position with some degree of universality is that of the testimony of
consciousness. It is the one to which practically all have appealed, and
which all have flattered themselves was simple in nature and convincing
in character. Professor Sidgwick, although he admitted that this
testimony might be illusory, yet asserted "There is but one opposing
argument of real force, namely, the immediate affirmation of
consciousness in the moment of deliberate action." And by the testimony
of consciousness must be meant, not, of course, a consciousness of
acting, but that at the moment of acting we could, _under identical
conditions_, have selected and acted upon an alternative that has been
rejected. I emphasize the phrase "under identical conditions," because
otherwise nothing is in dispute, and because, as we shall see, this
important consideration has not been always or even frequently borne in
mind.
The question is, What does consciousness really tell us, and how far is
its testimony valid? In some directions it must be admitted that the
testimony of consciousness is absolute. In others it cannot, without
verification, claim any authority whatever. When I say that I have a
feeling of heat or coldness, of pleasure or pain, there is here a
direct deliverance of consciousness against which there is no appeal.
But consciousness does not and cannot tell me why I feel hot or cold, or
what is the cause of a pain I am experiencing. In this last case the
testimony of consciousness may be distinctly misleading. As it tells us
nothing of the existence of a brain, a nervous system, viscera, etc.,
its testimony as to the cause of pain is obviously of no value. We are
conscious of states of mind, and that is all. A man seized with sudden
paralysis may be conscious of his power to move a limb, only to discover
by experience his impotence. In short, consciousness cannot, indeed does
not, tell us the causes of our states of mind. For this information we
are thrown back upon observation, experiment, and experience. We must,
then, make quite sure when we interrogate consciousness, exactly what it
is that consciousness says, and whether what it says is on a subject
that comes within its province.
What is, then, the testimony of consciousness? When it is said that we
are conscious of our ability to have selected one alternative at the
time that another is chosen, I think this may be fairly met with the
retort that consciousness is unable to inform us as to our actual
ability to _do_ anything at all. I may be quite conscious of a desire to
jump a six foot fence, or lift a weight of half a ton, but whether I am
actually able to do so or not, only experience can decide. What I am
really conscious of is a desire to vault a given height or lift a given
weight, and it is surely an inexcusable confusion to speak of a desire
to do a particular thing as the equivalent of an ability to do it. If a
consciousness of desire equalled the ability to perform failure would be
but little known among men.
All that consciousness really tells us is of the existence of passing
states of mind. It can tell us nothing of their origin, their value, or
their consequences. In the particular instance under consideration
consciousness informs us of the fact of choice, and this no Determinist
has ever dreamed of denying. He does assert that choice, as the
Indeterminist persists in using the term, is a delusion, but otherwise,
as will be shown later, he claims that it is only on deterministic lines
that choice can have any meaning or ethical significance. In any
voluntary action I am conscious of the possibility of choice and of
having chosen, and that is really all. What is the nature of that
possibility, and why I choose one thing rather than another--on these
points consciousness can give us no information whatever. One might as
reasonably argue that a consciousness of hunger gives us a knowledge of
the process of digestion, as argue that a consciousness of choice
supplies us with a knowledge of the mechanism of the process. We are
conscious of the presence of several desires, we are also conscious that
out of these several desires one is strong enough to rank as a motive,
but it tells us absolutely nothing of the causes or conditions that have
resulted in the emergence of that motive. Instead of telling us that we
could have acted in opposition to the strongest motive--which is really
the indeterminist position--consciousness simply reveals which desire is
the most powerful. We are conscious that other desires were present, we
are also aware of the possibility that another desire than the one that
actually prevailed might have been the most powerful; but when we admit
this and say that we _could_ have acted differently, we have really
displaced the actual conditions by imaginary ones. We _might_ have
preferred to act differently. This is not denied. It is not questioned
that we do choose, or that the same person chooses, differently or
different occasions. The question really is, Why have we chosen thus or
thus? And so far as consciousness is concerned we are quite in the dark
as to why one choice is made rather than another, what are the
conditions that give rise to our conscious desires, or why one desire is
more powerful than another.
Consciousness, then, can testify only to the reality of its own states;
no more. It can tell us nothing of their causes. It cannot tell us that
man has a brain and nervous system, and can tell us nothing of the
connection between mental states and the condition of the bodily organs.
