Power

1. This Idea how got.

1. How this idea is acquired.

The mind being every day informed, by the senses, of the alteration of those simple ideas it observes in things without; and taking notice how one comes to an end, and ceases to be, and another begins to exist which was not before; reflecting also on what passes within itself, and observing a constant change of its ideas, sometimes by the impression of outward objects on the senses, and sometimes by the determination of its own choice; and concluding from what it has so constantly observed to have been, that the like changes will for the future be made in the same things, by like agents, and by the like ways,—considers in one thing the possibility of having any of its simple ideas changed, and in another the possibility of making that change; and so comes by that idea which we call POWER. Thus we say, Fire has a power to melt gold, i. e. to destroy the consistency of its insensible parts, and consequently its hardness, and make it fluid; and gold has a power to be melted; that the sun has a power to blanch wax, and wax a power to be blanched by the sun, whereby the yellowness is destroyed, and whiteness made to exist in its room. In which, and the like cases, the power we consider is in reference to the change of perceivable ideas. For we cannot observe any alteration to be made in, or operation upon anything, but by the observable change of its sensible ideas; nor conceive any alteration to be made, but by conceiving a change of some of its ideas.

Every day, the senses inform the mind of changes in the simple ideas it observes in external things. The mind notices how one ends and ceases to exist, while another begins to exist that did not exist before. The mind also reflects on what happens within itself and observes constant changes in its ideas. Sometimes these changes come from external objects acting on the senses, and sometimes from the mind’s own choices. From these repeated observations, the mind concludes that similar changes will occur in the same things in the future. Similar agents will bring about these changes in similar ways. The mind therefore considers the possibility that one thing can have any of its simple ideas changed. It also considers the possibility that another thing can bring about that change. In this way, the mind acquires the idea we call POWER. Thus, we say that fire has the power to melt gold. Fire breaks down the cohesion of gold’s parts, which are too small for the senses to detect. As a result, fire destroys gold’s hardness and makes it fluid. Gold, in turn, has the power to be melted. We also say that the sun has the power to whiten wax, and wax has the power to be whitened by the sun. In this process, the wax’s yellowness is destroyed, and whiteness comes to exist in its place. In these and similar cases, the power we consider concerns changes in perceivable ideas. For we can observe a change in something, or an action upon something, only through observable changes in its sensory ideas. Nor can we conceive of any change in something without conceiving of a change in some of its ideas.

2. Power, active and passive.

2. Active and passive power.

Power thus considered is two-fold, viz. as able to make, or able to receive any change. The one may be called ACTIVE, and the other PASSIVE power. Whether matter be not wholly destitute of active power, as its author, God, is truly above all passive power; and whether the intermediate state of created spirits be not that alone which is capable of both active and passive power, may be worth consideration. I shall not now enter into that inquiry, my present business being not to search into the original of power, but how we come by the IDEA of it. But since active powers make so great a part of our complex ideas of natural substances, (as we shall see hereafter,) and I mention them as such, according to common apprehension; yet they being not, perhaps, so truly ACTIVE powers as our hasty thoughts are apt to represent them, I judge it not amiss, by this intimation, to direct our minds to the consideration of God and spirits, for the clearest idea of ACTIVE power.

Power, understood this way, has two forms: the ability to cause change and the ability to undergo change. The first may be called ACTIVE power, and the second PASSIVE power. It may be worth considering whether matter entirely lacks active power, just as its creator, God, is entirely beyond passive power. We might also ask whether created spirits, in their intermediate position, alone possess both active and passive power. I will not explore these questions now. My present concern is not the origin of power, but how we acquire the IDEA of power. Still, active powers form a large part of our complex ideas of natural substances, as we shall see later. I describe these powers as active because that is how people commonly understand them. Yet perhaps these powers are not truly ACTIVE in the way we hastily imagine. So I think it useful to offer this brief suggestion: we should look to God and spirits for the clearest idea of ACTIVE power.

3. Power includes Relation.

3. Power involves a relationship.

I confess power includes in it some kind of RELATION (a relation to action or change,) as indeed which of our ideas of what kind soever, when attentively considered, does not. For, our ideas of extension, duration, and number, do they not all contain in them a secret relation of the parts? Figure and motion have something relative in them much more visibly. And sensible qualities, as colours and smells, &c. what are they but the powers of different bodies, in relation to our perception, &c.? And, if considered in the things themselves, do they not depend on the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of the parts? All which include some kind of relation in them. Our idea therefore of power, I think, may well have a place amongst other SIMPLE IDEAS, and be considered as one of them; being one of those that make a principal ingredient in our complex ideas of substances, as we shall hereafter have occasion to observe.

I admit that power includes some kind of RELATION (a relation to action or change). But when we examine our ideas carefully, what idea of any kind does not include a relation? For do not our ideas of extension, duration, and number all contain a hidden relation between their parts? Shape and motion involve relations much more obviously. And what are sensory qualities, such as colours and smells, except the powers of different bodies in relation to our perception? And if we consider these qualities in the things themselves, do they not depend on the parts of those things? Do they not depend on the size, shape, arrangement, and motion of those parts? All these features include some kind of relation. So I think our idea of power may well belong among other SIMPLE IDEAS and be considered one of them. Power is a major ingredient in our complex ideas of substances, as we will have occasion to observe later.

4. The clearest Idea of active Power had from Spirit.

4. The clearest idea of active power comes from spirit.

Of passive power all sensible things abundantly furnish us with sensible ideas, whose sensible qualities and beings we find to be in continual flux. And therefore with reason we look on them as liable still to the same change. Nor have we of ACTIVE power (which is the more proper signification of the word power) fewer instances. Since whatever change is observed, the mind must collect a power somewhere able to make that change, as well as a possibility in the thing itself to receive it. But yet, if we will consider it attentively, bodies, by our senses, do not afford us so clear and distinct an idea of active power, as we have from reflection on the operations of our minds. For all power relating to action, and there being but two sorts of action whereof we have an idea, viz. thinking and motion, let us consider whence we have the clearest ideas of the powers which produce these actions. (1) Of thinking, body affords us no idea at all; it is only from reflection that we have that. (2) Neither have we from body any idea of the beginning of motion. A body at rest affords us no idea of any active power to move; and when it is set in motion itself, that motion is rather a passion than an action in it. For, when the ball obeys the motion of a billiard-stick, it is not any action of the ball, but bare passion. Also when by impulse it sets another ball in motion that lay in its way, it only communicates the motion it had received from another, and loses in itself so much as the other received: which gives us but a very obscure idea of an ACTIVE power of moving in body, whilst we observe it only to TRANSFER, but not PRODUCE any motion. For it is but a very obscure idea of power which reaches not the production of the action, but the continuation of the passion. For so is motion in a body impelled by another; the continuation of the alteration made in it from rest to motion being little more an action, than the continuation of the alteration of its figure by the same blow is an action. The idea of the BEGINNING of motion we have only from reflection on what passes in ourselves; where we find by experience, that, barely by willing it, barely by a thought of the mind, we can move the parts of our bodies, which were before at rest. So that it seems to me, we have, from the observation of the operation of bodies by our senses, but a very imperfect obscure idea of ACTIVE power; since they afford us not any idea in themselves of the power to begin any action, either motion or thought. But if, from the impulse bodies are observed to make one upon another, any one thinks he has a clear idea of power, it serves as well to my purpose; sensation being one of those ways whereby the mind comes by its ideas: only I thought it worth while to consider here, by the way, whether the mind doth not receive its idea of active power clearer from reflection on its own operations, than it doth from any external sensation.

