other to the agency of God. In the preceding chapter, we
examined the attempts of the most learned and skilful advocates of this
scheme to reconcile it with the free-agency and accountability of man. We
have seen how ineffectual have been all their endeavours to show that
their doctrine does not destroy the responsibility of man for his sins.
It is the design of the present chapter to consider the doctrine of
necessity under its other aspect, and to demonstrate that it makes God the
author of sin. If this can be shown, it may justly lead us to suspect that
the scheme contains within its bosom some dark fallacy, which should be
dragged from its hiding-place into the open light of day, and exposed to
the abhorrence and detestation of mankind.
In discussing this branch of our subject, we shall pursue the course
adopted in relation to the first; for if the doctrine of necessity does
not make God the author of sin, we may conclude that this has been shown
by some one of its most profound and enlightened advocates. If the
attempts of a Calvin, and an Edwards, and a Leibnitz, to maintain such a
doctrine, and yet vindicate the purity of God may be shown to be signal
failures, we may well doubt whether there is a real agreement between
these tenets as maintained by them. Nay, if in order to vindicate their
system from so great a reproach, they have been compelled to adopt
positions which are clearly inconsistent with the divine holiness, and
thus to increase rather than to diminish the reproach; surely their system
itself should be more than suspected of error. We shall proceed, then,
with this view, to examine their speculations in regard to the agency of
God in its connexion with the origin and existence of moral evil.
Section I.
The attempts of Calvin and other reformers to show that the system of
necessity does not make God the author of sin.
Most of the advocates of divine providence have endeavoured to soften
their views, so as to bring them into a conformity with the common
sentiments of mankind, by supposing that God merely _permits_, without
_producing_ the sinful volitions of men. But Calvin rejects this
distinction with the most positive disdain. “A question of still greater
difficulty arises,” says he, “from other passages, where God is said to
incline or draw Satan himself and all the reprobate. For the carnal
understanding scarcely comprehends how he, acting by their means, and even
in operations common to himself and them, is free from any fault, and yet
righteously condemns those whose ministry he uses. Hence was invented the
distinction between _doing_ and _permitting_; because to many persons this
has appeared an inexplicable difficulty, that Satan and all the impious
are subject to the power and government of God, so that he directs their
malice to whatever end he pleases, and uses their crimes for the execution
of his judgments. The modesty of those who are alarmed by absurdity, might
perhaps be excusable, if they did not attempt to vindicate the divine
justice from all accusation by _a pretence utterly destitute of any
foundation in truth_.”(59) Here the distinction between God’s _permitting_
and _doing_ in relation to the sins of men, is declared by Calvin to be
utterly without foundation in truth, and purely chimerical. So, in various
other places, he treats this distinction as “too weak to be supported.”
“The will of God,” says he, “is the supreme and first cause of things;”
and he quotes Augustine with approbation to the effect, that “He does not
remain an idle spectator, determining to permit anything; there is an
intervention of an actual volition, if I may be allowed the expression,
which otherwise could never be considered a cause.”(60) According to
Calvin, then, nothing ever happens in the universe, not even the sinful
volitions of men, which is not caused by God, even by “the intervention of
an actual volition” of the supreme will.
It is evident that Calvin scorns to have any recourse to a permissive will
in God, in order to soften down the stupendous difficulties under which
his system seems to labour. On the contrary, he sometimes betrays a little
impatience with those who had endeavoured to mitigate the more rugged
features of what he conceived to be the truth. “The fathers,” says he,
“are sometimes too scrupulous on this subject, and afraid of a simple
confession of the truth.”(61) He entertains no such fears. He is even bold
and rigid enough in his consistency to say, “that God often actuates the
reprobate by the interposition of Satan, but in such a manner that Satan
himself acts his part by the divine impulse.”(62) And again, he declares
that by means of Satan, “God excites the will and strengthens the efforts”
of the reprobate.(63) Indeed, his great work, whenever it touches upon
this awful subject, renders it perfectly clear that Calvin despises all
weak evasions in the advocacy of his stern doctrine.
It has been truly said, that Calvin never thinks of “deducing the fall of
man from the abuse of human freedom.” So far is he from this, indeed, that
he seems to lose his patience with those who trace the origin of moral
evil to such a source. “They say it is nowhere declared in express terms,”
says Calvin, “that God decreed Adam should perish by his defection; as
though the same God, whom the Scriptures represent as doing whatever he
pleases, created the noblest of his creatures without any determinate end.
They maintain, that he was possessed of free choice, that he might be the
author of his own fate, but that God decreed nothing more than to treat
him according to his desert. If so weak a scheme as this be received, what
will become of God’s omnipotence, by which he governs all things according
to his secret counsel, independently of every person or thing
besides.”(64) The fall of man, says Calvin, was decreed from all eternity,
and it was brought to pass by the omnipotence of God. To suppose that Adam
was the author of his own fate and fall, is to deny the omnipotence of
God, and to rob him of his sovereignty.
Now, if to say that God created man, and then left his sin to proceed
wholly from himself, be to rob God of his omnipotence, and to affirm that
he made man for no determinate end, the same consequences would follow
from the position that God created Satan, and then left his sin and
rebellion to proceed wholly from himself. But, strange as it may seem, the
very thing which Calvin so vehemently denies in regard to man, he asserts
in relation to Satan; and he even feels called upon to make this assertion
in order to vindicate the divine purity against the calumny of being
implicated in the sin of Satan! “But since the devil was created by God,”
says he, “we must remark, that this wickedness which we attribute to his
nature is not from creation, but from corruption. For whatever evil
quality he has, he has acquired by his defection and fall. And of this
Scripture apprizes us; but, believing him to have come from God, just as
he now is, we shall ascribe to God himself that which is in direct
opposition to him. For this reason, Christ declares, that Satan, ‘when he
speaketh a lie, speaketh of his own;’ and adds the reason, ‘because he
abode not in the truth.’ When he says that he abode not in the truth, he
certainly implied that he had once been in it; and when he calls him the
father of a lie, _he precludes his imputing to God the depravity of his
nature, which originated wholly from himself_. Though these things are
delivered in a brief and rather obscure manner, yet they are abundantly
sufficient to vindicate the majesty of God from every calumny.”(65) Thus,
in order to show that God is not the author of sin, Calvin assumes the
very positions in regard to the rebellion of Satan which his opponents
have always felt constrained to adopt in regard to the transgression of
man. What then, on Calvin’s own principles, becomes of the omnipotence of
God? Does this extend merely to man and not to Satan? Is it not evident
that Calvin’s scheme in regard to the sin of the first man, is here most
emphatically condemned out of his own mouth? Does he not here endorse the
very consequence which his adversaries have been accustomed to deduce from
his scheme of predestination, namely, that it makes God the author of sin?
This scheme of doctrine, it must be confessed, is not without its
difficulties. It clothes man, as he came from the hand of his Maker, with
the glorious attributes of freedom; but to what end? Is this attribute
employed to account for the introduction of sin into the world? Is it
employed to show that man, and not God, is the author of moral evil? It is
sad to reflect that it is not. The fall of man is referred to the direct
“omnipotence of God.” The feeble creature yields to the decree and power
of the Almighty, who, because he does so, kindles into the most fearful
wrath and dooms him and all his posterity to temporal, spiritual, and
eternal death. Such is the doctrine which is advanced, in order to secure
the omnipotence of God, and to exalt his sovereignty. But is it not a
great leading feature of deism itself, that it exalts the power of God at
the expense of his infinite moral perfections? So we have understood the
matter; and hence, it seems to us, that Christian divines should be more
guarded in handling the attribute of omnipotence. “The rigid theologians,”
says Leibnitz, “have held the greatness of God in higher estimation than
his goodness, the latitudinarians have done the contrary; _true orthodoxy
has these two perfections equally at heart_. The error which abases the
greatness of God should be called _anthropomorphism_, and _despotism_ that
which divests him of his goodness.”(66)
If Calvin’s doctrine be true, God is not the author of sin, inasmuch as he
made man pure and upright; but yet, by the same power which created him,
has he plunged him into sin and misery. Now, if the creation of man with a
sinful nature be inconsistent with the infinite purity of God, will it not
be difficult to reconcile with that purity the production of sin in man,
after his creation, by an act of the divine omnipotence?
If we ask, How can God be just in causing man to sin, and then punishing
him for it? Calvin replies, That all his dealings with us “are guided by
equity.”(67) We know, indeed, that all his ways are guided by the most
absolute and perfect justice; and this is the very circumstance which
creates the difficulty. The more clearly we perceive, and the more vividly
we realize, the perfection of the divine equity, the more heavily does the
difficulty press upon our minds. This assurance brings us no relief; we
still demand, if God be just, as in truth he is, how can he deal with us
after such a manner? The answer we obtain is, that God is just. And if
this does not satisfy us, we are reminded that “it is impossible ever
wholly to prevent the petulance and murmurs of impiety.”(68) We seek for
light, and, instead of light, we are turned off with reproaches for the
want of piety. We have not that faith, we humbly confess, which “from its
exaltation looks down on these mists with contempt;”(69) but we have a
reason, it may be “a carnal understanding,” which longs to be enlarged and
enlightened by faith. Hence, it cannot but murmur when, instead of being
enlarged and enlightened by faith, it is utterly overwhelmed and
confounded by it. And these murmurings of reason, which we can no more
prevent than we could stop the heavings of the mighty ocean from its
depths, are met and sought to be quelled with the rebuke, “Who art thou, O
man, that repliest against God?” We reply not against God, but against
man’s interpretation of God’s word; and who art thou, O man, that puttest
thyself in the place of God? “Men,” saith Bacon, “are ever ready to usurp
the style, ‘_Non ego, sed Dominus_;’ and not only so, but to bind it with
the thunder and denunciation of curses and anathemas, to the terror of
those who have not sufficiently learned out of Solomon, that the
‘causeless curse shall not come.’ ”
In relation to the subject under consideration, the amiable and
philosophic mind of Melanchthon seems to have been more consistent, at one
time, than that of most of the reformers. “He laid down,” says D’Aubigné,
“a sort of fatalism, which might lead his readers to think of God as the
author of evil, and which consequently has no foundation in Scripture:
‘since whatever happens,’ said he, ‘happens by necessity, agreeably to
divine foreknowledge, it is plain our will hath no liberty whatever.’ ” It
is certainly a very mild expression to say, that the doctrine of
Melanchthon might lead his readers to think of God as the author of evil.
This is a consequence which the logical mind of Melanchthon did not fail
to draw from his own scheme of necessity. In his commentary on the Epistle
to the Romans, in the edition of 1525, he asserted “that God wrought all
things, evil as well as good; that he was the author of David’s adultery,
and the treason of Judas, as well as of Paul’s conversion.”