The chief factor in conduct (habit) lies outside the region of
consciousness altogether. In most cases we act as we have been in the
habit of acting, and our present conduct expresses the sum of our
previous actions and inclinations. Every action we perform assists the
formation of a habit, and with every repetition of a particular action
we find its performance easier. Indeed, a very powerful criticism of the
trustworthiness of consciousness is found in the fact that the
determining causes of conduct lie largely in the region of the
unconscious or subconscious, and of this territory consciousness can
tell us no more than a ripple on the surface of a river can tell us of
its depths.
Next to the emphasis upon the testimony of consciousness the
Indeterminist lays special stress upon the facts of choice and
deliberation. Can we really say, it is asked, that man chooses and
deliberates, or even that in any genuine sense he does anything at all,
if all his actions are pre-determined by his constitution and
environment? If every act of man is determined and man himself a mere
stage in the process unending and unbroken, is it not idle to speak of
man deliberating on alternatives and choosing that which seems to him
best? We continue using words that on deterministic lines have lost all
meaning. And if Determinists do not realise this, it is because the
logical implications of their doctrines have never been fully explored.
Well, it entirely depends upon the sense in which one uses the cardinal
terms in the discussion. If deliberation and choice when applied to
mental processes are used in the same sense as when these terms are used
as descriptive of the proceedings of a committee, then we can all agree
that deliberation would be as great a sham as it would be if the members
of a committee before meeting had determined upon their decision. But,
we may note in passing, that even here, when the deliberations are
genuine, the votes of each member are supposed to be decided by the
reasons advanced during the discussion--that is the decision of each
individual member is determined by the forces evoked during the
deliberations.
The scientific method, and it may be added, the sane and profitable
method, is not to come to the study of a problem with ready-made
meanings and compel the facts, under penalty of disqualification, to
agree with them, but to let the facts determine what meaning is to be
attached to the words used. It is mere childish petulance for the
Indeterminist to say that unless certain words are used with _his_
meaning they shall not be used at all, but shall be expelled from our
vocabulary. When gravity was conceived as a force moving downward
through infinite space, the existence of people on the other side of the
earth was denied as being contrary to the law of gravitation. A more
correct knowledge of the phenomena did not lead people to discard
gravity; the meaning of the word was revised. And really neither
language nor morality is the private property of the Indeterminist, and
he is, therefore, not at liberty to annihilate either for not coming up
to his expectations. He must submit to such revision of his ideas, or
his language, or of both, as more accurate knowledge may demand.
The question is not, then, whether Determinism destroys deliberation and
choice and responsibility, but what meaning Determinism can legitimately
place upon these words, and is this meaning in harmony with what we know
to be true. With responsibility we will deal at length later. For the
present let us see what is really involved in the fact of choice.
Determinism, we are advised, must deny the reality of choice, because
choice assumes alternatives, and there can be no genuine alternatives if
events are determined. Let us see. If I am watching a stone rolling down
a hillside, and am in doubt as to whether it will pass to the right or
to the left of a given point, I shall not recognize any resident
capacity in the stone for choosing one path rather than the other. The
absence of consciousness in the stone precludes such an assumption. But
suppose we substitute for the stone a barefooted human being, and assume
that one path is smooth while the other is liberally sprinkled with
sharp pointed stones. There would then be an obvious reason for the
selection of one path, and no one would hesitate to say that here was an
illustration of the exercise of choice. Choice, then, is a phenomenon of
consciousness, and it implies a recognition of alternatives. But a
recognition of alternatives does not by any means imply that either of
two are equally eligible. It is merely a consciousness of the fact that
they exist, and that either might be selected were circumstances
favourable to its selection. Without labouring the point we may safely
say that all that is given in the fact of choice is the consciousness of
a choice. There is nothing in it that tells us of the conditions of the
selection, or whether it was possible for the agent to have chosen
differently or not.
So far there is nothing in Determinism that is discordant with the fact
of choice, indeed, it has a perfectly reasonable theory of the process.
Why is there a choice or selection of things or actions? Clearly the
reason must be looked for in the nature of the thing selected, or in the
nature of the agent that selects, or in a combination of both factors.
Either there is an organic prompting in favour of the thing selected, as
when a baby takes a bottle of milk and rejects a bottle of vinegar, or
there is a recognition that the selection will enable the agent to
better realize whatever end he has in view. The alternatives are there,
and they are real in the only sense in which they can be real. But they
are not real in the sense of their being equally eligible--which is the
sense in which the Indeterminist uses the word. For that would destroy
choice altogether. Unless a selection is made because certain things
offer greater attractions than other things to the agent, no
intelligible meaning can be attached to such a word as "Choice." We
should have a mere blind explosion of energy, the direction taken no
more involving choice than the stone's path down a hillside. And if the
"Will" chooses between alternatives because one is more desirable than
the other, its "freedom" (in the Indeterminist sense) is sacrificed, and
the selection is correspondingly determined. There can be no real choice
in the absence of a determinative influence exercised by one of the
things chosen.