All things we perceive through our senses give us abundant ideas of passive power, the capacity to undergo change. We find that their qualities and their very existence are continually changing. So we reasonably regard them as remaining open to the same changes. Nor do we have fewer examples of ACTIVE power, which is the more proper meaning of the word power. Whenever we observe a change, the mind must infer a power somewhere capable of causing that change. The thing changed must also be capable of undergoing the change. Yet careful attention shows that our senses give us a less clear and distinct idea of active power in bodies. We gain a clearer idea by reflecting on the workings of our own minds. All power concerns action, and we have ideas of only two kinds of action: thinking and motion. Let us consider where we get our clearest ideas of the powers that produce these actions. (1) Bodies give us no idea of thinking at all. We gain that idea only through reflection. (2) Nor do bodies give us any idea of how motion begins. A body at rest gives us no idea of any active power to move. And when a body is set in motion, that motion is something the body undergoes rather than does. When a ball moves in response to a billiard cue, the ball does nothing but undergo a change. When the ball strikes another ball in its path and sets that ball moving, it merely passes on received motion. The first ball loses as much motion as the second receives. This gives us only a very unclear idea of an ACTIVE power of movement in bodies. We observe bodies only TRANSFERRING motion, not PRODUCING it. An idea of power is very unclear if it covers only the continuation of a change undergone, not the production of action. Such is the motion of a body pushed by another. The body continues in its changed state, from rest to motion. But that continuation is hardly more an action than the continued change in its shape caused by the same blow. We gain our idea of the BEGINNING of motion only by reflecting on what happens within ourselves. Experience shows us that merely by willing, merely by a thought, we can move previously resting parts of our bodies. So it seems to me that observing bodies through our senses gives us only a very imperfect, unclear idea of ACTIVE power. Bodies themselves give us no idea of a power to begin any action, whether motion or thought. But someone may think that observing bodies push one another gives them a clear idea of power. If so, that serves my purpose equally well. Sensation is one of the ways the mind gains its ideas. I only thought it worth considering a related question here. Does the mind gain a clearer idea of active power by reflecting on its own workings than through any external sensation?

5. Will and Understanding two Powers in Mind or Spirit.

5. Will and understanding are two powers of the mind or spirit.

This, at least, I think evident,—That we find in ourselves a power to begin or forbear, continue or end several actions of our minds, and motions of our bodies, barely by a thought or preference of the mind ordering, or as it were commanding, the doing or not doing such or such a particular action. This power which the mind has thus to order the consideration of any idea, or the forbearing to consider it; or to prefer the motion of any part of the body to its rest, and vice versa, in any particular instance, is that which we call the WILL. The actual exercise of that power, by directing any particular action, or its forbearance, is that which we call VOLITION or WILLING. The forbearance of that action, consequent to such order or command of the mind, is called VOLUNTARY. And whatsoever action is performed without such a thought of the mind, is called INVOLUNTARY. The power of perception is that which we call the UNDERSTANDING. Perception, which we make the act of the understanding, is of three sorts:—1. The perception of ideas in our minds. 2. The perception of the signification of signs. 3. The perception of the connexion or repugnancy, agreement or disagreement, that there is between any of our ideas. All these are attributed to the understanding, or perceptive power, though it be the two latter only that use allows us to say we understand.

At least this much seems clear to me: we find in ourselves a power to begin, avoid, continue, or end various mental actions and bodily movements. We do so simply through a thought or preference of the mind. The mind directs, or as if commanding, tells us to perform or avoid a particular action. The mind can direct us to consider an idea or refrain from considering it. In any particular case, the mind can also choose to move a body part rather than keep it still, or the reverse. We call this power the WILL. We call the actual use of this power to direct or refrain from a particular action VOLITION or WILLING. Refraining from that action in response to such a direction or command of the mind is called VOLUNTARY. Any action performed without such a thought of the mind is called INVOLUNTARY. We call the power of perception the UNDERSTANDING. Perception, which we regard as the activity of the understanding, is of three kinds: 1. Perceiving ideas in our minds. 2. Perceiving the meaning of signs. 3. Perceiving how any of our ideas connect or conflict, agree or disagree. All these kinds of perception belong to the understanding, or power of perception. But ordinary usage allows us to say we understand only in the last two cases.

6. Faculties not real beings.

6. Mental faculties are not real entities.

These powers of the mind, viz. of perceiving, and of preferring, are usually called by another name. And the ordinary way of speaking is, that the understanding and will are two FACULTIES of the mind; a word proper enough, if it be used, as all words should be, so as not to breed any confusion in men’s thoughts, by being supposed (as I suspect it has been) to stand for some real beings in the soul that performed those actions of understanding and volition. For when we say the WILL is the commanding and superior faculty of the soul; that it is or is not free; that it determines the inferior faculties; that it follows the dictates of the understanding, &c.,—though these and the like expressions, by those that carefully attend to their own ideas, and conduct their thoughts more by the evidence of things than the sound of words, may be understood in a clear and distinct sense—yet I suspect, I say, that this way of speaking of FACULTIES has misled many into a confused notion of so many distinct agents in us, which had their several provinces and authorities, and did command, obey, and perform several actions, as so many distinct beings; which has been no small occasion of wrangling, obscurity, and uncertainty, in questions relating to them.

These powers of the mind, perceiving and preferring, are usually given another name. We commonly say that understanding and will are two FACULTIES of the mind. The word is suitable enough if, like all words, it is used without confusing people’s thoughts. But confusion arises if we suppose that faculties are real beings in the soul that perform acts of understanding and willing. I suspect the word has been used this way. For example, we say that the WILL is the soul’s commanding and superior faculty. We say that the will is or is not free, and that it directs the lower faculties. We also say that it follows the guidance of the understanding, and so on. Such expressions can have a clear and precise meaning for people who carefully examine their own ideas. These people guide their thoughts more by the evidence of things than by the sound of words. Yet I suspect that speaking of FACULTIES this way has led many people into confusion. They imagine several separate agents within us, each with its own area of responsibility and authority. These supposed agents command, obey, and perform various actions as if they were separate beings. This way of thinking has contributed greatly to disputes, confusion, and uncertainty about these faculties.

7. Whence the Ideas of Liberty and Necessity.

7. Where the Ideas of Freedom and Necessity Come From.

Every one, I think, finds in HIMSELF a power to begin or forbear, continue or put an end to several actions in himself. From the consideration of the extent of this power of the mind over the actions of the man, which everyone finds in himself, arise the IDEAS of LIBERTY and NECESSITY.