This doctrine was maintained by Melanchthon on practical as well as on
speculative grounds. It is useful, says he, in its tendency to subdue
human arrogance; it represses the wisdom and cunning of human reason. We
have generally observed, that whenever a learned divine denounces the
arrogancy of reason, and insists on an humble submission to his own
doctrines, that he has some absurdity which he wishes us to embrace; he
feels a sort of internal consciousness that human reason is arrayed
against him, and hence he abuses and vilifies it. But reason is not to be
kept in due subordination by any such means. If sovereigns would maintain
a legitimate authority over their subjects, they should bind them with
wise and wholesome laws, and not with arbitrary and despotic enactments,
which are so well calculated to engender hatred and rebellion. In like
manner, the best possible way to tame the refractory reason of man, and
hold it in subjection, is to bind it with the silken cords of divine
truth, and not fetter it with the harsh and galling absurdities of man’s
invention. Melanchthon himself furnished a striking illustration of the
justness of this remark; for although, like other reformers, he taught the
doctrine of a divine fatality of all events, in order to humble the pride
of the human intellect, his own reason afterward rebelled against it. He
not only recanted the monstrous doctrine which made God the author of sin,
but he openly combatted it.
In the writings of Beza and Zwingle there are passages, in relation to the
origin of evil, more offensive, if possible, than any we have adduced from
Calvin and Melanchthon. The mode in which the reformers defended their
common doctrine was, with some few exceptions, the same in substance. They
have said nothing which can serve to dispel, or even materially lessen,
the stupendous cloud of difficulties which their scheme spreads over the
moral government of God.
Considering the condition of the Church, the state of human knowledge,
and, in short, all the circumstances of the times in which the reformers
lived and acted, it is not very surprising that they should have fallen
into such errors. The corruptions of human nature, manifesting themselves
in the Romish Church, had so extravagantly exalted the powers of man, and
especially of the priesthood, and so greatly depressed or obscured the
sovereignty of God, that the reformers, in fighting against those abuses,
were naturally forced into the opposite extreme. It is not at all
wonderful, we say, that a reaction, which shook the very foundations of
the earth, should have carried the authors of it beyond the bounds of
moderation and truth. They would have been more than human if they had not
fallen into some such errors as these which we have ascribed to them. But
the great misfortune is, that these errors should have been stereotyped
and fixed in the symbolical books of the Protestant Churches, and made to
descend from the reformers to their children’s children, as though they
were of the very essence of the faith once delivered to the saints. This
is the misfortune, the lamentable evil, which has furnished the Romish
Church with its most powerful weapons of attack;(70) which has fortified
the strongholds of atheism and infidelity; and which has, beyond all
question, fearfully retarded the great and glorious cause of true
religion.
If we would examine the most elaborate efforts to defend these doctrines,
or rather the great central dogma of necessity from which they all
radiate, we must descend to later times; we must turn our attention to the
immortal writings of a Leibnitz and an Edwards.
Section II.
The attempt of Leibnitz to show that the scheme of necessity does not make
God the author of sin.
This philosopher employed all the resources of a sublime genius, and all
the stores of a vast erudition, in order to maintain the scheme of
necessity, and at the same time vindicate the purity of the Divine Being.
That subtle and adroit sceptic, M. Bayle, had drawn out all the
consequences of the doctrine of necessity in opposition to the free-agency
of man, and to the holiness of God. Leibnitz wrote his great “Essais de
Théodicée,” for the purpose of refuting these conclusions of Bayle, as
well as those of all other sceptics, and of reconciling his system with
the divine attributes. In the preface to his work he says, “We show that
evil has another source than the will of God; and that we have reason to
say of moral evil, that God only permits it, and that he does not will it.
But what is more important, we show that God can not only permit sin, but
even concur therein, and contribute to it, without prejudice to his
holiness; although, absolutely speaking, he might have prevented it.” Such
is the task which Leibnitz has undertaken to perform; let us see how he
has accomplished it.
“The ancients,” says he, “attributed the cause of evil to matter; but
where shall we, who derive all things from God, find the source of
evil?”(71) He has more than once answered this question, by saying that
the source of evil is to be found in the ideas of the divine mind.
“Chrysippus,” says he, “has reason to allege that vice comes from the
original constitution of some spirits. It is objected to him that God has
formed them; and he can only reply, that the imperfection of matter does
not permit him to do better. This reply is good for nothing; for matter
itself is indifferent to all forms, and besides God has made it. Evil
comes rather from forms themselves, but abstract; that is to say, from
ideas that God has not produced by an act of his will, no more than he has
produced number and figures; and no more, in one word, than all those
possible essences which we regard as eternal and necessary; for they find
themselves in the ideal region of possibles; that is to say, in the divine
understanding. God is then not the author of those essences, in so far as
they are only possibilities; but there is nothing actual, but what he
discerned and called into existence; and he has permitted evil, because it
is enveloped in the best plan which is found in the region of possibles;
that plan the supreme wisdom could not fail to choose. It is this notion
which at once satisfies the wisdom, the power, and the goodness of God,
and yet leaves room for the entrance of evil.”(72)
In reading the lofty speculations of Leibnitz, we have been often led to
wonder how one, whose genius was so great, could have permitted himself to
rest in conceptions which appear so vague and indistinct. In the above
passage we have both light and obscurity; and we find it difficult to
determine which predominates over the other. We are clearly told that God
is not the author of evil, because this proceeds from abstract forms which
were from all eternity enveloped in his understanding, and not from any
operation of his will. But how does evil proceed from abstract forms; from
the ideal region of the possible? Leibnitz does not mean that evil
proceeds from abstract ideas, before they are embodied in the creation of
real moral agents. Why then did God create beings which he knew from all
eternity would commit sin? and why, having created them, did he contribute
to their sins by a divine concourse? This is coming down from the _ideal_
region of the possible, into the world of _real_ difficulties.
According to the philosophy of Leibnitz, God created every intelligent
being in the universe with a perfect knowledge of its whole destiny; and
there is, moreover, a concourse of the divine will with all their
volitions. Now, here we are in the very midst of the concrete world, and
here is a difficulty which cannot be avoided by a flight into the ideal
region of the possible. How can there be a concourse of the divine will
with the human will in one and the same sinful volition, without a stain
upon the immaculate purity of God? How can the Father of Lights, by an
operation of his will, contribute to our sinful volitions, without
prejudice to his holiness? This is the problem which Leibnitz has promised
to solve; and we shall, with all patience, listen to his solution.
The solution of this problem, says he, is effected by means of the
“privative nature of evil.” We shall state this part of his system in his
own words: “As to the physical concourse,” says he, “it is here that it is
necessary to consider that truth which has made so much noise in the
schools, since St. Augustine has shown its importance, that evil is a
privation, whereas the action of God produces only the positive. This
reply passes for a defective one, and even for something chimerical in the
minds of many men; but here is an example sufficiently analogous, which
may undeceive them.”
“The celebrated Kepler, and after him M. Descartes, have spoken of the
_natural inertia_ of bodies, and that we can consider it as a perfect
image, and even as a pattern of the original limitation of creatures, in
order to make us see that privation is the formal cause of the
imperfections and inconveniences which are found in substance as well as
in actions. Suppose that the current of a river carries along with it many
vessels which have different cargoes, some of wood, and others of stone;
some more, and some less. It will happen that the vessels which are more
heavily laden will move more slowly than the others, provided there is
nothing to aid their progress.... Let us compare the force which the
current exercises over the vessels and what it communicates to them, with
the action of God, who produces and preserves whatever is positive in the
creature, and imparts to them perfection, being, and force; let us
compare, I say, the inertia of matter with the natural imperfection of
creatures, and the slowness of the more heavily laden vessel with the
defect which is found in the qualities and in the actions of the creature,
and we shall perceive that there is nothing so just as this comparison.
The current is the cause of the movement of the vessel, but not of its
retardation; God is the cause of the perfection in the nature and the
actions of the creature, but the limitation of the receptivity of the
creature is the cause of the defect in its actions. Thus the Platonists,
St. Augustine, and the schoolmen, have reason to say that God is the
material cause of evil, which consists in what is positive, and not the
formal cause of it, which consists in privation, as we can say that the
current is the material cause of the retardation, without being its formal
cause; that is to say, is the cause of the swiftness of the vessel,
without being the cause of the bounds of that swiftness. God is as little
the cause of sin, as the current of the river is the cause of the
retardation of the vessel.”(73) Or as Leibnitz elsewhere says, God is the
author of all that is positive in our volitions, and the pravity of them
arises from the necessary imperfection of the creature.
We have many objections to this mode of explaining the origin of moral
evil, some few of which we shall proceed to state. 1. It is a hopeless
attempt to illustrate the processes of the mind by the analogies of
matter. All such illustrations are better adapted to darken and confound
the subject, than to throw light upon it. If we would know anything about
the nature of moral evil, or its origin, we must study the subject in the
light of consciousness, and in the light of consciousness alone. Dugald
Stewart has conferred on Descartes the proud distinction of having been
the first philosopher to teach the true method according to which the
science of mind should be studied. “He laid it down as a first principle,”
says Stewart, “that nothing comprehensible by the imagination can be at
all subservient to the knowledge of mind; and that the sensible images
involved in all our common forms of speaking concerning its operations,
are to be guarded against with the most anxious care, as tending to
confound in our apprehensions, two classes of phenomena, which it is of
the last importance to distinguish accurately from each other.”(74) 2. The
privative nature of evil, as it is called, is purely a figment of the
brain; it is an invention of the schoolmen, which has no corresponding
reality in nature. When Adam put forth his hand to pluck the forbidden
fruit, and ate it, he committed a sinful act. But why was it sinful?
Because he knew it was wrong; because his act was a voluntary and known
transgression of the command of God. Now, if God had caused all that was
positive in this sinful act, that is, if he had caused Adam to will to put
forth his hand and eat the fruit, it is plain that he would have been the
cause of his transgression. Nothing can be more chimerical, it seems to
us, than this distinction between being the author of the substance of an
act, and the author of its pravity. If Adam had obeyed, that is, if he had
refused to eat the forbidden fruit, such an act would not have been more
positive than the actual series of volitions by which he transgressed. 3.
If what we call sin, arises from the necessary imperfection of the
creature, as the slowness of a vessel in descending a stream arises from
its cargo, how can he be to blame for it; or, in other words, how can it
be moral evil at all? And, 4. Leibnitz has certainly committed a very
great oversight in this attempt to account for the origin of evil. He
explains it, by saying that it arises from the necessary imperfection of
the creature which limits its receptivity; but does he mean that God
cannot communicate holiness to the creature? Does he mean that God
endeavours to communicate holiness, and fails in consequence of the
necessary imperfection of the creature? If so, what becomes of the
doctrine which he everywhere advances, that God can very easily cause
virtue or holiness to exist if he should choose to do so? If God can very
easily cause this to exist, as Leibnitz contends he can, notwithstanding
the necessary imperfection of the creature, why has he not done so? Is it
not evident, that the philosophy of Leibnitz merely plays over the surface
of this great difficulty, and decks it out with the ornaments of fancy,
instead of reaching down to the bottom of it, and casting the
illuminations of his genius into its depths?