But it is urged that this line of reasoning does not explain the feeling
of possibility that we have at the moment of action. I think it explains
possibility as it explains choice, provided we allow facts to determine
the meaning of words instead of torturing facts to suit certain forms of
language. If by possibility we mean that under identical conditions,
other things than those which actually occur are possible, then this may
be confidently met with a flat denial. If, on the other hand, it is
meant that by varying the conditions other possibilities become
actualities, this is a statement that to a Determinist is self-evident.
As a matter of fact, there are only two senses in which the word
"possibility" may be rightly used, and neither sense yields any evidence
against Determinism.
One of these meanings is simply an expression of our own ignorance on
the matter that happens to be before us. If I am asked what kind of
weather we are likely to have a month hence, I should reply that it is
equally possible the day may be dry or wet, bright or dull. I do not
mean to imply that had I adequate knowledge it would not be as easy to
predict the kind of weather on that date as it is to predict the
position of Neptune. It is simply an expression of my own ignorance.
But, as Spinoza pointed out, possibility narrows as knowledge grows. To
complete ignorance anything is possible because the course of events is
unknown. As a comprehension of natural causation develops, people speak
less of what may possibly occur, and more of what will occur.
Possibility here has no reference to the course of events, only to our
knowledge, or want of knowledge, concerning their order. To say that it
is possible for a man to do either this or that is, so far as a
spectator is concerned, only to say that our knowledge concerning the
man's whole nature is not extensive enough, or exact enough for us to
predict what he will do. Nor is the case altered if instead of an
outsider, it is the agent himself who is incapable of prediction. For
all that amounts to is the assertion that the agent is ignorant of the
relative strength of desires that may be aroused under a particular
conjuncture of circumstances.
The second sense of "possibility" depends upon our ability to imagine
conditions not actually present at the moment of action. By a trick of
imagination I can picture myself acting differently, or, on looking
back, I can see that I might have acted differently. But in either case
I have altered in thought the conditions that actually existed at the
moment of action. Generally, all it means is that with a number of
conflicting desires present, I am conscious that a very slight variation
in the relative strength of these desires would result in a different
course of conduct. And the conditions affecting conduct are so complex
and so easily varied that it is small wonder there is lacking in this
instance that sense of inevitability present when one is dealing with
physical processes. But the essential question is not whether a slight
change of conditions would produce a different result, but whether under
identical conditions two opposite courses of action are equally
possible? And this is not only untrue in fact, it is unthinkable, as a
formal proposition. Even the old adage, "There, but for the grace of
God, go I," while recognizing a different possibility, also recognized
that a variation in the factors--the elimination of the grace of God--is
essential if the possibility was to become an actuality. That the sense
of possibility implies more than this may be safely denied, let who will
make the opposite affirmation.
This discussion of the nature and function of choice will help us to
realize more clearly than would otherwise be the case the nature of
deliberation. This question has always played an important part in the
Free-Will controversy, because it has stood as the very antithesis of a
reflex or obviously mechanical action. Deliberation, it has been argued,
does very clearly point to a determinative power exercised by the human
will, and a power that cannot be explained in the same terms with which
we explain other events. One anti-determinist writer remarks that "if a
volition is the effect of a 'motive,' it should follow immediately upon
the occurrence of the motive. But if there is deliberation between
motives, they do not seem to have casual power to initiate a volition
until a prior causal power directs them, and this would be the
deliberating subject."