I think everyone finds in HIMSELF the power to begin or avoid certain actions, and to continue or stop them. Everyone finds that the mind has some power over their actions. Considering how far this power extends gives rise to the IDEAS of LIBERTY and NECESSITY.

8. Liberty, what.

8. What liberty is.

All the actions that we have any idea of reducing themselves, as has been said, to these two, viz. thinking and motion; so far as a man has power to think or not to think, to move or not to move, according to the preference or direction of his own mind, so far is a man FREE. Wherever any performance or forbearance are not equally in a man’s power; wherever doing or not doing will not equally FOLLOW upon the preference of his mind directing it, there he is not free, though perhaps the action may be voluntary. So that the idea of LIBERTY is, the idea of a power in any agent to do or forbear any particular action, according to the determination or thought of the mind, whereby either of them is preferred to the other: where either of them is not in the power of the agent to be produced by him according to his volition, there he is not at liberty; that agent is under NECESSITY. So that liberty cannot be where there is no thought, no volition, no will; but there may be thought, there may be will, there may be volition, where there is no liberty. A little consideration of an obvious instance or two may make this clear.

As already noted, all actions we can conceive of come down to two kinds: thinking and movement. A person is FREE insofar as he can think or not think, move or not move, as his mind chooses. Whenever acting and refraining are not equally within a person’s power, he is not free. He is not free unless doing and not doing will equally FOLLOW his mind’s choice. Yet the action may perhaps be voluntary. So the idea of LIBERTY is the idea of an agent’s power to perform or refrain from a particular action. The agent must be able to do either, according to the mind’s decision or thought that prefers one over the other. If the agent cannot carry out either choice according to his will, he is not at liberty. That agent is under NECESSITY. So there can be no liberty without thought, choice, or will. But there may be thought, will, and choice without liberty. A little reflection on one or two obvious examples may make this clear.

9. Supposes Understanding and Will.

9. Requires understanding and will.

A tennis-ball, whether in motion by the stroke of a racket, or lying still at rest, is not by any one taken to be a free agent. If we inquire into the reason, we shall find it is because we conceive not a tennis-ball to think, and consequently not to have any volition, or PREFERENCE of motion to rest, or vice versa; and therefore has not liberty, is not a free agent; but all its both motion and rest come under our idea of necessary, and are so called. Likewise a man falling into the water, (a bridge breaking under him,) has not herein liberty, is not a free agent. For though he has volition, though he prefers his not falling to falling; yet the forbearance of that motion not being in his power, the stop or cessation of that motion follows not upon his volition; and therefore therein he is not free. So a man striking himself, or his friend, by a convulsive motion of his arm, which it is not in his power, by volition or the direction of his mind, to stop or forbear, nobody thinks he has in this liberty; every one pities him, as acting by necessity and constraint.

No one considers a tennis ball a free agent, whether a racket has struck it into motion or it lies still. If we ask why, we find that we do not think a tennis ball can think. Consequently, we do not think it can exercise will or have a PREFERENCE for motion over rest, or the reverse. Therefore, the ball has no freedom and is not a free agent. Instead, all its movement and rest fall under our idea of necessity, and we describe them that way. Likewise, a man falling into water because a bridge breaks beneath him has no freedom in his fall. He is not a free agent in this situation. Although he has a will and prefers not falling to falling, he has no power to prevent the fall. His will cannot stop his fall, so he is not free in this respect. Similarly, a man's arm may move convulsively, causing him to strike himself or his friend. If he cannot stop or prevent the movement through his will or mental direction, no one considers him free in this action. Everyone pities him, because he acts out of necessity and under constraint.

10. Belongs not to Volition.

10. Does not belong to the act of willing.

Again: suppose a man be carried, whilst fast asleep, into a room where is a person he longs to see and speak with; and be there locked fast in, beyond his power to get out: he awakes, and is glad to find himself in so desirable company, which he stays willingly in, i. e. prefers his stay to going away. I ask, is not this stay voluntary? I think nobody will doubt it: and yet, being locked fast in, it is evident he is not at liberty not to stay, he has not freedom to be gone. So that liberty is not an idea belonging to volition, or preferring; but to the person having the power of doing, or forbearing to do, according as the mind shall choose or direct. Our idea of liberty reaches as far as that power, and no farther. For wherever restraint comes to check that power, or compulsion takes away that indifferency of ability to act, or to forbear acting, there liberty, and our notion of it, presently ceases.

Again, suppose a man is carried, while fast asleep, into a room with someone he longs to see and speak with. He is locked inside and cannot get out. He wakes up and is glad to find himself in such welcome company. He stays willingly. In other words, he prefers staying to leaving. I ask, is his stay not voluntary? I think nobody will doubt that his stay is voluntary. Yet, because he is locked in, he clearly has no choice but to stay. He is not free to leave. So freedom is not a matter of willing or preferring. Instead, freedom belongs to a person who can act or refrain from acting as the mind chooses or directs. Our idea of freedom extends as far as that power, and no farther. Whenever restraint limits that power, freedom, and our idea of freedom, ends. The same is true whenever compulsion removes the ability either to act or to refrain from acting.

11. Voluntary opposed to involuntary.

11. Voluntary is the opposite of involuntary.

We have instances enough, and often more than enough, in our own bodies. A man’s heart beats, and the blood circulates, which it is not in his power by any thought or volition to stop; and therefore in respect of these motions, where rest depends not on his choice, nor would follow the determination of his mind, if it should prefer it, he is not a free agent. Convulsive motions agitate his legs, so that though he wills it ever so much, he cannot by any power of his mind stop their motion, (as in that odd disease called chorea sancti viti), but he is perpetually dancing; he is not at liberty in this action, but under as much necessity of moving, as a stone that falls, or a tennis-ball struck with a racket. On the other side, a palsy or the stocks hinder his legs from obeying the determination of his mind, if it would thereby transfer his body to another place. In all these there is want of freedom; though the sitting still, even of a paralytic, whilst he prefers it to a removal, is truly voluntary. Voluntary, then, is not opposed to necessary but to involuntary. For a man may prefer what he can do, to what he cannot do; the state he is in, to its absence or change; though necessity has made it in itself unalterable.

Our own bodies give us enough examples, and often more than enough. A man’s heart beats and his blood circulates, and no thought or act of will can stop these movements. So, with respect to these movements, he is not a free agent. Stopping them is not his choice, nor would they stop if his mind chose to stop them. Convulsions shake his legs, so that however much he wants to, he cannot stop them by any mental effort. This happens in that strange disease called chorea sancti viti, in which he is constantly dancing. He has no freedom in this action. His movement is as necessary as the movement of a falling stone or a tennis ball struck with a racket. On the other hand, paralysis or the stocks prevent his legs from obeying his will if he wants to move elsewhere. In all these cases, freedom is lacking. Yet even a paralyzed person’s sitting still is truly voluntary while he prefers sitting still to moving. So voluntary is not the opposite of necessary, but of involuntary. For a man may prefer what he can do to what he cannot do. He may prefer his present state to its absence or to a change, though necessity has made that state unchangeable.

