OF THE RELATION BETWEEN THE FEELINGS AND THE WILL.
IT is well known that Edwards confounds the sensitive part of our nature
with the will, the susceptibility by which the mind feels with the power
by which it acts. He expressly declares, that "the affections and the
will are not two faculties of the soul;" and it is upon this confusion
of things that much of his argument depends for its coherency.
But although he thus expressly confounds them; yet he frequently speaks
of them, in the course of his argument, as if they were two different
faculties of the soul. Thus, he frequently asserts that the will is
determined by "the strongest appetite," by "the strongest disposition,"
by "the strongest inclination." Now, in these expressions, he evidently
means to distinguish appetite, inclination, and disposition, from the
will; and if he does not, then he asserts, that the will is determined
by itself, a doctrine which he utterly repudiates.
The soundness of much of his argument depends, as I have said, upon the
confusion or the identification of these two properties of the mind; the
soundness of much of it also depends upon the fact that they are not
identical, but distinct. From a great number of similar passages, we may
select the following, as an illustration of the justness of this remark:
"Moral necessity," says he, "may be as _absolute_, as natural necessity.
That is, the effect may be as powerfully connected with its moral cause,
as a natural necessary effect is with its natural cause. Whether the
will in every case is necessarily determined by the strongest motive, or
whether the will ever makes any resistance to such a motive, or can ever
oppose the strongest present inclination, or not; if that matter should
be controverted, yet I suppose none will deny, but that, in some cases,
a previous bias, or inclination, or the motive presented, may be so
POWERFUL, THAT THE ACT OF THE WILL MAY BE CERTAINLY AND INDISSOLUBLY
CONNECTED THEREWITH. When motives or previous bias are very strong, all
will allow that there is some _difficulty_ in going against them. And if
they were yet stronger, the difficulty would be still greater. And,
therefore, if more be still added to their strength, to a certain
degree, it would make the difficulty so great, that it would be wholly
_impossible_ to surmount it; for, this plain reason, because whatever
power men may be supposed to have to surmount difficulties, yet that
power is not infinite; and so goes not beyond certain limits. If a man
can surmount ten degrees of difficulty of this kind with twenty degrees
of strength, because the degrees of strength are beyond the degrees of
difficulty; yet if the difficulty be increased to thirty, or an hundred,
or a thousand degrees, and his strength not also increased, his strength
will be wholly insufficient to surmount the difficulty. As, therefore,
it must be allowed, that there may be such a thing as a _sure_ and
_perfect_ connexion between moral causes and effects; so this only is
what I call by the name of _moral necessity_."
Now he here speaks of inclination and previous bias, as elsewhere of
appetite and disposition, as distinct from volition. In this he is
right; even the necessitarian will not, at the present day, deny that
our desires, affections, &c., are different from volition. "Between
motive and volition," says President Day, "there must intervene an
apprehension of the object, and _consequent feeling excited in the
mind_." Thus, according to President Day, feeling is not volition; it
intervenes between the external object and volition. But although
Edwards is right in this; there is one thing in which he is wrong. He is
wrong in supposing that our feelings possess a real strength, by which
they act upon and control the will.
It is obvious that the coherency and force of the above passage depends
on the idea, that there is a real power in the strongest inclination or
desire of the mind, which renders it difficult to be surmounted or
overcome. For if we suppose, that our inclinations or desires are merely
the occasions on which we act, and that they themselves exert no
influence or efficiency in the production of our volitions, it would be
absurd to speak of the difficulty of overcoming them, as well as to
speak of this difficulty as increasing with the increasing strength of
the inclination, or desire. Take away this idea, show that there is no
real strength in motives, or desires and inclinations, and the above
extract will lose all its force; it will fall to pieces of itself.
Indeed, the idea or supposition in question, is one of the strongholds
of the necessitarian. External objects are regarded as the efficient
causes of desire; desire as the efficient cause of volition; and in this
way, the whole question seems to be settled. The same result would
follow, if we should suppose that desire is awakened not exclusively by
external objects, but partly by that which is external, and partly by
that which is internal. On this supposition, as well as on the former,
the will would seem to be under the dominion of the strongest desire or
inclination of the soul.
The assumption, that there is a real efficiency exerted by the desires
and inclinations of the soul, has been, so far as I know, universally
conceded to the necessitarian. He seems to have been left in the
undisputed possession of this stronghold; and yet, upon mature
reflection, I think we may find some reason to call it in question. If I
am not greatly mistaken, we may see that the necessitarian has some
reason to abate the loftiness of his tone, when he asserts, that "we
_know_ that the feelings do exert an influence in the production of
volition." This may appear very evident to his mind; nay, at first view,
it may appear very evident to all minds; and yet, after all, it may be
only an "idol of the tribe."