Section III.
The maxims adopted and employed by Edwards to show that the scheme of
necessity does not make God the author of sin.
“This remarkable man,” says Sir James Mackintosh, “the metaphysician of
America, was formed among the Calvinists of New-England, when their stern
doctrine retained its vigorous authority. His power of subtle argument,
perhaps unmatched, certainly unsurpassed among men, was joined, as in some
of the ancient mystics, with a character which raised his piety to
fervour.” It is in his great work on the will, as well as in some of his
miscellaneous observations, that Edwards has put forth the powers of his
mind, in order to show that the scheme of necessity does not obscure the
lustre of the divine perfections. With the exception of the Essais de
Théodicée of Leibnitz, it is perhaps the greatest effort the human mind
has ever made to get rid of the seeming antagonism between the scheme of
necessity and the holiness of God.
According to the system of Edwards, as well as that of his opponents, sin
would not have been committed unless it were permitted by God. But in the
scheme of Edwards, the agency of God bears a more intimate relation to the
origin and existence of sin than is implied by a bare permission of it.
“God,” says he, disposes “the state of events in such a manner, for wise,
holy, and most excellent ends and purposes, that sin, if it be permitted
or not hindered, will most certainly and infallibly follow.”(75) And this
occurrence of sin, in consequence of his disposing and ordering events,
enters into his design. For Edwards truly says, that “If God disposes all
events, so that the infallible existence of the events is decided by his
providence, then, doubtless, he thus orders and decides things _knowingly_
and on _design_. God does not do what he does, nor order what he orders,
accidentally and unawares, either _without_ or _beside_ his intention.”
Thus, we are told, that God so arranges and disposes the events of his
providence as to bring sin to pass, and that he does so designedly. This
broad proposition is laid down, not merely with reference to sin in
general, but to certain great sins in particular. “So that,” says Edwards,
“what these murderers of Christ did, is spoken of as what God brought to
pass or ordered, and that by which he fulfilled his own word.” According
to Edwards, then, the events of God’s providence are arranged with a view
to bring all the sinful deeds of men “certainly and infallibly” to pass,
as well as their holy acts.
Now, here the question arises, Is this doctrine consistent with the
character of God? Is it not repugnant to his infinite holiness? We affirm
that it is; Edwards declares that it is not. Let us see, then, if his
position does not involve him in insuperable difficulties, and in
irreconcilable contradictions.
Edwards supposes that some one may object: “All that these things amount
to is, that _God may do evil that good may come_; which is justly esteemed
immoral and sinful in men, and therefore may be justly esteemed
inconsistent with the perfections of God.” This is a fair and honest
statement of the objection; now let us hear the reply. “I answer,” says
Edwards, “that for God to dispose and permit evil in the manner that has
been spoken of, is not to do evil that good may come; for it is not to do
evil at all.” It is not to do evil at all, says he, for the Supreme Ruler
of the world to arrange events around one of his creatures in such a
manner that they will certainly and infallibly induce him to commit sin.
Why is not this to do evil? At first view, it certainly looks very much
like doing evil; and it is not at once distinguishable from the
temptations ascribed to Satanic agency. Why is it not to do evil, then,
when it is done by the Almighty? It is not to do evil, says Edwards,
because when God brings sin certainly and infallibly to pass, he does so
“for wise and holy purposes.” This is his answer: “In order to a thing’s
being morally evil, there must be one of these two things belonging to it:
either it must be a thing _unfit_ and _unsuitable_ in its own nature, or
it must have a _bad tendency_, or it must be done for an evil end. But
neither of these things can be attributed to God’s ordering and permitting
such events as the immoral acts of creatures for good ends.”(76) Let us
examine this logic.
We are gravely told, that God designedly brings the sinful acts of men to
pass by the use of most certain and infallible means; but this is not to
do evil, _because he has a good end in view_. His intention is right; he
brings sin to pass for “wise and holy purposes.” Let us come a little
closer to this doctrine, and see what it is. It will not be denied, that
if any being should bring sin to pass without any end at all, except to
secure its existence, this would be a sinful agency. If any being should,
knowingly and designedly, bring sin to pass in another, without any “wise
and holy purposes,” all mankind will agree in pronouncing the deed to be
morally wrong. But precisely the same deed is not wrong in God, says
Edwards, because in his case it proceeds from “a wise and holy purpose,”
and he has “a good end in view.” That is to say, the means, in themselves
considered, are morally wrong; but being employed for a wise and holy
purpose, for the attainment of a good end, they are sanctified! This is
precisely the doctrine, that the end sanctifies the means. Is it not
wonderful, that any system should be so dark and despotic in its power as
to induce the mind of an Edwards, ordinarily so amazing for its acuteness
and so exalted in its piety, to vindicate the character of God upon such
grounds?
The defence of Edwards is neither more nor less than a play on the term
_evil_. When it is said, that “we may do evil that good may come;” the
meaning of the maxim is, that the means in such a case and under such
circumstances ceases to be evil. The maxim teaches that “we may do evil,”
that it is lawful to do evil, with a view to the grand and glorious end to
be attained by it. Or, in other words, that it is right to do what would
otherwise be morally evil, in order to accomplish a good end. If Edwards
had considered the other form of the same odious maxim, namely, that “the
end sanctifies the means,” he would have found it impossible to evade the
force of its application to his doctrine. He could not have escaped from
the difficulty of his position by a play upon the word _evil_. He would
have seen that he had undertaken to justify the conduct of the Father of
Lights, by supposing it to be governed by the most corrupt maxim of the
most corrupt system of casuistry the world has ever seen.
What God does, says Edwards, is not evil at all; because his purpose is
holy, because his object is good, his intention is right. In like manner,
the maxim says, that when the end is good and holy, “it sanctifies the
means.” The means may be impure in themselves considered, but they are
rendered pure by the cause in which they are employed. This doctrine has
been immortalized by Pascal, in his “Provincial Letters;” and we cannot
better dismiss the subject than with an extract from the “Provincial
Letters.” “I showed you,” says the jesuitical father, “how servants might,
with a safe conscience, manage certain troublesome messages; did you not
observe that it is simply taking off their intention from the _sin
itself_, and fixing it on the advantage to be gained.”(77) On this
principle, stealing, and lying, and murder, may all be vindicated.
“Caramuel, our illustrious defender,” says the Jesuit, “in his Fundamental
Theology,” ... enters into the examination of many new questions resulting
from this principle, (of directing the intention,) as, for example,
whether the Jesuits may kill the Jansenists? “Alas, father!” exclaimed
Pascal, “this is a most surprising point in theology! I hold the
Jansenists already no better than dead men by the doctrine of Father
Launy.” “Aha, sir, you are caught; for Caramuel deduces the very opposite
conclusion from the same principles.” “How so?” said Pascal. “Observe his
words, n. 1146 and 1147, p. 547 and 548. The Jansenists call the Jesuits
Pelagians; may they be _killed_ for so doing? No—for this plain reason,
that the Jansenists are no more able to obscure the glory of our society,
than an owl can hide the sun; in fact, they promote it, though certainly
against their intention—_occidi non possunt, quia nocere non potuerunt_.”
“Alas, father,” says Pascal, “and does the existence of the Jansenists
depend solely upon their capacity of injuring your reputation? If that be
the case, I am afraid they are not in a very good predicament; for if the
slightest probability should arise of their doing you any hurt, they may
be despatched at once. You can perform the deed logically and in form; for
it is only to _direct your intention_ right, and you insure a quiet
conscience. What a blessedness for those who can endure injuries to know
this charming doctrine! But, on the other hand, how miserable is the
condition of the offending party! Really, father, it would be better to
have to do with people totally devoid of all religion, than with those who
have received instructions so far only as to this point, relative to
directing the intention. I am afraid the _intention_ of the murderer is no
consolation to the wounded person. He can have no perception of this
secret _direction_—poor man! he is conscious only of the _blow_ he
receives; and I am not certain whether he would not be less indignant to
be cruelly massacred by people in a violent transport of rage, than to be
devoutly killed for conscience’ sake.” Now, we submit it to the candid
reader, whether the reasoning here ascribed to the Jesuit by Pascal, is
not exactly parallel with that on which Edwards justifies the procedure of
the Almighty? If God may choose sin and bring it to pass, without
contracting the least impurity, because his _intention is directed
aright_, to a wise and good end, may we not be permitted to imitate his
example? And again, if God thus employs the creature as an instrument to
accomplish his wise and holy purposes, why should he pour out the vials of
his wrath upon him for having yielded to the dispensations of his almighty
power? In order to save his doctrine from reproach, Edwards has invented a
distinction, which next demands our attention. “There is no
inconsistence,” says he, “in supposing that God may hate a thing as it is
in itself, and considered simply as evil, and yet that it may be his will
it should come to pass, considering all consequences. I believe there is
no person of good understanding who will venture to say, he is certain
that it is impossible it should be best, taking in the whole compass and
extent of existence, and all consequences in the endless series of events,
that there should be such a thing as moral evil in the world. And if so,
it will certainly follow, that an infinitely wise Being, who always
chooses what is best, must choose that there should be such a thing. And
if so, then such a choice is not evil, but a wise and holy choice. And if
so, then that Providence which is agreeable to such a choice, is a wise
and holy Providence. Men do _will_ sin as sin, and so are the authors and
actors of it; they love it as sin, and for evil ends and purposes. God
does not will sin as sin, or for the sake of anything evil; though it be
his pleasure so to order things that, he permitting, sin will come to
pass, for the sake of the great good that by his disposal shall be the
consequence. His willing to order things so that evil should come to pass
for the sake of the contrary good, is no argument that he does not hate
evil as evil; and if so, then it is no reason why he may not reasonably
forbid evil as evil, and punish it as such.”(78) Here we are plainly told,
that although God hates sin as sin, yet, all things considered, he prefers
that it should come to pass, and even helps it into existence. But man
loves and commits evil _as such_, and is therefore justly punishable for
it.
There are several serious objections to this extraordinary distinction. It
is not true that men love and commit sin _as sin_. Sin is committed, not
for its own sake, but for the pleasure which attends it. If sin did not
gratify the appetites, or the passions, or the desires of men, it would
not be committed at all; there would be no temptation to it, and it would
be seen as it is in its own loathsome nature. Indeed, to speak with
philosophical accuracy, sin is never a direct object of our affections or
choice; we simply desire certain things, as Adam did the forbidden fruit,
and we seek our gratification in them contrary to the will of God. This
constitutes our sin. The direct object of our choice is, not disobedience,
not sin, but the forbidden thing, the prohibited gratification. We do not
love and choose the disobedience, but the thing which leads us to disobey.
This is so very plain and simple a matter, that we cannot but wonder that
honest men should have lost sight of it in a mist of words, and built up
their theories in the dark.