12. Liberty, what.

12. What liberty is.

As it is in the motions of the body, so it is in the thoughts of our minds: where any one is such, that we have power to take it up, or lay it by, according to the preference of the mind, there we are at liberty. A waking man, being under the necessity of having some ideas constantly in his mind, is not at liberty to think or not to think; no more than he is at liberty, whether his body shall touch any other or no, but whether he will remove his contemplation from one idea to another is many times in his choice; and then he is, in respect of his ideas, as much at liberty as he is in respect of bodies he rests on; he can at pleasure remove himself from one to another. But yet some ideas to the mind, like some motions to the body, are such as in certain circumstances it cannot avoid, nor obtain their absence by the utmost effort it can use. A man on the rack is not at liberty to lay by the idea of pain, and divert himself with other contemplations: and sometimes a boisterous passion hurries our thoughts, 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 motions 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.

What is true of bodily movements is also true of our thoughts. We are free whenever we can begin or set aside a movement or thought according to our mind’s preference. An awake person must constantly have some ideas in his mind. He is therefore not free to choose whether to think. Nor is he free to choose whether his body touches any other body. But he can often choose whether to turn his attention from one idea to another. In those cases, he is as free regarding his ideas as regarding the bodies he rests on. He can move from one to another as he pleases. Yet some ideas, like some bodily movements, cannot be avoided in certain circumstances, even with the greatest effort. A man being tortured on the rack cannot set aside the idea of pain and turn to other thoughts. Sometimes a violent passion sweeps our thoughts along as a hurricane sweeps our bodies along. Such a passion leaves us no freedom to think about other things we would prefer to consider. But the mind can regain control over these outward bodily movements or inward thoughts. Once again, the mind can stop or continue them, begin them or hold back, according to its preference. As soon as that power returns, we consider the person a FREE AGENT again.

13. Wherever thought is wholly wanting, or the power to act or forbear according to the direction of thought, there necessity takes place. This, in an agent capable of volition, when the beginning or continuation of any action is contrary to that preference of his mind, is called compulsion; when the hindering or stopping any action is contrary to his volition, it is called restraint. Agents that have no thought, no volition at all, are in everything NECESSARY AGENTS.

13. Wherever thought is entirely absent, necessity governs. The same is true wherever the power to act or refrain from acting according to thought is absent. For an agent capable of willing, necessity takes two forms. When an action begins or continues against the agent’s mental preference, it is called compulsion. When an action is prevented or stopped against the agent’s will, it is called restraint. Agents with no thought and no will at all are NECESSARY AGENTS in everything.

14. If this be so, (as I imagine it is,) I leave it to be considered, whether it may not help to put an end to that long agitated, and, I think, unreasonable, because unintelligible question, viz. WHETHER MAN’S WILL BE FREE OR NO? For if I mistake not, it follows from what I have said, that the question itself is altogether improper; and it is as insignificant to ask whether man’s WILL be free, as to ask whether his sleep be swift, or his virtue square: liberty being as little applicable to the will, as swiftness of motion is to sleep, or squareness to virtue. Every one would laugh at the absurdity of such a question as either of these: because it is obvious that the modifications of motion belong not to sleep, nor the difference of figure to virtue; and when any one well considers it, I think he will as plainly perceive that liberty, which is but a power, belongs only to Agents, and cannot be an attribute or modification of the will, which is also but a power.

14. If this is so (as I believe it is), consider whether it may help end a long-standing debate: IS MAN’S WILL FREE OR NOT? I think this question is unreasonable because it is unintelligible. For unless I am mistaken, what I have said shows that the question itself is entirely misplaced. Asking whether a man’s WILL is free is as meaningless as asking whether his sleep is swift or his virtue square. Freedom applies no more to the will than speed of movement applies to sleep, or squareness to virtue. Everyone would laugh at the absurdity of either question. For it is obvious that qualities of motion do not belong to sleep, nor differences in shape to virtue. And I think anyone who considers the matter carefully will see the next point just as clearly. Freedom, which is simply a power, belongs only to agents, those who act. It cannot be a quality or form of the will, which is also simply a power.

15. Volition.

15. Choosing.

Such is the difficulty of explaining and giving clear notions of internal actions by sounds, that I must here warn my reader, that ORDERING, DIRECTING, CHOOSING, PREFERRING, &c. which I have made use of, will not distinctly enough express volition, unless he will reflect on what he himself does when he wills. For example, preferring, which seems perhaps best to express the act of volition, does it not precisely. For though a man would prefer flying to walking, yet who can say he ever wills it? Volition, it is plain, is an act of the mind knowingly exerting that dominion it takes itself to have over any part of the man, by employing it in, or withholding it from, any particular action. And what is the will, but the faculty to do this? And is that faculty anything more in effect than a power; the power of the mind to determine its thought, to the producing, continuing, or stopping any action, as far as it depends on us? For can it be denied that whatever agent has a power to think on its own actions, and to prefer their doing or omission either to other, has that faculty called will? WILL, then, is nothing but such a power. LIBERTY, on the other side, is the power a MAN has to do or forbear doing any particular action according as its doing or forbearance has the actual preference in the mind; which is the same thing as to say, according as he himself wills it.

Explaining the mind’s internal actions clearly in words is so difficult that I must warn my reader here. The terms I have used, ORDERING, DIRECTING, CHOOSING, PREFERRING, and so on, do not express volition clearly enough on their own. To understand volition, the reader must reflect on what he himself does when he wills. For example, preferring perhaps seems the best word for the act of volition, but it does not express it precisely. For although a man would prefer flying to walking, who can say he ever wills himself to fly? Volition is plainly an act in which the mind knowingly exercises its assumed control over some part of the person. The mind exercises this control by putting that part into action or keeping it from acting. And what is the will but the ability to exercise this control? Is that ability, in effect, anything more than a power? It is the mind’s power to direct its thought toward starting, continuing, or stopping an action, insofar as that action depends on us. Can we deny that any being capable of acting has the ability called will if it can do the following? It can think about its own actions and prefer either performing or not performing them over the alternative. WILL, then, is nothing but this power. LIBERTY, on the other hand, is a MAN’s power to perform or refrain from a particular action according to his mind’s actual preference. In other words, he can act or refrain from acting according to what he himself wills.