It is a commonly received opinion, among philosophers, that the
passions, desires, &c., do really exert an influence to produce
volition. This was evidently the idea of Burlamaqui. He draws a
distinction between voluntary actions and free actions; and as an
instance of a voluntary action which is not free, he cites the case of a
man who, as he supposes, is constrained to act from fear. He supposes
that such an action, though voluntary, is not free, because it is
brought about by the irresistible influence of the passion of fear.
It is believed, also, by the disciples of Butler, that there is a real
strength possessed by what are called the "active powers" of the mind.
"This distinction," says Dr. Chalmers, "made by the sagacious Butler
between the power of a principle and its authority, enables us in the
midst of all the actual anomalies and disorders of our state, to form a
precise estimate of the place which conscience naturally and rightly
holds in man's constitution. The desire of acting virtuously, which is a
desire consequent on our sense of right and wrong, may not be of _equal
strength_ with the desire of some criminal indulgence, and so,
practically, the evil may predominate over the good. And thus it is that
the system of the inner man, from _the weakness_ of that which claims to
be the ascendant principle of our nature, may be thrown into a state of
turbulence and disorder."--Nat. The. p. 313.
Such was the idea of Butler himself. He frequently speaks of the
supremacy of conscience, in terms such as the following: "That principle
by which we survey, and either approve or disapprove, our heart, temper,
and actions, is not only to be considered as what in its turn is to have
some influence, which may be said of every passion, of the basest
appetite; but likewise as being superior; as from its very nature
manifestly claiming superiority over all others; insomuch that you
cannot form a notion of this faculty conscience, without taking in
judgement, direction, and superintendency. This is a constituent part of
the idea, that is of the faculty itself; and to preside and govern, from
the very economy and constitution of man, belongs to it. Had it _might_,
as it has right; had it _power_, as it has manifest authority; it would
absolutely govern the world."
This language, it should be observed, is not used in a metaphorical
sense; it occurs in the statement of a philosophical theory of human
nature. Similar language is frequently to be found in the writings of
the most enlightened advocates of free-agency. Thus, says Jouffroy, even
while he is contending against the doctrine of necessity: "There are two
kinds of _moving powers_ acting upon us; first, the impulses of
instinct, or passion; and, secondly, the conceptions of reason. . . . .
That these two kinds of moving powers can and do, act efficiently upon
our volitions, there can be no doubt," p. 102. If it were necessary, it
might be shown, by hundreds of extracts from their writings, that the
great advocates of free-agency have held, that the emotions, desires,
and passions, do really act on the will, and tend to produce volitions.
But why dwell upon particular instances? If any advocate of free-agency
had really believed, that the passions, desires, affections, &c., exert
no influence over the will, is it not certain that he would have availed
himself of this principle? If the principle that no desire, or
affection, or passion, is possessed of any power or causal influence,
had been adopted by the advocates of free-agency, its bearing in favour
of their cause would have been too obvious and too important to have
been overlooked. The necessitarian might have supposed, if he had
pleased, that our desires and affections are produced by the action of
external objects; and yet, on the supposition that these exerted no
positive or causal influence, the doctrine of liberty might have been
most successfully maintained. For, after all, the desires and affections
thus produced in the mind, would not, on the supposition in question, be
the causes of our volitions. They would merely be the occasions on which
we act. There would be no necessary connexion between what are called
motives and their corresponding actions. Our desires or emotions might
be under the influence and dominion of external causes, or of causes
that are partly external and partly internal; but yet our volitions
would be perfectly free from all preceding influences whatever. Our
volitions might depend on certain conditions, it is true, such as the
possession of certain desires or affections; but they would not result
from the influence or action of them. They would be absolutely free and
uncontrolled. The reason why this principle has not been employed by the
advocates of free-agency is, I humbly conceive, because it has not been
entertained by them.
In short, if the advocates of free-agency had shaken off the common
illusion that there is a real efficiency, or causal influence, exerted
by the desires of the soul, they would have made it known in the most
explicit and unequivocal terms. Instead of resorting to the expedients
they have adopted, in order to surmount the difficulties by which they
have been surrounded, they would, every where and on all occasions, have
reminded their adversaries that those difficulties arise merely from
ascribing a literal signification to language, which is only true in a
metaphorical sense; and we should have had pages, not to say volumes,
concerning this use of language, where we have not had a syllable.