Secondly, the above position, into which Edwards has been forced by the
exigencies of his doctrine concerning evil, is directly at war with the
great fundamental principle on which his whole system rests, namely, that
the will is always determined by the greatest apparent good. For how is it
possible that men should commit sin _as sin_, and for its own sake, if
they never do anything except what is the most agreeable to them? How is
it possible that they pursue moral evil merely _as moral evil_, and yet
pursue it as the greatest apparent good? If it should be said that men
love sin merely _as sin_, and therefore it pleases them to choose it for
its own sake, this reply would be without foundation. For, as we have
already seen, there is no such principle in human nature as the love of
sin _as such_, or for its own sake; and consequently sin can never delight
or please the human mind as it is in itself. And, besides, it is
self-contradictory; for the question is, How can a man commit sin _for its
own sake on account of the pleasure it affords him_? It would be an
attempt to explain an hypothesis which denies the very fact to be
explained by it.
In the third place, if the philosophy of Edwards be true, no good reason
can be assigned why men should restrain themselves from the commission of
sin: for, all things considered, God prefers the sin which actually
exists, and infallibly brings it to pass. He _prefers_ it on account of
the great good he intends to educe from it. Why then should we not also
prefer its existence? God is sovereign; he will permit no more sin than he
can and will render subservient to the highest good of the universe; and
so much as is for the highest good he will bring into existence. Why,
then, should we give ourselves any concern about the matter? Why should we
fear that there may be too much sin in the world, or why should we blame
other men for their crimes and offences?
The inference which we have just mentioned as necessarily flowing from the
doctrine of Edwards, has actually been drawn by some of the most
illustrious advocates of that doctrine. Thus says Hartley, as we have
already seen, “since all men do against us is by the appointment of God,
it is rebellion against him to be offended with them.” This is so clearly
the logical inference from the doctrine in question, that it is truly
wonderful how any one can possibly fail to perceive it.
We are told by Leibnitz and Edwards, that we should not presume to act on
the principle of permitting sin in others, or of bringing it to pass, on
account of the good that we may educe from it; because such an affair is
too high for us. But, surely, we need have no weak fears on this ground;
for although it may be too high for us, they do not pretend that it is too
high for God. He will allow no more sin to make its appearance in the
world, say they, than he will cause to redound to the good of the
universe. He prefers it for that reason, and why should we not respond,
amen! to his preference? Why should we give ourselves any concern about
sin? May we not follow our own inclinations, leaving sin to take its
course, and rest quietly in Providence? To this question it will be
replied, as Calvin and Edwards repeatedly reply, that the revealed, and
not the secret, will of God is the rule of our duty. We do not object to
this doctrine; we acknowledge its perfect propriety and correctness: but
it is no reply to the consequence we have deduced from the philosophy of
Edwards. It only shows that his philosophy leads to a conclusion which is
in direct opposition to revelation. So far from objecting that any should
turn from the philosophy of Edwards to revelation, in order to find
reasons why evil should not be committed by us, we sincerely regret that
such a departure from a false philosophy, and return to a true religion,
is not more permanent and universal.
The doctrine of Edwards on this subject destroys the harmony of the divine
attributes. It represents God as having two wills; or, to speak more
correctly, it represents him as having published a holy law for the
government of his creatures, which he does not, in all cases, wish them to
obey. On the contrary, he prefers that some of them should violate his
holy law; and not only so, but he adopts certain and infallible means to
lead them to violate and trample it under foot. It is admitted by Edwards,
that in this sense God really possesses two wills; but he still denies
that this shows any inconsistency in the nature of God.
Edwards says, that the will of God does not oppose sin in the same sense
in which it prefers sin, and that, therefore, there is no inconsistency in
the case. But let us not deceive ourselves by words. Is it true, that sin
is opposed by what is called the revealed will of God, by his command; and
yet that it is, all things considered, chosen by his secret and working
will? He commands one thing, and yet works to bring another to pass! He
prohibits all sin, under the awful penalty of eternal death, and yet
secretly arranges and plans things in such a manner as to secure the
commission of it!
We have already seen one of these defences. God “hates sin as it is in
itself;” and hence he prohibits it by his command. “Yet it may be his will
it should come to pass, considering all its consequences;” and hence his
secret will is bent on bringing it into existence. There is no
inconsistency here, says Edwards, because the divine will relates to two
different objects; namely, to “sin considered simply as sin,” and to “sin
considered in all its consequences.” We do not care whether the two
propositions contradict each other or not; it is abundantly evident, as we
have seen, that it makes God choose that which he hates, even sin itself,
as the means of good. It makes the end sanctify the means, even in the eye
of the holy God. This doctrine we utterly reject and infinitely abhor. We
had rather have “our sight, hearing, and motive power, and what not
besides, disputed, and even torn away from us, than suffer ourselves to be
disputed into a belief,” that the holy God can choose moral evil as a
means of good. We had rather believe all the fables in the Talmud and the
Koran, than that the ever-blessed God should, by his providence and his
power, plunge his feeble creatures into sin, and then punish them with
everlasting torments for their transgression. We know of nothing in the
Pantheism of Spinoza, or in the atheism of Hobbes, more revolting than
this hideous dogma.
The great metaphysician of New-England has made a still further attempt to
vindicate the dogma in question. “The Arminians,” says he, “ridicule the
distinction between the secret and revealed will of God, or, more properly
expressed, the distinction between the decree and law of God; because we
say he may decree one thing and command another. And so, they argue, we
hold a contrariety in God, as if one will of his contradicted another.
However, if they will call this a contradiction of wills, we know that
there is such a thing; so that it is the greatest absurdity to dispute
about it. We and they know it was God’s secret will, that Abraham should
not sacrifice his son Isaac; but yet his command was, that he should do
it.”(79) Such is the instance produced by this acute divine, to show that
the secret will of God may prefer the very thing which is condemned by his
revealed will or law; and on the strength of it, he is bold to say, “We
_know_ it, so that _it is the greatest absurdity to dispute about it_.”
We have often seen this passage of Scripture produced by infidels, to show
that the Old Testament contains unworthy representations of God. If
Edwards had undertaken to refute the infidel ground in relation to this
passage, he might have done so with very great ease: but then he would at
the same time have refuted himself. The Scriptural account of God’s
commanding Abraham to offer up his son Isaac, was long ago employed by the
famous infidel Hobbes to show that there are two wills in God. This
argument of Hobbes has been refuted by Leibnitz. “Hobbes contends,” says
Leibnitz, “that God wills not always what he commands, as when he commands
Abraham to sacrifice his son;” and he replies, that “God, in commanding
Abraham to sacrifice his son, _willed the obedience, and not the action_,
which he prevented after having the obedience; for that was not an action
which merited in itself to be willed: but such is not the case with those
actions which he positively wills, and which are indeed worthy of being
the objects of his will; such as piety, charity, and every virtuous action
which God commands, and such as the avoidance of sin, more repugnant to
the divine perfections than any other thing. It is incomparably better,
therefore, to explain the will of God, as we have done it in this
work.”(80) It is evident that Leibnitz did not relish the idea of two
wills in God; and perhaps few pious minds would do so, if it were
presented to them by an atheist. But there was too close an affinity
between the philosophy of Leibnitz and that of Hobbes, to permit the
former to furnish the most satisfactory refutation of the argument of the
latter.
This command to Abraham does not show that there ever was any such
contrariety between the revealed and the decretal wills of God, as is
contended for by Hobbes and Edwards. God intended, as we are told, to
prove the faith of Abraham, in order that it might shine forth and become
a bright example to all succeeding ages. For this purpose he commanded him
to take his only son, whom he loved, and go into the land of Moriah, and
there offer him up as a burnt-offering upon one of the mountains. Abraham
obeyed without a murmur. After several days travelling and preparation,
Abraham has reached the appointed place, and is ready for the sacrifice.
His son Isaac is bound, and laid upon the altar; the father stretches
forth his hand to take the knife and slay him. But a voice is heard,
saying, “Lay not thine hand on the lad; neither do thou anything unto
him.” Now, the conduct of Abraham on this memorable occasion, is one of
the most remarkable exhibitions of confidence in the wisdom and goodness
of God, which the history of the world has furnished. It deserves to be
held up to the admiration of mankind, and to be celebrated in all ages of
the world. We sincerely pity the man, who is so taken up with superficial
appearances, or who is so destitute of sympathy with the moral greatness
and beauty of soul manifested in this simple narrative, that he can
approach it in a little, captious, sneering spirit, rather than in an
attitude of profound admiration. But our business, at present, is not so
much with the laughing sceptic as with the grave divine.
What evidence, then, does this story furnish that the secret will of God
had anything to do with the simple but sublime transaction which it
records? God commanded Abraham to repair to the land of Moriah with his
son Isaac; but are we informed that his secret will was opposed to the
patriarch’s going thither, or that it opposed any obstacle to his
obedience? Are we told that God so arranged the events of his providence
as to render the disobedience of Abraham, in any one particular, certain
and infallible? We cannot find the shadow of any such information in the
sacred story. And is there the least intimation, that when Abraham was
commanded to stay the uplifted knife, the secret will of God was in favour
of its being plunged into the bosom of his son? Clearly there is not.
Where, then, is the discrepancy between the revealed and the secret wills
of God in this case, which we are required to see? Where is this
discrepancy so plainly manifested, that we absolutely _know_ its
existence, so that it is the height of absurdity to dispute against it?
If there is any contrariety at all in this case, it is between the
_revealed will_ of God in commanding Abraham to offer up his son, and his
subsequently _revealed will_ to desist from the sacrifice. It does not
present even a seeming inconsistency between his secret will and his
command, but between two portions of his revealed will. This seeming
inconsistency between the command of God and his countermand, in relation
to the same external action, has been fully removed by Leibnitz; and if it
had not been, it is just as incumbent on the abettors of Edwards’s scheme
to explain it, as it is upon his opponents. If God had commanded Abraham
to do a thing, and yet exerted his secret will to make him violate the
injunction, this would have been a case in point: but there is no such
case to be found in the word of God.
It may not be improper, in this connexion, to quote the following
judicious admonition of Howe: “Take heed,” says he, “that we do not oppose
the secret and revealed will of God to one another, or allow ourselves so
much as to imagine an opposition or contrariety between them. And that
ground being once firmly laid and stuck to, as it is impossible that there
can be a will against a will in God, or that he can be divided from
himself, or against himself, or that he should reveal anything to us as
his will that is not his will, (it being a thing inconsistent with his
nature, and impossible to him to lie,) that being, I say, firmly laid, (as
nothing can be firmer or surer than that,) then measure all your
conceptions of the secret will of God by his revealed will, about which
you may be sure. But never measure your conceptions of his revealed by his
secret will; that is, by what you may imagine concerning that. For you can
but imagine while it is secret, and so far as it is unrevealed.”(81)
“It properly belongs,” says Edwards, “to the supreme absolute Governor of
the universe, to order all important events within his dominions by
wisdom; but the events in the moral world are of the most important kind,
such as the moral actions of intelligent creatures, and the consequences.