16. Powers belonging to Agents.

16. Powers that belong to agents.

It is plain then that the will is nothing but one power or ability, and FREEDOM another power or ability so that, to ask, whether the will has freedom, is to ask whether one power has another power, one ability another ability; a question at first sight too grossly absurd to make a dispute, or need an answer. For, who is it that sees not that powers belong only to agents, and are attributes only of substances, and not of powers themselves? So that this way of putting the question (viz. whether the will be free) is in effect to ask, whether the will be a substance, an agent, or at least to suppose it, since freedom can properly be attributed to nothing else. If freedom can with any propriety of speech be applied to power, it may be attributed to the power that is in a man to produce, or forbear producing, motion in parts of his body, by choice or preference; which is that which denominates him free, and is freedom itself. But if any one should ask, whether freedom were free, he would be suspected not to understand well what he said; and he would be thought to deserve Midas’s ears, who, knowing that rich was a denomination for the possession of riches, should demand whether riches themselves were rich.

It is clear, then, that the will is one power or ability, and FREEDOM is another. So asking whether the will has freedom means asking whether one power has another power, or one ability another ability. At first glance, the question is too obviously absurd to deserve debate or need an answer. For who fails to see that powers belong only to agents, to beings or things that can act? Powers are properties of those beings or things, not of other powers. So asking whether the will is free amounts to asking whether the will is itself a being that can act. Or at least the question assumes as much, since freedom can properly be attributed only to such a being. If freedom can properly be attributed to a power, consider a person's power to move parts of their body. The person can choose or prefer either to produce that movement or to refrain from producing it. That power is what makes the person free, and it is freedom itself. But anyone who asked whether freedom itself was free would be suspected of not understanding their own words. And someone would be thought to deserve Midas’s ears if they asked whether riches themselves were rich. They would deserve those ears if they knew that being rich means possessing riches, yet still asked that question.

17. How the will instead of the man is called free.

17. How the will, rather than the person, is called free.

However, the name FACULTY, which men have given to this power called the will, and whereby they have been led into a way of talking of the will as acting, may, by an appropriation that disguises its true sense, serve a little to palliate the absurdity; yet the will, in truth, signifies nothing but a power or ability to prefer or choose: and when the will, under the name of a faculty, is considered as it is, barely as an ability to do something, the absurdity in saying it is free, or not free, will easily discover itself. For, if it be reasonable to suppose and talk of faculties as distinct beings that can act, (as we do, when we say the will orders, and the will is free,) it is fit that we should make a speaking faculty, and a walking faculty, and a dancing faculty, by which these actions are produced, which are but several modes of motion; as well as we make the will and understanding to be faculties, by which the actions of choosing and perceiving are produced, which are but several modes of thinking. And we may as properly say that it is the singing faculty sings, and the dancing faculty dances, as that the will chooses, or that the understanding conceives; or, as is usual, that the will directs the understanding, or the understanding obeys or obeys not the will: it being altogether as proper and intelligible to say that the power of speaking directs the power of singing, or the power of singing obeys or disobeys the power of speaking.

However, people have given the name FACULTY to the power called the will. This name has led them to speak as though the will itself acts. Using the name in a way that disguises its true meaning may make the absurdity seem slightly less obvious. Yet the will really means nothing more than a power or ability to prefer or choose. Consider the will, even when called a faculty, simply as an ability to do something. The absurdity of calling that ability free or not free will then become clear. Suppose it is reasonable to think and speak of faculties as separate beings that can act. We do so when we say that the will gives orders or is free. If so, we should also recognize a speaking faculty, a walking faculty, and a dancing faculty that produce those actions. Speaking, walking, and dancing are simply different forms of motion. This would be just as reasonable as treating the will and understanding as faculties that produce choosing and perceiving. Choosing and perceiving are simply different forms of thought. We may just as properly say that the singing faculty sings and the dancing faculty dances. Such statements are no different from saying that the will chooses or the understanding forms ideas. People also commonly say that the will directs the understanding, or that the understanding obeys or disobeys the will. It would be just as proper and understandable to say that the power of speaking directs the power of singing. Or we could say that the power of singing obeys or disobeys the power of speaking.

18. This way of talking causes confusion of thought.

18. This way of talking leads to confused thinking.

This way of talking, nevertheless, has prevailed, and, as I guess, produced great confusion. For these being all different powers in the mind, or in the man, to do several actions, he exerts them as he thinks fit: but the power to do one action is not operated on by the power of doing another action. For the power of thinking operates not on the power of choosing, nor the power of choosing on the power of thinking; no more than the power of dancing operates on the power of singing, or the power of singing on the power of dancing, as any one who reflects on it will easily perceive. And yet this is it which we say when we thus speak, that the will operates on the understanding, or the understanding on the will.

Nevertheless, this way of speaking has become common and has, I suspect, caused great confusion. For these are all different abilities of the mind, or of the person, to perform different actions. A person uses these abilities as they see fit. But the ability to perform one action does not act on the ability to perform another. The ability to think does not act on the ability to choose, nor does choosing act on thinking. Likewise, the ability to dance does not act on the ability to sing, nor does singing act on dancing. Anyone who thinks about these abilities will easily see this. Yet we say precisely that when we speak of the will acting on the understanding, or the understanding on the will.

19. Powers are relations, not agents.

19. Powers are relationships, not things that act.

I grant, that this or that actual thought may be the occasion of volition, or exercising the power a man has to choose; or the actual choice of the mind, the cause of actual thinking on this or that thing: as the actual singing of such a tune may be the cause of dancing such a dance, and the actual dancing of such a dance the occasion of singing such a tune. But in all these it is not one POWER that operates on another: but it is the mind that operates, and exerts these powers; it is the man that does the action; it is the agent that has power, or is able to do. For powers are relations, not agents: and that which has the power or not the power to operate, is that alone which is or is not free, and not the power itself. For freedom, or not freedom, can belong to nothing but what has or has not a power to act.

I grant that a particular thought may prompt an act of will, or the exercise of a person's power to choose. Or the mind's actual choice may cause a person to think about a particular thing. Similarly, actually singing a particular tune may cause someone to dance a particular dance. And actually dancing that dance may prompt someone to sing that tune. But in all these cases, one POWER is not acting on another. Rather, the mind acts and exercises these powers. The person performs the action. The agent has the power, or ability, to act. For powers are relationships, not agents. Only the being that has or lacks the power to act can be free or not free. The power itself cannot be free or not free. For freedom, or the lack of freedom, can belong only to something that has or lacks a power to act.

20. Liberty belongs not to the Will.

20. Freedom is not a property of the will.

The attributing to faculties that which belonged not to them, has given occasion to this way of talking: but the introducing into discourses concerning the mind, with the name of faculties, a notion of THEIR operating, has, I suppose, as little advanced our knowledge in that part of ourselves, as the great use and mention of the like invention of faculties, in the operations of the body, has helped us in the knowledge of physic. Not that I deny there are faculties, both in the body and mind: they both of them have their powers of operating, else neither the one nor the other could operate. For nothing can operate that is not able to operate; and that is not able to operate that has no power to operate. Nor do I deny that those words, and the like, are to have their place in the common use of languages that have made them current. It looks like too much affectation wholly to lay them by: and philosophy itself, though it likes not a gaudy dress, yet, when it appears in public, must have so much complacency as to be clothed in the ordinary fashion and language of the country, so far as it can consist with truth and perspicuity. But the fault has been, that faculties have been spoken of and represented as so many distinct agents. For, it being asked, what it was that digested the meat in our stomachs? it was a ready and very satisfactory answer to say, that it was the DIGESTIVE FACULTY. What was it that made anything come out of the body? the EXPULSIVE FACULTY. What moved? the MOTIVE FACULTY. And so in the mind, the INTELLECTUAL FACULTY, or the understanding, understood; and the ELECTIVE FACULTY, or the will, willed or commanded. This is, in short, to say, that the ability to digest, digested; and the ability to move, moved; and the ability to understand, understood. For faculty, ability, and power, I think, are but different names of the same things: which ways of speaking, when put into more intelligible words, will, I think, amount to thus much;—That digestion is performed by something that is able to digest, motion by something able to move, and understanding by something able to understand. And, in truth, it would be very strange if it should be otherwise; as strange as it would be for a man to be free without being able to be free.

