Chapter IV, 5

But no writer has demonstrated the necessity of acts of will so thoroughly and convincingly as Priestley, in his work devoted exclusively to this subject, The Doctrine of philosophical necessity. Anyone whom this book, written with such exceeding clarity and accessibility, fails to convince must have an understanding truly paralyzed by prejudice. To characterize his results I set down a few passages, which I cite from the second edition, Birmingham 1782.

Preface, S. XX. “To my understanding there is no absurdity more glaring than the notion of philosophical liberty.”—S. 26. “Without a miracle, or the intervention of some foreign cause, no volition or action of any man could have been otherwise than it has been.”—S. 37. “Though an inclination or affection of mind is not gravity, it influences me and acts upon me as certainly and necessarily as that power does upon a stone.”—S. 43. “To say that the will is self-determined gives no idea at all, or rather implies an absurdity, namely, that a determination, which is an effect, takes place without any cause at all. For setting aside everything that comes under the name of motive, there is really nothing left to produce the determination. Let a man use whatever words he pleases, he can have no more conception of how we can sometimes be determined by motives and sometimes without any motive than he can have of a scale being sometimes weighed down by weights and sometimes by a kind of substance that has no weight at all, which, whatever it may be in itself, must, with respect to the scale, be nothing.”—S. 66. “In proper philosophical language, the motive ought to be called the proper cause of the action. It is as much so as anything in nature is the cause of anything else.”—S. 84. “It will never be in our power to choose two things when all the previous circumstances are exactly the same.”—S. 90. “A man, indeed, when he reproaches himself for some particular action in his past conduct, may fancy that, if he were in the same situation again, he would have acted differently. But this is a mere deception; and if he examines himself strictly and takes in all circumstances, he may be satisfied that, with the same inward disposition of mind and with precisely the same view of things that he had then—to the exclusion of all others that he has acquired by reflection since—he could not have acted otherwise than he did.”—S. 287. “In short, there is no choice in the case but between the doctrine of necessity and absolute nonsense.”—∗).

∗) S. XX. “For my understanding there is no more palpable absurdity than the concept of moral freedom.”—S. 26. “Without a miracle, or the intervention of some external cause, no act of will or action of any person could have turned out otherwise than it did turn out.”—S. 37. “Although an inclination or determination of my mind is not gravity, it nevertheless has as sure and necessary an influence and effect on me as that force has on a stone.”—S. 43. “The expression that the will is something self-determining gives no concept at all, or rather contains an absurdity, namely this: that a determination, which is an effect, occurs without any cause. For, setting aside everything understood under the name of motive, there is in fact nothing left that could produce that determination. Let a person use whatever words he likes; he can have no more concept of our being determined to something sometimes by motives and sometimes without any motives at all than he can have of a scale pan being sometimes drawn down by weights and sometimes by a kind of substance that had no weight whatever and that, whatever it might be in itself, would be nothing with respect to the scale pan.”—S. 66. “In proper philosophical expression the motive ought to be called the real cause of the action: for it is that as much as anything in nature is the cause of another.”—S. 84. “It will never lie in our power to make two different choices when all the preceding circumstances are exactly the same.”—S. 90. “Admittedly, a person who reproaches himself for some particular action in his past course of life can imagine that, if he were in the same position again, he would act differently. But this is mere delusion: if he examines himself strictly and takes all circumstances into account, he can convince himself that, with the same inner disposition and exactly the same view of things that he had then, to the exclusion of all other views obtained since through reflection, he could not have acted otherwise than he did act.”—S. 287. “In short, there is no other choice here than that between the doctrine of necessity and absolute nonsense.”

Now it must be noted that things went with Priestley exactly as they did with Spinoza and with yet another very great man, to be cited at once. For Priestley says in the preface to the first edition, S. XXVII: “I was not, however, a ready convert to the doctrine of necessity. Like Dr. Hartley himself, I gave up my liberty with great reluctance, and in a long correspondence that I once had on the subject I maintained the doctrine of liberty very strenuously and did not at all yield to the arguments then proposed to me.”∗)

∗) “I have not, however, been easily converted to the doctrine of necessity. Like Dr. Hartley himself, I gave up my freedom only with great reluctance: in a long correspondence that I once conducted on this subject, I defended the doctrine of freedom very zealously and in no way yielded to the grounds that were set against me.”

The third great man to whom the same thing happened is Voltaire, who reports it with the amiability and naïveté peculiar to him. In his Traité de métaphysique, chap. 7, he had defended the so-called freedom of the will at length and with spirit. But in his book Le philosophe ignorant, written more than forty years later, he teaches the strictest necessitation of acts of will, in the 13th chapter, which he concludes thus: “Archimedes is just as necessitated to stay in his room when he is locked in it as when he is so deeply absorbed in a problem that the idea of going out does not enter his mind:”

Fate leads the willing and drags the unwilling.

“The ignorant man who thinks thus has not always thought the same, but he is at last compelled to yield.” In the book that follows, Le principe d’action, he says in chap. 13: “A ball that strikes another, a hunting dog that runs necessarily and willingly after a stag, that stag clearing an immense ditch with no less necessity and will: all this is no more invincibly determined than we are in everything we do.”