If the illusion in question has been as general as I have supposed, it
is not difficult to account for its prevalence. The fact that a desire,
or affection is the indispensable condition, the invariable antecedent,
of an act of the will, is of itself sufficient to account for the
prevalence of such a notion. Nothing is more common than for men to
mistake an invariable antecedent for an efficient cause. This source of
error, it is well known, has given rise to some of the most obstinate
delusions that have ever infested and enslaved the human mind.
And besides, when such an error or illusion prevails, its hold upon the
mind is confirmed and rendered almost invincible by the circumstance,
that it is interwoven into the structure of all our language. In this
case in particular, we never cease to speak of "the active principles,"
of "the ruling passion," of "ungovernable desire," of "the dominion of
lust," of being "enslaved to a vicious propensity;"--in a thousand ways,
the idea that there is a real efficiency in the desires and affections
of the soul, is wrought into the structure of our language; and hence,
there is no wonder that it has gained such an ascendency over our
thoughts. It has met us at every turn; it has presented itself to us in
a thousand shapes; it has become so familiar, that we have not even
stopped to inquire into its true nature. Its dominion has become
complete and secure, just because its truth has never been doubted.
The illusion in question, if it be one, has derived an accession of
strength from another source. It is a fact, that whenever we feel
intensely, we do, as a general thing, act with a proportioned degree of
energy; and _vice versa_. Hence, we naturally derive the impression,
that the determinations of the will are produced by the strength of our
feelings. If the passion or desire is languid, (since we must use a
metaphor,) the action is in general feeble; and if it is intense, the
act is _usually_ powerful and energetic. Hence, we are prone to
conclude, that the mind is moved to act by the influence of passion or
desire; and that the energy of the action corresponds with the strength
of the motive, or moving principle.
Though the principle in question has been so commonly received, I think
we should be led to question it in consequence of the conclusions which
have been deduced from it. If our desires, affections, &c., operate to
influence the will, how can it be free in putting forth volitions? How
does Mr. Locke meet this difficulty? Does he tell us, that it arises
solely from our mistaking a metaphorical for a literal mode of
expression? Far from it.
He does not place liberty on the broad ground, that the desires by which
volitions are supposed to be determined, are in reality nothing more
than the conditions or occasions on which the mind acts; and that they
themselves can exert no positive influence or efficiency. The liberty of
the soul consists, according to him, not in the circumstance that its
desires do not _operate_, but in its power to arrest the operation of
its desires. He admits that they operate, that they tend to produce
volition; but the mind is nevertheless free, because it can suspend the
operation of desire, and prevent the tendency thereof from passing into
effect. "There being," says he, "in us a great many uneasinesses always
soliciting and ready to determine the will, it is natural, as I have
said, that the greatest or most pressing should determine the will to
the next action; and so it does for the most part, but not always. For
the mind having in most cases, as is evident in experience, a power to
suspend the execution and satisfaction of its desires, and so all, one
after another, examine them on all sides, and weigh them with others. In
this lies the liberty man has."
Thus we are supposed to be free, because we have a power to resist, in
some cases at least, the influence of desire. But this is not always the
case. Our desires may be so strong as entirely to overcome us--and what
then? Why we cease to be free agents; and it is only when the storm of
passion subsides, that we are restored to the rank of accountable
beings. "Sometimes a boisterous passion hurries away our thoughts," says
Locke, "as a hurricane does our bodies, without leaving us the liberty
of thinking on other things, which we would rather choose. But as soon
as the mind regains the power to stop or continue, begin or forbear, any
of these motives of the body without, or thoughts within, according as
it thinks fit to prefer either to the other, we then consider the man as
a free-agent again." This language is employed by Mr. Locke, while
attempting to define the idea of liberty or free-agency; and he
evidently supposed, as appears from the above passage, as well as from
some others, that we frequently cease to be free-agents, in consequence
of the irresistible power of our desires or passions.
Dr. Reid set out from the same position, and he arrived at the same
conclusion. He frequently speaks of the appetites and passions as so
many forces, whose action is "directly upon the will." "They draw a man
towards a certain object, without any further view, by a sort of
violence."--Essays, p. 18. "When a man is acted upon by motives of this
kind, he finds it easy to yield to the strongest. They are like two
forces pushing him in contrary directions. To yield to the strongest, he
need only be passive," p. 237. "In actions that proceed from appetite
and passion, we are passive in part and only in part active. They are
therefore in part imputed to the passion; and if it is supposed to be
irresistible, we do not impute them to the man at all. Even an American
savage judges in this way; when in a fit of drunkenness he kills his
friend; as soon as he comes to himself, he is very sorry for what he has
done, but pleads that drink, and not he, was the cause," p. 14, 15. Such
is the dreadful consequence, which Dr. Reid boldly deduces from the
principle, that the appetites and passions do really act upon the will.