People have spoken this way because they have attributed to faculties things that do not belong to them. But discussions of the mind have introduced the idea that faculties THEMSELVES act. I suppose this idea has advanced our knowledge of the mind very little. The widespread use of the same idea to explain bodily processes has done just as little for medical knowledge. I do not deny that both the body and the mind have faculties. Both have powers to act, or neither could act at all. For nothing can act unless it is able to act. And nothing is able to act unless it has the power to act. Nor do I deny that these words belong in the everyday use of languages that have adopted them. Abandoning these words altogether seems too affected. Philosophy itself does not like flashy clothes. Yet when philosophy appears in public, it must accommodate itself to the country's ordinary dress and language. It must do so as far as truth and clarity allow. But the mistake has been to speak of faculties as though they were separate agents. If someone asked what digested the food in our stomachs, a ready and very satisfying answer was: the DIGESTIVE FACULTY. What made anything leave the body? The EXPULSIVE FACULTY. What caused movement? The MOTIVE FACULTY. Likewise, in the mind, the INTELLECTUAL FACULTY, or understanding, understood. And the ELECTIVE FACULTY, or will, willed or commanded. In short, this means saying that the ability to digest digested, and the ability to move moved. It also means saying that the ability to understand understood. For faculty, ability, and power are, I think, merely different names for the same things. Put more clearly, these expressions amount, I think, to this: digestion is performed by something able to digest. Movement is performed by something able to move, and understanding by something able to understand. And indeed, it would be very strange if matters were otherwise. It would be as strange as someone being free without being able to be free.

21. But to the Agent, or Man.

21. But to the agent, or person who acts.

To return, then, to the inquiry about liberty, I think the question is not proper, WHETHER THE WILL BE FREE, but WHETHER A MAN BE FREE. Thus, I think,

To return, then, to the question of liberty, I think we should not ask WHETHER THE WILL IS FREE. Instead, we should ask WHETHER A PERSON IS FREE. So, I think,

First, That so far as any one can, by the direction or choice of his mind, preferring the existence of any action to the non-existence of that action, and vice versa, make IT to exist or not exist, so far HE is free. For if I can, by a thought directing the motion of my finger, make it move when it was at rest, or vice versa, it is evident, that in respect of that I am free: and if I can, by a like thought of my mind, preferring one to the other, produce either words or silence, I am at liberty to speak or hold my peace: and as far as this power reaches, of acting or not acting, by the determination of his own thought preferring either, so far is a man free. For how can we think any one freer, than to have the power to do what he will? And so far as any one can, by preferring any action to its not being, or rest to any action, produce that action or rest, so far can he do what he will. For such a preferring of action to its absence, is the willing of it: and we can scarce tell how to imagine any being freer, than to be able to do what he wills. So that in respect of actions within the reach of such a power in him, a man seems as free as it is possible for freedom to make him.

First, a person is free to the extent that his mind can choose whether an action happens and make that choice effective. He may prefer the action to happen, or prefer it not to happen. If his choice makes the action happen or prevents it, he is free to that extent. For example, I can direct my finger to move by a thought when it is at rest, or stop its movement. If I can do so, I am clearly free in that respect. Likewise, if my mind can choose between speaking and silence and produce either, I am free to speak or remain silent. A person is free as far as his power to act or not act follows his own mental choice. For how can we imagine anyone freer than someone who has the power to do what he wills? A person may prefer an action to its absence, or rest to an action. As far as he can produce the action or rest he prefers, he can do what he wills. For preferring an action to its absence is willing that action. And we can hardly imagine any being freer than one who can do what he wills. So, for actions within his power to perform or avoid by choice, a person seems as free as anyone could possibly be.

22. In respect of willing, a Man is not free.

22. When it comes to willing, a person is not free.

But the inquisitive mind of man, willing to shift off from himself, as far as he can, all thoughts of guilt, though it be by putting himself into a worse state than that of fatal necessity, is not content with this: freedom, unless it reaches further than this, will not serve the turn: and it passes for a good plea, that a man is not free at all, if he be not as FREE TO WILL as he is to ACT WHAT HE WILLS. Concerning a man’s liberty, there yet, therefore, is raised this further question, WHETHER A MAN BE FREE TO WILL? which I think is what is meant, when it is disputed whether the will be free. And as to that I imagine.

But the questioning human mind wants to rid itself, as far as possible, of all thoughts of guilt. It is willing even to put itself in a worse position than being bound by fate. So the mind is not satisfied with this account of freedom. Unless freedom goes further, it will not do. People accept the argument that a person is not free at all unless he meets a further condition. He must be as FREE TO WILL as he is to DO WHAT HE WILLS. So a further question arises about human freedom: IS A PERSON FREE TO WILL? I think this is what people mean when they debate whether the will is free. And on that question, I think.

23. How a man cannot be free to will.

23. How a person cannot be free to choose.

Secondly, That willing, or volition, being an action, and freedom consisting in a power of acting or not acting, a man in respect of willing or the act of volition, when any action in his power is once proposed to his thoughts, as presently to be done, cannot be free. The reason whereof is very manifest. For, it being unavoidable that the action depending on his will should exist or not exist, and its existence or not existence following perfectly the determination and preference of his will, he cannot avoid willing the existence or non-existence of that action; it is absolutely necessary that he will the one or the other; i.e. prefer the one to the other: since one of them must necessarily follow; and that which does follow follows by the choice and determination of his mind; that is, by his willing it: for if he did not will it, it would not be. So that, in respect of the act of willing, a man is not free: liberty consisting in a power to act or not to act; which, in regard of volition, a man, has not.

Secondly, willing, or volition, is an action, and freedom consists in the power to act or not to act. Suppose an action within a person’s power comes to mind as something to be done immediately. Once that happens, the person cannot be free in the act of willing. The reason is clear. The action that depends on his will must either happen or not happen. Whether the action happens depends entirely on what his will decides and prefers. So he cannot avoid willing either that the action happen or that it not happen. He must necessarily will one or the other, that is, prefer one to the other. For one outcome must necessarily follow. And whichever outcome follows does so because his mind chooses and decides on it, that is, because he wills it. For if he did not will that outcome, it would not occur. So a person is not free in the act of willing. Freedom consists in the power to act or not to act. In the case of willing, a person does not have that power.