This uniform conversion of three such supremely eminent minds to our insight must surely give pause to anyone who sets out to assail well-founded truths with the “but surely I can do what I will” of his simple-minded self-consciousness—words that have nothing to do with the matter.

But no writer has shown the necessity of acts of will as fully and as convincingly as Priestley, in his work devoted entirely to this subject: The Doctrine of philosophical necessity. Anyone who is not convinced by this book, which is written with great clarity and is easy to follow, must have an understanding truly paralyzed by prejudice. To show what his results are, I give a few passages, which I cite from the second edition, Birmingham 1782.

Preface S. XX. There is no absurdity more glaring to my understanding than the notion of philosophical liberty.—S. 26. Without a miracle, or the intervention of some foreign cause, no volition or action of any person could have been other than it has been.—S. 37. Though an inclination or affection of mind is not gravity, it influences me and acts upon me as certainly and necessarily as this force does upon a stone.—S. 43. Saying that the will is self-determined gives no idea at all, or rather it implies an absurdity, namely that a determination, which is an effect, takes place without any cause at all. For leaving out everything that comes under the name of motive, there is really nothing left to produce the determination. Let a person use whatever words they please, they can have no more conception of how we can sometimes be determined by motives and sometimes without any motive, than they can have of a scale sometimes being weighed down by weights and sometimes by a kind of substance that has no weight at all, which, whatever it may be in itself, must be nothing with respect to the scale.—S. 66. In proper philosophical language, the motive ought to be called the proper cause of the action. It is as much so as anything in nature is the cause of anything else.—S. 84. It will never be in our power to choose two things when all the previous circumstances are exactly the same.—S. 90. A person, indeed, who reproaches themselves for some particular action in their past conduct may imagine that if they were in the same situation again, they would act differently. But this is a mere deception. If they examine themselves strictly and take in all the circumstances, they may be satisfied that, with the same inward disposition of mind and exactly the same view of things that they had then, leaving out all the others they have acquired by reflection since, they could not have acted otherwise than they did.—S. 287. In short, there is no choice in the case but between the doctrine of necessity and absolute nonsense.—∗).

∗) S. XX. "For my understanding there is no more glaring absurdity than the concept of moral freedom."—S. 26. "Without a miracle, or the intervention of some external cause, no act of will or action of any person could have turned out differently from the way it did turn out."—S. 37. "Although an inclination or state of my mind is not gravity, it still has as sure and necessary an influence and effect on me as that force has on a stone."—S. 43. "The statement that the will is something that determines itself gives no concept at all, or rather contains an absurdity, namely this: that a determination, which is an effect, occurs without any cause. For leaving out everything understood by the name motive, nothing in fact remains that could produce that determination. Let someone use whatever words they like, they can have no more concept of our being determined sometimes by motives and sometimes to something without any motives at all, than of a scale being pulled down sometimes by weights and sometimes by a kind of substance that has no weight at all and that, whatever it may be in itself, would be nothing with respect to the scale."—S. 66. "In proper philosophical language the motive should be called the actual cause of the action. For it is that as much as anything in nature is the cause of something else."—S. 84. "It will never be in our power to make two different choices when all previous circumstances are exactly the same."—S. 90. "Admittedly, a person who reproaches themselves for some particular action in their past life can imagine that if they were in the same position again, they would act differently. But this is a mere delusion. If they examine themselves strictly and take all the circumstances into account, they can convince themselves that, with the same inner state of mind and exactly the same view of things that they had at the time, leaving out all other views gained since through reflection, they could not have acted otherwise than they did."—S. 287. "In short, there is no other choice here than between the doctrine of necessity and absolute nonsense."

Now it should be noted that things went for Priestley just as they did for Spinoza and for another very great man whom I will cite in a moment. For in the preface to the first edition, S. XXVII, Priestley says: I was not however a ready convert to the doctrine of necessity. Like Dr. Hartley himself, I gave up my liberty with great reluctance. In a long correspondence that I once had on the subject, I maintained the doctrine of liberty very strenuously, and I did not at all yield to the arguments then put to me∗).

∗) "I have not, however, been easy to win over to the doctrine of necessity. Like Dr. Hartley himself, I gave up my freedom only with great reluctance. In a long correspondence that I once carried on about this subject, I eagerly maintained the doctrine of freedom, and in no way gave way to the arguments that were set against me."

The third great man to whom the same thing happened is Voltaire, who reports it with the charm and naive openness that are his own. In his Traité de métaphysique, chap. 7, he had defended the so-called freedom of the will at length and with spirit. But in his book Le philosophe ignorant, written more than forty years later, he teaches the strictest necessitation of acts of will, in the 13th chapter, which he ends like this: Archimedes is just as necessitated to stay in his room when he is locked in as when he is so deeply absorbed in a problem that the idea of going out does not occur to him:

The fates lead the willing and drag the unwilling.

The ignorant person who thinks this way has not always thought the same way, but is at last forced to give in. In the book that follows, Le principe d'action, he says in chap. 13: A ball that pushes another, a hunting dog that runs necessarily and willingly after a stag, this stag that leaps an immense ditch with no less necessity and will: all of this is no more irresistibly determined than we are in everything we do.

That three such eminent minds were converted in the same way to our insight must surely give pause to anyone who sets out to challenge well-founded truths with the "but I can do what I will" of a simple-minded self-consciousness, a remark that has nothing to do with the matter.