These events will be ordered by something. They will either be disposed by
wisdom, or they will be disposed by chance; that is, they will be disposed
by blind and undesigning causes, if that were possible, and could be
called a disposal. Is it not better that the good and evil which happen in
God’s world should be ordered, regulated, bounded, and determined by the
good pleasure of an infinitely wise being, than to leave these things to
fall out by chance, and to be determined by those causes which have no
understanding and aim?... It is in its own nature fit, that wisdom, and
not chance, should order these things.”(82)
In our opinion, if there be no other alternative, it is better that sin
should be left to chance, than ascribed to the high and holy One. But why
must sin be ordered and determined by the supreme Ruler of the world, or
else be left to chance? Has the great metaphysician forgotten, that there
may be such things as men and angels in the universe; or does he mean,
with Spinoza, to blot out all created agents, and all subordinate agency,
from existence? If not, then certainly God may refuse to be the author of
sin, without leaving it to blind chance, which is incapable of such a
thing. He may leave it, as we conceive he has done, to the determination
of finite created intelligences. If sin is to come into the world, as come
it evidently does, it is infinitely better, we say, that it should be left
to proceed from the creature, and not be made to emanate from God himself,
the fountain of light, and the great object of all adoration. It is
infinitely better that the high and holy One should do nothing either by
his wisdom or by his decree, by his providence or his power, to help this
hideous thing to raise its head amid the inconceivable splendours of his
dominion.
Such speculations as those of Edwards and Leibnitz, in our opinion, only
reflect dishonour and disgrace upon the cause they are intended to
subserve. It is better, ten thousand times better, simply to plant
ourselves upon the moral nature of man, and the irreversible dictates of
common sense, and annihilate the speculations of the atheist, than to
endeavour to parry them off by such invented quibbles and sophisms. They
give point, and pungency, and power to the shafts of the sceptic. If we
meet him on the common ground of necessity, he will snap all such quibbles
like threads of tow, and overwhelm us with the floods of irony and scorn.
For, in the memorable words of Sir William Hamilton, “It can easily be
proved by those who are able and not afraid to reason, that the doctrine
of necessity is subversive of religion, natural and revealed.” To perceive
this, it requires neither a Bayle, nor a Hobbes, nor a Hume; it only
requires a man who is neither unable nor afraid to reason.
Section IV.
The attempts of Dr. Emmons and Dr. Chalmers to reconcile the scheme of
necessity with the purity of God.
As we have dwelt so long on the speculations of President Edwards
concerning the objections in question, we need add but a few remarks in
relation to the views of the above-mentioned authors on the same subject.
The sentiments of Dr. Emmons on the relation between the divine agency and
the sinful actions of men, are even more clearly defined and boldly
expressed than those of President Edwards. The disciple is more open and
decided than the master. “Since mind cannot act,” says he, “any more than
matter can move, without a divine agency, it is absurd to suppose that men
can be left to the freedom of their own will, to act, or not to act,
independently of a divine influence. There must be, therefore, the
exercise of a divine agency in every human action, without which it is
impossible to conceive that God should govern moral agents, and make
mankind act in perfect conformity to his designs.”(83) “He is now
exercising his powerful and irresistible agency upon the heart of every
one of the human race, and producing either holy or unholy exercises in
it.”(84) “It is often thought and said, that nothing more was necessary on
God’s part, in order to fit Pharaoh for destruction, than barely to leave
him to himself. But God knew that no external means and motives would be
sufficient of themselves to form his moral character. He determined
therefore to operate on his heart itself, and cause him to put forth
certain evil exercises in view of certain external motives. When Moses
called upon him to let the people go, God stood by him, and moved him to
refuse. When the people departed from his kingdom, God stood by him and
moved him to pursue after them with increased malice and revenge. And what
God did on such particular occasions, he did at all times.”(85) It is
useless to multiply extracts to the same effect. Could language be more
explicit, or more revolting to the moral sentiments of mankind?
If God is alike the author of all our volitions, sinful as well as holy,
one wonders by what sort of legerdemain the authors of the doctrine have
contrived to ascribe all the glory and all the praise of our holy actions
to God, and at the same time all the shame and condemnation of our evil
actions to ourselves. In relation to the holy actions of men, all the
praise is due to God, say they, because they were produced by his power.
Why is not the moral turpitude of their evil actions, then, also ascribed
to God, inasmuch as he is said to produce them by his irresistible and
almighty agency? We are accountable for our evil acts, say Dr. Emmons and
Calvin, because they are _voluntary_. Are not our moral acts, our virtuous
acts, also voluntary? Certainly they are; this is not denied; and yet we
are not allowed to impute the moral quality of the acts to the agent in
such cases. This whole school of metaphysicians, indeed, from Calvin down
to Emmons, can make God the author of our evil acts, by an exertion of his
omnipotence, and yet assert that because they are voluntary we are justly
blameworthy and punishable for them; but though our virtuous acts are also
voluntary, they still insist the praiseworthiness of them is to be
ascribed exclusively to Him by whom they were produced. The plain truth
is, that as the scheme originated in a particular set purpose and design,
so it is one-sided in its views, arbitrary in its distinctions, and full
of self-contradictions.
The simple fact seems to be, that if any effect be produced in our minds
by the power of God, it is a passive impression, and is very absurdly
called a voluntary state of the will. And even if such an impression could
be a voluntary state, or a volition, properly so called, we should not be
responsible for it, because it is produced by the omnipotence of God.
This, we doubt not, is in perfect accordance with the universal
consciousness and voice of mankind, and cannot be resisted by the
sophistical evasions of particular men, how great soever may be their
genius, or exalted their piety.
We shall, in conclusion, add one more great name to the list of those who,
from their zeal for the glory of the divine omnipotence, have really and
clearly made God the author of sin. The denial of his scheme of “a rigid
and absolute predestination,” as he calls it, Dr. Chalmers deems
equivalent to the assertion, that “things grow up from the dark womb of
non-entity, which omnipotence did not summon into being, and which
omniscience could not foretell.” And again, “At this rate, events would
come forth uncaused from the womb of non-entity, to which omnipotence did
not give birth, and which omniscience could not foresee.”(86) Now all this
is spoken, be it remembered, in relation to the volitions or acts of men.
But if there are no such events, except such as omnipotence gives birth
to, or summons into being, how clear and how irresistible is the
conclusion that God is the author of the sinful acts of the creature? It
were better, we say, ten thousand times better, that sin, _that_ monstrous
birth of night and darkness, should grow up out of the womb of nonentity,
if such were the only alternative, than that it should proceed from the
bosom of God.
Chapter III.
Scheme Of Necessity Denies The Reality Of Moral Distinctions.
Our voluntary service He requires,
Not our necessitated; such with him
Finds no acceptance, nor can find; for how
Can hearts, not free, be tried whether they serve
Willing or no, who will but what they must
By destiny, and can no other choose?—MILTON.
In the preceding chapters we have taken it for granted that there is such
a thing as moral good and evil, and endeavoured to show, that if the
scheme of necessity be true, man is absolved from guilt, and God is the
author of sin. But, in point of fact, if the scheme of necessity be true,
there is no such thing as moral good or evil in this lower world; all
distinction between virtue and vice, moral good and evil, is a mere dream,
and we really live in a non-moral world. This has been shown by many of
the advocates of necessity.
Section I.
The views of Spinoza in relation to the reality of moral distinctions.
It is shown by Spinoza, that all moral distinctions vanish before the iron
scheme of necessity. They are swept away as the dreams of vulgar prejudice
by the force of Spinoza’s logic; yet little praise is due, we think, on
that account, to the superiority of his acumen. The wonder is, not that
Spinoza should have drawn such an inference, but that any one should fail
to draw it. For if our volitions are necessitated by causes over which we
have no control, it seems to follow, as clear as noonday, that they cannot
be the objects of praise or blame—cannot be our virtue or vice. So far is
it indeed from requiring any logical acuteness to perceive such an
inference, that it demands, as we shall see, the very greatest ingenuity
to keep from perceiving it. Hence, in our humble opinion, the praise which
has been lavished on the logic of Spinoza is not deserved.
His superior consistency only shows one of two things—either that he
possessed a stronger reasoning faculty than his great master, Descartes,
or a weaker moral sense. In our opinion, it shows the latter. If his moral
sentiments had been vigorous and active, they would have induced him, no
doubt, either to invent sophistical evasions of such an inference, or to
reject the doctrine from which it flows. If a Descartes, a Leibnitz, or an
Edwards, for example, had seen the consequences of the scheme of necessity
as clearly as they were seen by Spinoza, his moral nature would have
recoiled from it with such force as to dash the premises to atoms. If any
praise, then, be due to Spinoza for such triumphs of the reasoning power,
it should be given, not to the superiority of his logic, but to the apathy
of his moral sentiments. For our part, greatly as we admire sound
reasoning and consistency in speculation, we had rather be guilty of ten
thousand acts of logical inconsistency, such as those of Edwards, or
Leibnitz, or Descartes, than to be capable of resting in the conclusion to
which the logic of Spinoza conducted him—that every moral distinction is a
vulgar prejudice, and that the existence of moral goodness is a dream.(87)
Section II.
The attempt of Edwards to reconcile the scheme of necessity with the
reality of moral distinctions.
It would not be difficult to see, perhaps, that a necessary holiness, or a
necessary sin, is a contradiction in terms, if we would only allow reason
to speak for itself, instead of extorting testimony from it by subjecting
it to the torture of a false logic. For what proposition can more clearly
carry its own evidence along with it, than that whatever is necessary to
us, that whatever we cannot possibly avoid, is neither our virtue nor our
fault? What can be more unquestionable, than that we can be neither to
praise nor to blame, neither justly rewardable nor punishable for anything
over whose existence we have no power or control? Yet this question,
apparently so plain and simple in itself, has been enveloped in clouds of
metaphysical subtilty, and obscured by huge masses of scholastic jargon.
If, on this subject, we have wandered in the dim twilight of uncertain
speculation, instead of walking in the clear open day, this has been, it
seems to us, because we have neglected the wise admonition of Barrow, that
logic, however admirable in its place, was not designed as an instrument
“to put out the sight of our eyes.”
It shall be our first object, then, to pull down and destroy “the invented
quibbles and sophisms” which have so long darkened and confounded the
light of reason and conscience in relation to the nature of moral good and
evil, to dispel the clouds which have been so industriously thrown around
this subject, in order that the bright and shining light of nature may,
free and unobstructed, find its way into our minds and hearts.