24. Liberty is freedom to execute what is willed.

24. Liberty is the freedom to do what you choose to do.

This, then, is evident, That A MAN IS NOT AT LIBERTY TO WILL, OR NOT TO WILL, ANYTHING IN HIS POWER THAT HE ONCE CONSIDERS OF: liberty consisting in a power to act or to forbear acting, and in that only. For a man that sits still is said yet to be at liberty; because he can walk if he wills it. A man that walks is at liberty also, not because he walks or moves; but because he can stand still if he wills it. But if a man sitting still has not a power to remove himself, he is not at liberty; so likewise a man falling down a precipice, though in motion, is not at liberty, because he cannot stop that motion if he would. This being so, it is plain that a man that is walking, to whom it is proposed to give off walking, is not at liberty, whether he will determine himself to walk, or give off walking or not: he must necessarily prefer one or the other of them; walking or not walking. And so it is in regard of all other actions in our power; they being once proposed, the mind has not a power to act or not to act, wherein consists liberty. The mind, in that case, has not a power to forbear WILLING; it cannot avoid some determination concerning them, let the consideration be as short, the thought as quick as it will, it either leaves the man in the state he was before thinking, or changes it; continues the action, or puts an end to it. Whereby it is manifest, that IT orders and directs one, in preference to, or with neglect of the other, and thereby either the continuation or change becomes UNAVOIDABLY voluntary.

This, then, is clear: A PERSON IS NOT FREE TO WILL OR NOT TO WILL AN ACTION WITHIN THEIR POWER ONCE THEY CONSIDER IT. Freedom consists only in the power to act or refrain from acting. A person sitting still is nevertheless free, because they can walk if they will to do so. A person walking is also free, but not because they are walking or moving. They are free because they can stand still if they will to do so. But if someone sitting still cannot move from their place, they are not free. Likewise, someone falling down a cliff is not free, although they are moving. They cannot stop that motion even if they will to do so. Given this, consider someone walking who is presented with the option of stopping. They are not free to choose whether to make a decision about continuing or stopping. They must necessarily prefer one or the other: walking or not walking. The same holds for all other actions within our power. Once those actions are presented for consideration, the mind cannot act or refrain from acting, as freedom requires. In that situation, the mind has no power to refrain from WILLING. The mind cannot avoid making some decision about those actions, however brief the consideration or quick the thought. The decision either leaves the person as they were before thinking or changes their state. It continues the action or ends it. Clearly, then, THE MIND directs one course, either preferring it to the other or disregarding the other. As a result, either continuing or changing the action becomes UNAVOIDABLY voluntary.

25. The Will determined by something without it.

25. The will is determined by something outside itself.

Since then it is plain that, in most cases, a man is not at liberty, whether he will or no, (for, when an action in his power is proposed to his thoughts, he CANNOT forbear volition; he MUST determine one way or the other;) the next thing demanded is,—WHETHER A MAN BE AT LIBERTY TO WILL WHICH OF THE TWO HE PLEASES, MOTION OR REST? This question carries the absurdity of it so manifestly in itself, that one might thereby sufficiently be convinced that liberty concerns not the will. For, to ask whether a man be at liberty to will either motion or rest, speaking or silence, which he pleases, is to ask whether a man can will what he wills, or be pleased with what he is pleased with? A question which, I think, needs no answer: and they who can make a question of it must suppose one will to determine the acts of another, and another to determine that, and so on in infinitum.

It is clear, then, that in most cases a man is not free to choose whether to will at all. (When he considers an action within his power, he CANNOT avoid willing. He MUST decide one way or the other.) The next question is: IS A MAN FREE TO WILL WHICHEVER HE PLEASES, MOVEMENT OR REST? The question is so obviously absurd that its absurdity alone might convince us that freedom does not concern the will. For asking whether a man can freely will whichever he pleases, movement or rest, speech or silence, amounts to this: Can a man will what he wills, or be pleased with what pleases him? I think that question needs no answer. Anyone who treats it as a question must suppose that one will determines the acts of another will. A further will must then determine that second will, and so on without end.

26. The ideas of LIBERTY and VOLITION must be defined.

26. The concepts of FREEDOM and WILLING must be defined.

To avoid these and the like absurdities, nothing can be of greater use than to establish in our minds determined ideas of the things under consideration. If the ideas of liberty and volition were well fixed in our understandings, and carried along with us in our minds, as they ought, through all the questions that are raised about them, I suppose a great part of the difficulties that perplex men’s thoughts, and entangle their understandings, would be much easier resolved; and we should perceive where the confused signification of terms, or where the nature of the thing caused the obscurity.

To avoid these and similar absurdities, nothing is more useful than forming clear, definite ideas about the things under consideration. Suppose we firmly understood the ideas of liberty and volition, or willing. Suppose we also kept those ideas in mind, as we should, throughout all the questions raised about them. Then I believe many of the difficulties that trouble people’s thoughts and confuse their understanding would be much easier to resolve. We would also see whether the confusion came from unclear meanings of words or from the nature of the subject itself.

27. Freedom.

27. Freedom.

First, then, it is carefully to be remembered, That freedom consists in the dependence of the existence, or not existence of any ACTION, upon our VOLITION of it; and not in the dependence of any action, or its contrary, on our PREFERENCE. A man standing on a cliff, is at liberty to leap twenty yards downwards into the sea, not because he has a power to do the contrary action, which is to leap twenty yards upwards, for that he cannot do; but he is therefore free, because he has a power to leap or not to leap. But if a greater force than his, either holds him fast, or tumbles him down, he is no longer free in that case; because the doing or forbearance of that particular action is no longer in his power. He that is a close prisoner in a room twenty feet square, being at the north side of his chamber, is at liberty to walk twenty feet southward, because he can walk or not walk it; but is not, at the same time, at liberty to do the contrary, i.e. to walk twenty feet northward.

First, remember this carefully: freedom means that whether an ACTION happens depends on our WILL to do it or not. Freedom does not mean that an action or its opposite depends on our PREFERENCE. A man standing on a cliff is free to jump twenty yards down into the sea. He is not free because he can perform the opposite action, jumping twenty yards upwards. He cannot do that. Rather, he is free because he can jump or not jump. But if a force greater than his own holds him still or throws him down, he is no longer free. In that case, he no longer has the power to perform or refrain from that particular action. A man confined to a room twenty feet square may be standing at the north side. He is free to walk twenty feet south because he can choose to walk that distance or not. But he is not also free to do the opposite, namely, to walk twenty feet north.

In this, then, consists FREEDOM, viz. in our being able to act or not to act, according as we shall choose or will.

FREEDOM, then, means being able to act or not act, according to what we choose or will.