Though he was an advocate of free-agency; yet, holding this principle,
he could speak of _actions that are partly passive;_ and that in so far
as they are passive, he maintained they should not be imputed to the man
whose actions they are, but to the passions by which they are produced,
This may appear to be strange doctrine for an advocate of free-agency
and accountability; but it seems to be the natural and inevitable
consequence of the commonly received notion with respect to the relation
which subsists between the passions and the will.
The principle that our appetites, desires, &c., do exert a real
influence in the production of volition, was common to Edwards, Locke,
and Reid: indeed, so far as I know, it has been universally received. In
the opinion of Edwards, this influence becomes "so powerful" at times as
to establish a moral necessity beyond all question; and in that of Locke
and Reid, it is sometimes so great as to destroy free-agency and
accountability. Is not this inference well drawn? It seems to me that it
is; and this constitutes one reason, why I deny the principle from which
it is deduced.
Is it true, then, that any power or efficacy belongs to the sensitive or
emotive part of our nature? Reflection must show us, I think, that it is
absurd to suppose that any desire, affection, or disposition of the
mind, can really and truly exert any positive or productive influence.
When we speak of the appetites, desires, affections, &c., as the "active
principles" of our nature, we must needs understand this as a purely
metaphorical mode of expression.
Edwards himself has shown the impropriety of regarding similar modes of
speech as a literal expression of the truth. "To talk of liberty," says
he, "or the contrary, as belonging to the _very will itself_, is not to
speak good sense; if we judge of sense, and nonsense, by the original
and proper signification of words. For the will _itself_ is not an agent
that _has a will:_ the power of choosing, itself, has not a power of
choosing. That which has the power of volition is the man, or the soul,
and not the power of volition itself. To be free is the property of an
agent, who is possessed of powers and faculties, as much as to be
cunning, valiant, bountiful, or zealous. But _these qualities are the
properties of persons_, and not the _properties of properties_." This
remark, no doubt, is perfectly just, as well as highly important. And it
may be applied with equal force and propriety, to the practice of
speaking of the strength of motives, or inclinations, or desires; for
power is a "property of the person, or the soul; and not the property of
a property."
It appeared exceedingly absurd to the author of the "Inquiry," to speak
of "the free acts of the will," as being _determined by the will
itself;_ because the _will_ is not an agent, and "actions are to be
ascribed to agents, and not properly to the powers and properties of
agents." But he seemed to perceive no absurdity, in speaking of "the
free acts of the will," as being caused by the strongest motives, by the
dispositions and appetites of the soul. Now, are the strongest motives,
as they are called, are the strongest dispositions and desires of the
soul, agents, or are they merely the properties of agents? Let the
necessitarian answer this question, and then determine whether his logic
is consistent with itself.
Mr. Locke, also, has well said, that it is absurd to inquire whether
"the will be free or no; inasmuch as _liberty_, which is but a _power_,
belongs only to agents, and cannot be an attribute or modification of
will, which is also but a power." Though Mr. Locke applied this remark
to the usual form of speech, by which freedom is ascribed to the will,
he failed to do so in regard to the language by which power, which is a
property of the mind itself, is ascribed to our desires, or passions, or
affections, which are likewise properties of the mind. And hence have
arisen many of his difficulties in regard to the freedom of human
actions. Supposing that our desires exerted some positive influence or
efficiency in the production of volitions, his views on the subject of
free-agency become vague, inconsistent, fluctuating and unsatisfactory.
The hypothesis that the desires impel the will to act, is inconsistent
with observed facts. If this hypothesis were true, the phenomena of
volition would be very different from what they are. A man may desire
that it should rain, for example; he may have the most intense feeling
on this subject imaginable, and there may be no counteracting desire or
feeling whatever; now if desire ever impelled a man to volition, it
would induce him, in such a case, to will that it should rain. But no
man, in his senses, ever puts forth a volition to make it rain--and why?
Just because he is a rational creature, and knows that his volition
cannot produce any such effect. In the same manner, a man might wish to
fly, or to do a thousand other things which are beyond his power; and
yet not make the least effort to do so, not because he has no power to
put forth such efforts, but because he does not choose to make a fool of
himself: This shows that desire, feeling, &c., is merely one of the
conditions necessary to volition, and not its producing cause.