Now there are numerous cases, the majority probably, where action does
follow immediately upon the presence of desire. And in such cases we are
not aware of any process of deliberation, although there may be a truly
intentional action. And from this single case we have a whole series of
examples that will take us to the other extreme where the desires are so
numerous and so conflicting that an excess of deliberation may prevent
action altogether. Let us take an illustration. Sitting in my room on a
fine day I am conscious of a desire for a walk. Provided no opposing
feeling or desire is present I should at once rise and go out. But I may
be conscious of a number of other feelings based upon various
considerations. There is the fact of leaving the task on which I am
engaged, and the desire to get it finished. There is the trouble of
dressing, the consideration that once out I may wish I had stayed in, or
that it may rain, or that I may be needed at home: all these result in
a state of indecision, and induce deliberation. Imagination is excited,
ideal feelings are aroused, and eventually a choice is made. I decide on
the walk. What is it, now, that has occurred? My first desire for a walk
has been enforced by a representation of all the advantages that may be
gained by going out, and these have proved themselves strong enough to
bear down all opposition. Had any other desire gained strength, or had
the conviction that it would rain been strong enough, a different motive
would have emerged from this conflict of desires and ideas. No matter
how we vary the circumstances, this is substantially what occurs in
every case where deliberation and choice are involved. Not only is this
what does occur, but it is impossible to picture clearly any other
process. The only evidence we can have of the relative strength of ideas
is that one triumphs over others. To say that the weaker desire triumphs
is to make a statement the absurdity of which is self-evident.
This conclusion cannot be invalidated by the argument that a particular
desire becomes the stronger because the "will" declares in its favour.
One need only ask, by way of reply, Why does the "will" declare in
favour of one desire rather than another? There is no dispute that a
choice is made. Those who say that a man can choose what he likes are
not making a statement that conflicts in the slightest degree with
Determinism. The Determinist says as clearly as anyone that I do what I
choose to do. The real question is why do I choose this rather than
that? Why does the "will" pronounce in favour of one desire rather than
another? No one can believe that all desires are of equal strength or
value to the agent. Such an assumption would be too absurd for serious
argument. But if all desires are not of equal strength and value, the
only conclusion left is that certain ones operate because they are, in
relation to the particular organism, of greater value than others. And
in that case we are simply restating Determinism. The action of the
environment is conditioned by the nature of the organism. The reaction
of the organism is conditioned by the character of the environment. The
resultant is a compound of the two.
It is, moreover, an absurdity to speak of the "will" or the self as
though this were something apart from the various phases of
consciousness. In the contest of feelings and desires that calls forth
deliberation _I_ am equally involved in every aspect of the process. As
Professor James points out, "both effort and resistance are ours, and
the identification of our _self_ with one of these factors is an
illusion and a trick of speech." My self and my mental states are not
two distinct things; they constitute myself, and if these are eliminated
there is no self left to talk about.
Further, in the growth of each individual, conscious and deliberative
action can be seen developing out of automatic action--the simplest and
earliest type of action. Not only does deliberative action develop from
reflex action, but it sinks into reflex action again. One of the
commonest of experiences is that actions performed at one time slowly
and after deliberation are at another time performed rapidly and
automatically. Every action contributes to the formation of a habit, and
frequently repetition results in the habit becoming a personal
characteristic. Deliberation and choice are not even always the mark of
a highly developed character; they may denote a poorly-developed
one--one that is ill adapted to social requirements. One man, on going
into a room where there is a purse of money, may only after long
deliberation and from conscious choice refrain from stealing it. Another
person, under the same conditions, may be conscious of no choice, no
effort, the desire to steal the purse being one that is foreign to his
nature. In two such by no means uncommon instances, we should have no
doubt as to which represented the higher type of character. Morally, it
is not the feeling, "I could have acted dishonestly instead of honestly
had I so chosen," that marks the ethically developed character, but the
performance of the right action at the right moment, without a
consciousness of tendency in the opposite direction. But the aim of
education is, in the one direction, to weaken the sense of choice by the
formation of right habits, moral and intellectual; and on the other hand
by bringing man into a more direct contact with a wider and more complex
environment, deliberation becomes one of the conditions of a
co-ordination of ideas and actions that will result in a more perfect
adaptation.
IV.
SOME ALLEGED CONSEQUENCES OF DETERMINISM.
Not the least curious aspect of the Free-Will controversy is that those
who oppose Determinism base a large part of their argumentation upon the
supposed evil consequences that will follow its acceptance. In a work
from which I have already cited, Mr. F. C. S. Schiller falls foul of
Determinism because, he says, while incompatible with morality, its
champions nevertheless imagine they are leaving morality undisturbed.
The real difficulty of Determinism is, he says, that in its world,
events being fully determined, there can be no alternatives. Things are
what they must be. They must be because they are. No man can help doing
what he does. Man himself belongs to a sequence unending and unbroken.
"To imagine therefore that Determinism, after annihilating the moral
agent, remains compatible with morality, simply means that the logical
implications of the doctrine have never been fully explored." And he
adds: "The charge against it is not merely that it fails to do full
justice to the ethical fact of responsibility, but that it utterly
annihilates the moral agent." This, he says, is the real dilemma, and
Determinism has never answered it.