We say, then, that there never can be virtue or vice in the breast of a
moral agent, prior to his own actings and doings. On the contrary, it is
insisted by Edwards, that true virtue or holiness was planted in the bosom
of the first man by the act of creation. “In a moral agent,” says he,
“subject to moral obligations, it is the same thing to be perfectly
innocent, as to be perfectly righteous. It must be the same, because there
can no more be any medium between sin and righteousness, or between being
right and being wrong, in a moral sense, than there can be a medium
between straight and crooked in a natural.”(88) This is applied to the
first man as he came from the hand of the Creator, and is designed to show
that he was created with true holiness or virtue in his heart. According
to this doctrine, man was made upright, not merely in the sense that he
was free from the least bias to evil, or that he possessed all the powers
requisite to moral agency, but in the sense that true virtue or moral
goodness was planted in his nature by the act of creation. If this be so,
the doctrine of a necessary holiness must be admitted; for surely nothing
can be more necessary to us, nothing can take place in which we have less
to do, than the act by which we are created.
This then is the question which we intend to examine: whether that which
is concreated with a moral agent, can be his virtue or his vice? Whether,
in other words, the dispositions or qualities which Adam derived from the
hand of God, partook of the nature of true virtue or otherwise? Edwards
assumes the affirmative. To establish his position, he relies upon two
arguments, which we shall proceed to examine.
The first argument is designed to show, that unless true virtue, or moral
goodness, had been planted in the nature of man by the finger of God, it
could never have found its way into the world. To give this argument in
his own words, he says: “It is agreeable to the sense of men in all
nations and ages, not only that the fruit or effect of a good choice is
virtuous, but that the good choice itself, from whence that effect
proceeds, is so; yea, also, the antecedent good disposition, temper, or
affection of mind, from whence proceeds that good choice, is virtuous.
This is the general notion—not that principles derive their goodness from
actions, but that actions derive their goodness from the principles whence
they proceed; so that the act of choosing what is good is no further
virtuous, than it proceeds from a good principle, or virtuous disposition
of mind; which supposes that a virtuous disposition of mind may be before
a virtuous act of choice; and that, therefore, it is not necessary there
should first be thought, reflection, and choice, before there can be any
virtuous disposition. If the choice be first, before the existence of a
good disposition of heart, what is the character of that choice? There
can, according to our natural notions, be no virtue in a choice which
proceeds from no virtuous principle, but from mere self-love, ambition, or
some animal appetites; therefore, a virtuous temper of mind may be before
a good act of choice, as a tree may be before its fruit, and the fountain
before the stream which proceeds from it.”(89) Thus, he argues, if there
must be choice before a good disposition, or virtue, according to our
doctrine, then virtue could not arise at all, or find its way into the
world. For all men concede, says he, that every virtuous choice, or act,
must proceed from a virtuous disposition; and if this must also proceed
from a virtuous act, it is plain there could be no such thing as virtue or
moral goodness at all. The scheme which teaches that the act must precede
the principle, and the principle the act, reduces the very existence of
virtue to a plain impossibility. He shows virtue to be possible, and
escapes the difficulty, by referring it to the creative energy of the
Divine Being, by which the principle of virtue, he contends, was planted
in the mind of the first man.
This argument is plausible; but it will not bear a close examination. It
might be made to give way, in various directions, before an analysis of
the principle on which it is constructed; but we intend to demolish it by
easier and more striking arguments. If we had nothing better to oppose to
it, we might indeed neutralize its effect by a counter-argument of Edwards
himself, which we find in his celebrated work on the will. He there says,
that the virtuousness of every virtuous act or choice depends upon its own
nature, and not upon its origin or cause. If we must refer every virtuous
act, says he, to something in us that is virtuous as its antecedent, we
must likewise refer that antecedent to some other virtuous origin or
cause; and so on _ad infinitum_. Thus we should be compelled to trace
virtue back from step to step, until we had quite driven it out of the
world, and excluded it from the universality of things.(90)
Now this argument seems just as plausible as that which we have produced
from the same author, in his work on Original Sin. Let us lay them
together, and contemplate the joint result. According to one, the
character of every virtuous act depends upon the virtuousness of the
principle or disposition whence it proceeds; according to the other, it
depends upon its own nature, and not at all upon anything in its origin,
or cause, or antecedent. According to one, we must trace every virtuous
act to a virtuous principle, and the virtuous principle itself to the
necessitating act of God; according to the other, we must look no higher
to determine the character of an act than its own nature; and if we
proceed to its origin or cause to determine its character, we shall find
no stopping-place. We shall not trace it up to God, as before, but we
shall banish all virtue quite out of the world, and exclude it from the
universality of things. According to one argument, there can be no virtue
in the world, unless it be caused to exist, in the first place, by the
necessitating, creative act of the Almighty; and according to the other,
the virtuousness of every virtuous act depends upon its own nature, and is
wholly independent of the question respecting its origin or cause. The
solution of these inconsistencies and contradictions, we shall leave to
the followers and admirers of President Edwards.(91)
But we have something better, we trust, to oppose to President Edwards
than his own arguments. If his logic be good for anything, it will prove
that God is the author of sin as well as of virtue. For it is as much the
common notion of mankind that every sinful act must proceed from a sinful
disposition or principle, as it is that every virtuous act must proceed
from a virtuous disposition or principle; and hence, according to the
logic of Edwards, a sinful disposition or principle must have preceded the
first sinful act; that an antecedent sinful disposition or principle could
not have been introduced by the act of the creature, and consequently it
must have been planted in the bosom of the first man by the act of the
Creator. This argument, we say, just as clearly shows that sin is
impossible, or that it must have been concreated with man, as it shows the
same thing in relation to virtue. If we maintain his argument, then, we
must either deny the possibility of moral evil or make God the author of
it.
After having laid down principles from which the impossibility of moral
evil may be demonstrated, it was too late for Edwards to undertake to
account for the origin of sin. According to his philosophy, it can have no
existence; and hence we are not to look into that philosophy for any very
clear account of how it took its rise in the world. Indeed, this point is
hurried over by Edwards in a most hasty and superficial manner, in which
he seems conscious of no little embarrassment. In his great work on the
will he devotes one page and a half to this subject; and the greater part
of this small space is filled up with the retort upon the Arminians, that
their scheme is encumbered with as great difficulties as his own! He lets
the truth drop in one place, however, that “the abiding principle and
habit of sin” was “first introduced by an evil act of the creature.”(92)
Is it possible? How could there be an evil act which did not proceed from
an antecedent evil principle or disposition? What becomes of the great
common notion of mankind, on which his demonstration is erected? But we
must allow the author to contradict himself, since he has now come around
to the truth, that an evil act of the creature may and must have preceded
the existence of moral evil in the world. If an intelligent creature,
however, as it came from the hand of God, can introduce a “principle of
sin by a sinful act,” why should it be thought impossible for such a
creature to introduce a principle of virtue by a virtuous act?
The truth is, that a virtuous act does not require an antecedent virtuous
disposition or principle to account for its existence; nor does a vicious
act require an antecedent vicious principle to account for its existence.
In relation to the rise of good and evil in the world, the philosophy of
Edwards is radically defective; and no one can discuss that subject on the
principles of his philosophy without finding himself involved in
contradictions and absurdities. If his psychology had not been false, he
might have seen a clear and steady light where he has only beheld
difficulties and confusion. As we have already seen, and as we shall still
more fully see, Edwards confounds the power by which we _act_ with the
susceptibility through which we _feel_: the will with the emotive part of
our nature. Every one knows that we may feel without acting; and yet
feeling and acting, suffering and doing, are expressly and repeatedly
identified in his writings. Having merged the will in sensibility, he
regarded virtue and vice as phenomena of the latter, and as evolved from
its bosom by the operation of necessitating causes. Hence his views in
relation to the nature of moral good and evil, as well as in relation to
their origin, became unavoidably dark and confused.
If we only bear in mind the distinction between the will and the
sensibility, we may easily see how either holiness or sin might have taken
its rise in the bosom of the first man, without supposing that either a
holy or a sinful principle was planted there by the hand of the Creator.
If we will only carry the light of this distinction along with us, it will
be no more difficult to account for the rise of the first sin in the bosom
of a spotless creature of God, than to account for any other volition of
the human mind. The first man, by means of his intelligence, could
contemplate the perfection of his Creator, and, doing so, he could not but
feel an emotion of admiration and delight. But this _feeling_ was not his
virtue. It was the natural and the necessary result of the organization
which God had given him. He was also so constituted, that certain earthly
objects were agreeable to him, and excited his natural appetites and
desires. These appetites and desires were not sinful, nor was the
sensibility from whose bosom they were evolved: they were the spontaneous
workings of the nature which God had bestowed upon him. _But his will was
free._ He could turn his mind to God, or he could turn it to earth. He did
the latter, and there was no harm in this. But he listened to the voice of
the tempter; he fixed his mind on the forbidden fruit; he saw it was
pleasant to the eye; he imagined it was good for food, and greatly to be
desired to make one wise. Neither the possession of the intellect by which
he perceived the beauty of the fruit, nor of the sensibility in which it
excited so many pleasurable emotions, was the sin of Adam. They were given
to him by the Author of every good and perfect gift. _His will was free._
It was not necessitated to act by his desires. But yet, in direct
opposition to the known will of God, he put forth an act of his own free
mind, his own unnecessitated will, and plucked the forbidden fruit to
gratify his desires. This was his sin—this voluntary transgression of the
known will of God. On the other hand, if he had resisted the temptation,
and instead of voluntarily gratifying his appetite and desire, had
preserved his allegiance to God by acting in conformity with his will,
this would have been his virtue. He would have acted in conformity with
the rule of duty, and thereby gratified a _feeling_ of love to God,
instead of the lower feelings of his nature.
Thus, by observing the distinction between the will and the sensitive part
of our nature, we may easily see how either holiness or sin might have
arisen in the bosom of the first man, though he had neither a holy nor a
sinful principle planted in his nature by the hand of the Creator. We may
easily see that he had all the powers requisite to moral agency, and that
he was really capable of either a holy or a sinful act, without any
antecedent principle of holiness or sin in his nature.
We have now said enough, we think, to show the fallacy of Edwards’s first
great argument in favour of a necessary holiness. We have seen, that we
need not suppose the existence of a virtuous principle in the first man,
in order to account for his first virtuous act, or to render virtue
possible. We might point out many other errors and inconsistencies in
which that argument is involved; but to avoid, as far as possible,
becoming prolix and tiresome, we shall proceed to consider his second
argument in favour of a necessary or concreated holiness.
His second argument is this: “Human nature must have been created with
some dispositions—a disposition to relish some things as good and amiable,
and to be averse to others as odious and disagreeable; otherwise it must
be without any such thing as inclination or will; perfectly indifferent,
without preference, without choice, or aversion, towards anything as
agreeable or disagreeable. But if it had any concreated dispositions at
all, they must be either right or wrong, either agreeable or disagreeable
to the nature of things. If man had at first the highest relish of things
excellent and beautiful, a disposition to have the quickest and highest
delight in those things which were most worthy of it, then his
dispositions were morally right and amiable, and never can be excellent in
a higher sense. But if he had a disposition to love most those things that
were inferior and less worthy, then his dispositions were vicious. And it
is evident there can be no medium between these.”