Again. It has been frequently observed, since the time of Butler, that
our passive impressions often become weaker and weaker, while our active
habits become stronger and stronger. Thus, the feeling of pity, by being
frequently excited, may become less and less vivid, while the active
habit of benevolence, by which it is supposed to be induced, becomes
more and more energetic. That is to say, while the power, as it is
called, or the causal influence, is gradually diminishing, the effect,
which is supposed to flow from it, is becoming more and more
conspicuous. And again, the feeling of pity is sometimes exceedingly
strong; that is to say, exceedingly vivid and painful, while there is no
act attending it. The passive impression or susceptibility is entirely
dissociated, in many cases, from the acts of the will. The feeling often
exists in all its _power_, and yet there is no act, and no disposition
to act, on the part of the individual who is the subject of it. The
cause operates, and yet the effect does not follow!
All that we can say is, that when we see the mind deeply agitated, and,
as it were, carried away by a storm of passion, we also observe that it
frequently acts with great vehemency. But we do not observe, and we do
not know, that this increased _power of action_, is the result of an
increased _power of feeling_. All that we know is, that as a matter of
fact, when our feelings are languid, we are apt to act but feebly; and
that when they are intense, we are accustomed to act with energy. Or, in
other words, that we do not _ordinarily_ act with so much energy in
order to gratify a slight feeling or emotion, as we do to gratify one of
greater intensity and painfulness. But it is wrong to conclude from
hence, that it is the increased intensity of feeling, which produces the
increased energy of the action. No matter how intense the feeling, it is
wrong to conclude, that it literally causes us to act, that it ever lays
the will under constraint, and thereby destroys, even for a moment, our
free-agency. Such an assumption is a mere hypothesis, unsupported by
observation, inconsistent with the dictates of reason, and
irreconcilable with observed facts.
I repeat it, such an assumption is inconsistent with observed facts; for
who that has any energy of will, has not, on many a trying occasion,
stood firm amid the fiercest storm of passion; and, though the elements
of discord raged within, remained _himself_ unmoved; giving not the
least sign or manifestation of what was passing in his bosom? Who has
not felt, on such an occasion, that although the passions may storm, yet
the will alone is power?
It is not uncommon to see this truth indirectly recognized by those who
_absolutely know_ that some power is exerted by our passions and
desires, and that the will is always determined by the strongest. Thus,
says President Day, "our acts of choice, are _not_ always controlled by
those emotions which _appear to be most vivid_. We often find a
determined and settled purpose, apparently calm, but unyielding, which
carries a man steadily forward, amid all the solicitations of appetite
and passion The inflexible determination of Howard, _gave law to his
emotions_, and guided his benevolent movements," p. 65. Here, although
President Day holds that the will is determined by the strongest desire,
passion, or emotion, he unconsciously admits that the will, "the
inflexible determination," is independent of them all.
Let it be supposed, that no one means so absurd a thing as to say, that
the affections themselves act upon the will, but that the mind in the
exercise of its affections acts upon it, and thereby exerts a power over
its determinations; let us suppose, that this is the manner in which a
real force is supposed to bear upon the will; and what will be the
consequence? Why, if the will is not distinguished from the affections,
we shall have the will acting upon itself; a doctrine to which the
necessitarian will not listen for a moment. And if they are
distinguished from the will, we shall have two powers of action, two
forces in the mind, each contending for the mastery. But what do we mean
by a will, if it is not the faculty by which the mind acts, by which it
exerts a _real force?_ And if this be the idea and definition of a will,
we cannot distinguish the will from the affections, and say that the
latter exerts a real force, without making two wills. This seems to be
the inevitable consequence of the commonly received notion, that the
mind, in the exercise of its affections, does really act upon the will
with an impelling force. Indeed, there seems to have been no little
perplexity and confusion of conception on this subject, arising from the
extreme subtlety of our mental processes, as well as from the
ambiguities of language.
The truth is, that in feeling the mind is passive; and it is absurd to
make a passive impression, the active cause of any thing. The
sensibility does not _act_, it merely _suffers_. The appetites and
passions, which have always been called the "active powers," the "moving
principles," and so forth, should be called the passive
susceptibilities. Unless this truth be clearly and fully recognized, and
the commonly received notion respecting the relation which the appetites
and passions sustain to the will, to the _active power_, be discarded,
it seems to me, that the great doctrine of the liberty of the will, must
continue to be involved in the sadest perplexity, the most distressing
darkness.