It is thus that Edwards seeks and finds virtue in the emotion, and not in
the voluntary element of man’s nature. The natural concreated disposition
of Adam, he supposes, was morally right in the highest sense of the word,
because he was so made as to relish and delight in the glorious
perfections of the divine nature. Our first answer to this is, that it is
contradicted by the reason and moral judgment of mankind in general, and,
in particular, by the reason and moral judgment of Edwards himself.
It is agreeable to the voice of human reason, that nothing can be _our
virtue_, in the true sense of the word, which was planted in us by the act
of creation, and in regard to the production of which we possessed no
knowledge, exercised no agency, and gave no consent. And if we listen to
the language of Edwards, when the peculiarities of his system are out of
the question, we shall find that this moral judgment was as agreeable to
him as it is to the rest of mankind. For example: human nature is created
with a disposition to be grateful for favours; and this disposition,
according to Edwards, must either be agreeable or disagreeable to the
nature of things, that is, it must be either morally right or wrong in the
highest sense of the word. There can be no medium between these two—it
must partake of the nature of virtue or of vice. Now, which of the terms
of this alternative does Edwards adopt? Does he pronounce this natural
disposition our virtue or our vice? We do not know what Edwards would have
said, if this question had been propounded to him in connexion with the
argument now under consideration; but we do know what he has said of it in
other portions of his works. This natural concreated disposition is, says
he, neither our virtue nor our vice! “That ingratitude, or the want of
natural affection,” says he, “shows a high degree of depravity, does not
prove that all gratitude and natural affection possesses the nature of
true virtue or saving grace.”(93) “We see, in innumerable instances, that
mere nature is sufficient to excite gratitude in men, or to affect their
hearts with thankfulness to others for favours received.”(94) “Gratitude
being thus a natural principle, ingratitude is so much the more vile and
heinous; because it shows a dreadful prevalence of wickedness, which even
overbears and suppresses the better principles of human nature. It is
mentioned as a high degree of wickedness in many of the heathen, that they
were without natural affection. Rom. ii, 31. But that the want of
gratitude, or natural affection, is evidence of a great degree of _vice_,
is no argument that all gratitude and natural affection has the nature of
_virtue_ or saving grace.”
Here, as well as in various other places, Edwards speaks of gratitude and
other natural affections as the better principles of our nature; to be
destitute of which he considers a horrible deformity. But, however amiable
and lovely, he denies to these natural affections, or dispositions, the
character of virtue; because they are merely natural or concreated
dispositions. They are innocent; that is, they are neither our virtue nor
our vice, but a medium between moral good and evil. Nothing can be more
reasonable than this, and nothing more inconsistent with the logic of the
author. Such is the testimony of Edwards himself, when he escapes from the
shadows of a dark system, and the trammels of a false logic, and permits
his own individual mind, in the clear open light of nature, to work in
full unison with the universal mind of man.
According to the author’s own definition of “true virtue,” it “is the
beauty of those qualities and acts of the mind that are of a moral nature,
i. e., such as are attended with desert of _praise_ or _blame_.” Surely,
Adam could have deserved no praise for the qualities bestowed on him by
the act of creation; and hence, according to the author’s own definition,
they could not have been his virtue. In regard to the “new creation” of
the soul, Edwards contends that all the praise is due to God, and no part
of it to man; because the whole work is performed by divine grace, without
human coöperation. Now, we admit that if the whole work of regeneration is
performed by God, then man is not to be praised for it; that is to say, it
is not his virtue. Here again the author sets forth the true principle;
but how does it agree with his logic in relation to the first man? Was not
his creation wholly and exclusively the work of God? If so, then all the
praise is due to God, and no part of it to man. But, according to the
author’s own definition, when there is no praiseworthiness there is no
virtue; and hence, as Adam deserved no praise on account of what he
received at his creation, so such endowments partook not of the nature of
true virtue.
But we have a still more fundamental objection to the argument in
question. It proceeds on the supposition that _true virtue_ consists in
mere _feeling_. This view of the nature of virtue is admirably adapted to
make it agree and harmonize with the scheme of necessity; but it is not a
sound view. If an object is calculated to excite a certain feeling or
emotion in the mind, that feeling or emotion will necessarily arise in
view of such object. If the glorious perfections of the divine nature, for
example, had been presented to the mind of Adam, no doubt he would have
been necessarily compelled to “love, relish, and delight in them.” But
this feeling of love and delight, thus necessarily evolved out of the
bosom of his natural disposition, however exquisite and enrapturing, would
not have been his virtue or holiness. It would have been the spontaneous
and irresistible development of the nature which God had given him. We may
admire it as the most beautiful unfolding of that nature, but we cannot
applaud it as the virtue or moral goodness of Adam. We look upon it merely
as the excellency and glory of the divine work of creation. We could
regard the glory of the heavens, or the beauty of the earth, with a
sentiment of moral approbation, as easily as we could ascribe the
character of moral goodness to the noble qualities with which the Almighty
had been pleased to adorn the nature of the first man.
The beautiful feeling or emotion of love is merely the blossom which
precedes the formation of true virtue in the heart. This consists, not in
holy feelings, as they are called, but in holy exercises of the will. It
is only when the will, in its workings, coalesces with a sense of right
and a feeling of love to God, that the blossom gives place to the fruit of
virtue. A virtuous act is not a spontaneous and irresistible emotion of
the sensibility; it is a voluntary exercise and going forth of the will in
obedience to God.
It is a strange error which makes virtue consist in “the spontaneous
affections, emotions, and desires that arise in the mind in view of its
appropriate objects.” If these necessarily arise in us, “and do not wait
for the bidding of the will,”(95) how can they possibly be our virtue? how
can they form the objects of moral approbation in us? Yet is it
confidently asserted, that the denial of such a doctrine “stands in direct
and palpable opposition to the authority of God’s word.”(96) The word of
God, we admit, says that holiness consists in love; but does it assert
that it consists in the _feeling_ of love merely? or in any feeling which
spontaneously and irresistibly arises in the mind? If the Scripture had
been written expressly to refute such a moral heresy, it could not have
been more pointed or explicit.
Holiness consists in love. But what is the meaning of the term love, as
set forth in Scripture? We answer, “This is the love of God,” that we
“_keep_ his commandments.” “Let us not love in word, neither in tongue,
but in _deed_ and in truth.” “Whosoever heareth these sayings of mine and
_doeth_ them, I will liken him unto a wise man who built his house upon a
rock.” “He that hath my commandments, and _keepeth_ them, he it is that
loveth me.” Here, as well as in innumerable other places, are we told that
true love is not a mere evanescent feeling of the heart, but an inwrought
and abiding habit of the will. It is not a _suffering_, it is a _doing_.
The most lively emotions, the most ecstatic feelings, if they lead not the
will to action, can avail us nothing; for the tree will be judged, not by
its blossoms, but by its fruits.
If we see our brother in distress, we cannot but sympathize with him,
unless our hearts have been hardened by crime. The feeling of compassion
will spontaneously arise in our minds, in view of his distress; but let us
not too hastily imagine therefore that we are virtuous, or even humane. We
may possess a tender feeling of compassion, and yet the feeling may have
no corresponding act. The opening fountain of compassion may be shut up,
or turned aside from its natural course, by a wrong habit of the will; and
hence, with all our weeping tenderness of feeling, we may be destitute of
any true humanity. We may be merely as sounding brass, or a tinkling
cymbal. “Whoso hath this world’s goods, and seeth his brother have need,
and shutteth up his bowels of _compassion_ from him, how dwelleth the love
of God in him?” It is this _loving in work_, and not in _feeling_ merely,
which the word of God requires of us; and when, at the last day, all
nations, and kindreds, and tongues, shall stand before the throne of
heaven, we shall be judged, not according to the feelings we have
experienced, but according to the deeds done in the body. Hence, the
doctrine which makes true virtue or moral goodness consist in the
spontaneous and irresistible feelings of the heart, “stands in direct and
palpable opposition to the authority of God’s word.”
Feeling is one thing; obedience is another. This counterfeit virtue or
moral goodness, which begins and terminates in feeling, is far more common
than true virtue or holiness. Who can reflect, for instance, on the
infinite goodness of God, without an emotion or feeling of love? That man
must indeed be uncommonly hard-hearted and sullen, who can walk out on a
fine day and behold the wonderful exhibitions of divine goodness on all
sides around him, without being warmed into a feeling of admiration and
love. When all nature is music to the ear and beauty to the eye, it
requires nothing more than a freedom from the darker stains and clouds of
guilt within, to lead a sympathizing heart to the sunshine of external
nature, as it seems to rejoice in the smile of Infinite Beneficence. The
heart may swell with rapture as it looks abroad on a happy universe,
replenished with so many evidences of the divine goodness; nay, the story
of a Saviour’s love, set forth in eloquent and touching language, may draw
tears from our eyes, and the soul may rise in gratitude to the Author of
such boundless compassion; and yet, after all, we may be mere
sentimentalists in religion, whose wills and whose lives are in direct
opposition to all laws, both human and divine. Infidelity itself, in such
moments of deep but transitory feeling, may exclaim with an emotion known
but to few Christian minds, “Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus
Christ like a God,” and its iron nature still retain “the unconquerable
will.”
We may now safely conclude, we think, that the mists raised by the
philosophy and logic of Edwards have not been able to obscure the lustre
of the simple truth, that true virtue or holiness cannot be produced in us
by external necessitating causes. Whatsoever is thus produced in us, we
say, cannot be our virtue, nor can we deserve any praise for its
existence. This seems to be a clear dictate of the reason of man; and it
would so seem, we have no doubt, to all men, but for certain devices which
to some have obscured the light of nature. The principal of these devices
we shall now proceed to examine.
Section III.
Of the proposition that “The essence of the virtue and vice of
dispositions of the heart and acts of the will, lies not in their cause,
but in their nature.”(97)
For the sake of greater distinctness, we shall confine our attention to a
single branch of this complex proposition; namely, that the essence of
virtuous acts of the will lies not in their cause, but their nature. Our
reasoning in relation to this point, may be easily applied to the other
branches of the proposition.
We admit, then, that the essence of a virtuous act lies in its nature. If
this means that the nature of a virtuous act lies in its nature, or its
essence lies in its essence, it is certainly true; and even if the author
attached different ideas to the terms _essence_ and _nature_, we do not
care to search out his meaning; as we may very safely admit his
proposition, whatever may be its signification. We are told by the editor,
that the whole proposition is very important on account of “the negative
part,” namely, that “the essence of virtue and vice lies not in their
_cause_.” We are also willing to admit, that the essence of everything
lies in its own nature, _and not in its cause_. But why is this
proposition brought forward? What purpose is it designed to serve in the
philosophy of the author?
This question is easily answered. He contends that true virtue may be, and
is, necessitated to exist by powers and causes over which we have no
control. If we raise our eyes to such a source of virtue, its intrinsic
lustre and beauty seem to fade from our view. The author, indeed,
endeavours to explain why it is, that the scheme of necessity seems to be
inconsistent with the nature of true virtue. The main reason is, says he,
because we imagine that the essence of virtue and vice consists, not in
their nature, but in their origin and cause. Hence this persuasion not to
busy ourselves about the origin or cause of virtue and vice, but to
estimate them according to their nature.
We are fully persuaded. If any can be found who will assert “that the
virtuousness of the dispositions or acts of the will, consists not in the
nature of these dispositions or acts of the will, but wholly in the origin
or cause of them,” we must deliver them up to the tender mercies of
President Edwards. Or if any shall talk so absurdly as to say, “that if
the dispositions of the mind, or acts of the will, _be never so good_, yet
if the cause of the disposition or act be not our virtue, there is nothing
virtuous or praiseworthy in it,” we have not one word to say in his
defence; nor shall we ever raise our voice in favour of any one, who shall
maintain, that “if the will, in its inclinations or acts, _be never so
bad_, yet, unless it arises from something that is our vice or fault,
there is nothing vicious or blameworthy in it.” For we are firmly
persuaded, that if the acts of the will be good, then they are good; and
if they be bad, then they are bad; whatever may have been their origin or
cause. We shall have no dispute about such truisms as these.
We insist, indeed, that the first virtuous act of the first man was so,
because it partook of the nature of virtue, and not because it had a
virtuous origin or cause in a preceding virtuous disposition of the mind.
But, in his work on Original Sin, Edwards contends otherwise. He there
contends, that no act of Adam could have been virtuous, unless it had
proceeded from a virtuous origin or cause in the disposition of his heart;
and that this could have had no existence in the world, unless it had
proceeded from the power of the Creator. Thus he looked beyond the nature
of the act itself, even to its origin and cause, in order to show upon
what its moral nature depended; but now he insists that we should simply
look at its own nature, and not to its origin or cause, in order to
determine this point. He ascends from acts of the will to their origin or
cause, in order to show that virtue can only consist with the scheme of
necessity; and yet he denies to us the privilege of ascending with him, in
order to show that the nature of virtue cannot at all consist with the
scheme of necessity!
We admit that the virtuousness of every virtuous act lies, not in its
origin or cause, but in itself. But still we insist that a virtuous act,
as well as everything else, may be traced to a false origin or cause that
is utterly inconsistent with its very nature. A horse is undoubtedly a
horse, come from whence it may; but yet if any one should tell us that
horses grow up out of the earth, or drop down out of the clouds, we should
certainly understand him to speak of mere phantoms, and no real horses, or
we should think him very greatly mistaken. In like manner, when we are
told that virtue may be, and is, necessitated to exist in us by causes
over which we have no control; that we may be to praise for any gift
bestowed upon us by the divine power; we are constrained to believe that
he has given a false genealogy of moral goodness, and one that is utterly
inconsistent with its nature. Nor can we be made to blink this truth,
which so perfectly accords, as we have seen, with the universal sentiment
of mankind, by being reminded that moral goodness consists, not in its
origin or cause, but in its own nature. Virtue is always virtue, we freely
admit, proceed from what quarter of the universe it may; yet do we insist
that it can no more be produced in us by an extraneous agency than it can
grow up out of the earth, or drop down out of the clouds of heaven. That
which is produced in us by such an agency, be it what it may, is not our
virtue, nor is any praise therefor due to us. To mistake such effects or
passive impressions for virtue, is to mistake phantoms for things, shadows
for substances, and dreams for realities.
Section IV.
The scheme of necessity seems to be inconsistent with the reality of moral
distinctions, not because we confound natural and moral necessity, but
because it is really inconsistent therewith.
Let us then look at this matter, and see if we are really so deplorably
blinded by the ambiguity of a word, that we cannot contemplate the glory
of the scheme of moral necessity as it is in itself. The distinction
between these two things, _natural_ and _moral_ necessity, is certainly a
clear and a broad one. Let us see, then, if we may not find our way along
the line of this distinction, without that darkness and confusion by which
our judgment is supposed to be so sadly misled and perverted.
It is on all sides conceded, that natural necessity is inconsistent with
the good or ill desert of human actions. If a man were commanded, for
example, to leap over a mountain, or to lift the earth from its centre, he
would be justly excusable for the non-performance of such things, because
they lie beyond the range of his natural power. “There is here a limit to
our power,” as Dr. Chalmers says, “beyond which we cannot do that which we
please to do; and there are many thousand such limits.”(98) This is
natural necessity, in one of its branches. It circumscribes and binds our
natural power. It limits the external sphere beyond which the effects or
consequences of our volitions cannot be projected. It reaches not to the
interior sphere of the will itself, and has no more to do with its freedom
than has the influence of the stars. We may please to do a thing, nay, we
may freely will it, and yet a natural necessity may cut off and prevent
the external consequence of the act.
Again, if by a superior force, a man’s limbs or external bodily organs
should be used as instruments of good or evil, without his concurrence or
consent, he would be excusable for the consequences of such use. This is
the other branch of natural necessity. It is evident that it has no
relation to the freedom or to the acts of the will, but only to the
external movements of the body. It interferes merely with that external
freedom of bodily motion, about which we heard so much in the first
chapter of this work, and which the advocates of necessity have, for the
most part, so industriously laboured to pass off upon the world for the
liberty of the will itself. As this natural necessity, then, trenches not
upon the interior sphere of the will, so it merely excuses for the
performance or non-performance of external actions. It leaves the great
question with respect to man’s accountability for the acts of the will
itself, from which his external actions proceed, wholly untouched and
undetermined.
Far different is the case with respect to moral necessity. This acts
directly upon the will itself, and absolutely controls all its movements.
Within its own sphere it is conceded to be “as absolute as natural
necessity,”(99) and “as sure as fatalism.”(100) It absolutely and
unconditionally determines the will at all times, and in all cases. Yet we
are told that we are accountable for all the acts thus produced in us,
because they are the acts of our own wills! Nothing is done against our
wills, as in the case of natural necessity; (they should rather say,
against the external effects of our wills;) but our wills always follow,
and we are accountable therefor, though they cannot but follow. Moral
necessity is not irresistible, because this implies resistance, and our
wills never resist that which makes us willing. It is only invincible; and
invincible it is indeed, since with the mighty, sovereign power of the
Almighty it controls all the thoughts, and feelings, and volitions of the
human mind. Now we see this scheme as it is in itself, in all its
nakedness, just as it is presented to us by its own most able and
enlightened defenders. And seeing it thus removed from all contact with
the scheme of natural necessity, we ask, whether agents can be justly held
accountable for acts thus determined and controlled by the power of God,
or by those invincible causes which his omnipotence marshalleth?
We speak not of external acts; and hence we lay aside the whole scheme of
natural necessity. We speak of the acts of the will; and we ask, if these
be not free from the dominion of moral necessity, from necessitating
causes over which we have no control, can we be accountable for them? Can
we be to praise or to blame for them? Can they be our virtue or our vice?
These questions, we think, we may safely submit to the impartial decision
of every unbiassed mind. And to such minds we shall leave it to determine,
whether the scheme of moral necessity has owed its hold upon the reason of
man to a dark confusion of words and things, or whether its glory has been
obscured by the misconception of its opponents?
In conclusion, we shall simply lay down, in a few brief propositions, what
we trust has now been seen in relation to the nature of virtue and
vice:—1. No necessitated act of the mind can be its virtue or its vice. 2.
In order that any act of the will should partake of a moral nature, it
must be free from the dominion of causes over which it has no control, or
from whose influence it cannot depart. 3. Virtue and vice lie not in the
passive state of the sensibility, nor in any other necessitated states of
the mind, but in acts of the will, and in habits formed by a repetition of
such free voluntary acts. Whatever else may be said in relation to the
nature of virtue and of vice, and to the distinction between them, these
things appear to be clearly true; and if so, then the scheme of moral
necessity is utterly inconsistent with their existence, and saps the very
foundation of all moral distinctions.
Chapter IV.
The Moral World Not Constituted According To The Scheme Of Necessity.
I made him just and right;
Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.
Such I created all the ethereal powers
And spirits, both them who stood and them who fail’d;
Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.—MILTON.
We have already witnessed the strange inconsistencies into which the most
learned and ingenious men have fallen, in their attempts to reconcile the
doctrine of necessity with the accountability of man, and the glory of
God. Having involved themselves in that scheme, on what has appeared to
them conclusive evidence, they have seemed to struggle in vain to force
their way out into the clear and open light of nature. They have seemed to
torment themselves, and to confound others, in their gigantic efforts to
extricate themselves from a dark labyrinth, out of which there is
absolutely no escape. Let us see, then, if we may not refute the pretended
demonstration in favour of necessity, and thereby restore the mind to that
internal satisfaction which it so earnestly desires, and which it so
constantly seeks in a perfect unity and harmony of principle.
Section I.
The scheme of necessity is based on a false psychology.
There are three great leading faculties or attributes of the human mind;
namely, the _intelligence_, the _sensibility_, and the _will_. By means of
these we _think_, we _feel_, and we _act_. Now, the phenomena of thinking,
feeling, and acting, will be found, on examination, to possess different
characteristics; of which we must form clear and fixed conceptions, if we
would extricate the philosophy of the will from the obscurity and
confusion in which it has been so long involved. Let us proceed then to
examine them, to interrogate our consciousness in relation to them.
Suppose, for example, that an apple is placed before me. I fix my
attention upon it, and consider its form: _it is round_. This judgment, or
decision of the mind, in relation to the form of the apple, is a state of
the intelligence. It does not depend on any effort of mine, whether it
shall appear round to me or not: I could not possibly come to any other
conclusion if I would: I could as soon think it as large as the globe as
believe it to be square, or of any other form than round. Hence this
judgment, this decision, this state of the intelligence, is necessitated.
The same thing is true of all the other perceptions or states of the
intelligence. M. Cousin has truly said: “Undoubtedly different intellects,
or the same intellect at different periods of its existence, may sometimes
pass different judgments in regard to the same thing. Sometimes it may be
deceived; it will judge that which is false to be true, the good to be
bad, the beautiful to be ugly, and the reverse: but at the moment when it
judges that a proposition is true or false, an action good or bad, a form
beautiful or ugly, at that moment it is not in the power of the intellect
to pass any other judgment than that it passes. It obeys laws it did not
make. It yields to motives which determine it independent of the will. In
a word, the phenomenon of intelligence, comprehending, judging, knowing,
thinking, whatever name be given to it, is marked with the characteristic
of necessity.”(101)