28. What Volition and action mean.

28. What choosing and acting mean.

Secondly, we must remember, that VOLITION or WILLING is an act of the mind directing its thought to the production of any action, and thereby exerting its power to produce it. To avoid multiplying of words, I would crave leave here, under the word ACTION, to comprehend the forbearance too of any action proposed: sitting still, or holding one’s peace, when walking or speaking are proposed, though mere forbearances, requiring as much the determination of the will, and being as often weighty in their consequences, as the contrary actions, may, on that consideration, well enough pass for actions too: but this I say, that I may not be mistaken, if (for brevity’s sake) I speak thus.

Secondly, we must remember that VOLITION or WILLING is an act of the mind. The mind directs its thought toward producing an action and thereby uses its power to produce that action. To avoid extra words, I ask permission to include refraining from a proposed action under the word ACTION. Consider sitting still when walking is proposed, or remaining silent when speaking is proposed. Although these are merely cases of refraining, they require as much determination of the will as the opposite actions. Their consequences are also just as often significant. For these reasons, refraining may reasonably count as action too. But I explain this usage only to avoid misunderstanding when, for brevity, I speak this way.

29. What determines the Will.

29. What determines the will.

Thirdly, the will being nothing but a power in the mind to direct the operative faculties of a man to motion or rest as far as they depend on such direction; to the question, What is it determines the will? the true and proper answer is, The mind. For that which determines the general power of directing, to this or that particular direction, is nothing but the agent itself exercising the power it has that particular way. If this answer satisfies not, it is plain the meaning of the question, What determines the will? is this,—What moves the mind, in every particular instance, to determine its general power of directing, to this or that particular motion or rest? And to this I answer,—The motive for continuing in the same state or action, is only the present satisfaction in it; the motive to change is always some uneasiness: nothing setting us upon the change of state, or upon any new action, but some uneasiness. This is the great motive that works on the mind to put it upon action, which for shortness’ sake we will call determining of the will, which I shall more at large explain.

Thirdly, the will is simply the mind’s power to direct a person’s abilities toward action or rest. This power extends only as far as those abilities depend on the mind’s direction. So the true and proper answer to the question, What determines the will? is, The mind. For only the person exercising this general power can give it a particular direction. If this answer is not satisfying, then the question plainly means something more. What moves the mind, in each particular case, to use its general power to direct a particular action or rest? My answer is that only present satisfaction with a state or action motivates us to continue in it. The motive for change is always some uneasiness. Nothing but some uneasiness moves us to change our state or begin any new action. Uneasiness is the great motive that works on the mind and moves it to act. For brevity, we will call this “determining the will,” a process I will explain more fully.

30. Will and Desire must not be confounded.

30. Will and desire must not be confused.

But, in the way to it, it will be necessary to premise, that, though I have above endeavoured to express the act of volition, by CHOOSING, PREFERRING, and the like terms, that signify desire as well as volition, for want of other words to mark that act of the mind whose proper name is WILLING or VOLITION; yet, it being a very simple act, whosoever desires to understand what it is, will better find it by reflecting on his own mind, and observing what it does when it wills, than by any variety of articulate sounds whatsoever. This caution of being careful not to be misled by expressions that do not enough keep up the difference between the WILL and several acts of the mind that are quite distinct from it, I think the more necessary, because I find the will often confounded with several of the affections, especially DESIRE, and one put for the other; and that by men who would not willingly be thought not to have had very distinct notions of things, and not to have writ very clearly about them. This, I imagine, has been no small occasion of obscurity and mistake in this matter; and therefore is, as much as may be, to be avoided. For he that shall turn his thoughts inwards upon what passes in his mind when he wills, shall see that the will or power of volition is conversant about nothing but our own ACTIONS; terminates there; and reaches no further; and that volition is nothing but that particular determination of the mind, whereby, barely by a thought, the mind endeavours to give rise, continuation, or stop, to any action which it takes to be in its power. This, well considered, plainly shows that the will is perfectly distinguished from desire; which, in the very same action, may have a quite contrary tendency from that which our will sets us upon. A man, whom I cannot deny, may oblige me to use persuasions to another, which, at the same time I am speaking, I may wish may not prevail on him. In this case, it is plain the will and desire run counter. I will the action; that tends one way, whilst my desire tends another, and that the direct contrary way. A man who, by a violent fit of the gout in his limbs, finds a doziness in his head, or a want of appetite in his stomach removed, desires to be eased too of the pain of his feet or hands, (for wherever there is pain, there is a desire to be rid of it,) though yet, whilst he apprehends that the removal of the pain may translate the noxious humour to a more vital part, his will is never determined to any one action that may serve to remove this pain. Whence it is evident that desiring and willing are two distinct acts of the mind; and consequently, that the will, which is but the power of volition, is much more distinct from desire.

But before proceeding, I must make one point clear. Earlier, I tried to describe the act of volition using CHOOSING, PREFERRING, and similar terms. These terms express desire as well as volition. I used them because I lacked other words for the mental act properly called WILLING or VOLITION. Yet willing is a very simple act. Anyone who wants to understand willing will learn more by looking into their own mind and observing it at work. No collection of spoken words can explain willing as well. We must therefore take care not to be misled by language that blurs important distinctions. The WILL differs from several other, quite separate acts of the mind. I think this warning is especially necessary because I often find the will confused with various feelings, especially DESIRE. People use one term for the other. Even writers who would dislike being thought unclear in their ideas or writing make this mistake. I imagine this confusion has contributed considerably to obscurity and error on this subject. We should therefore avoid the confusion as far as possible. Anyone who examines what happens in their mind when they will something will see that willing concerns only our own ACTIONS. The will, or power of volition, stops there and reaches no further. Volition is simply a particular decision of the mind. Through thought alone, the mind tries to begin, continue, or stop an action it believes is within its power. Carefully considered, this account clearly shows that the will is entirely distinct from desire. Even in the same action, desire may lead in exactly the opposite direction from the will. Someone I cannot refuse may require me to try to persuade another person. Yet while speaking, I may wish that my arguments will not persuade that person. Here, plainly, will and desire run counter to each other. I will the action, which tends in one direction, while my desire tends in exactly the opposite direction. A man may find that a severe attack of gout in his limbs relieves his drowsiness or restores his appetite. He also desires relief from the pain in his feet or hands. For wherever there is pain, there is a desire to be rid of the pain. Yet he may believe that relieving the pain could move the harmful bodily fluid to a more vital part. As long as he fears this result, his will never directs him toward any action that might relieve the pain. Clearly, then, desiring and willing are two distinct acts of the mind. Consequently, the will, which is only the power of willing, is even more distinct from desire.

31. Uneasiness determines the Will.

31. Discomfort determines the will.

To return, then, to the inquiry, what is it that determines the will in regard to our actions? And that, upon second thoughts, I am apt to imagine is not, as is generally supposed, the greater good in view; but some (and for the most part the most pressing) UNEASINESS a man is at present under. This is that which successively determines the will, and sets us upon those actions we perform. This uneasiness we may call, as it is, DESIRE; which is an uneasiness of the mind for want of some absent good. All pain of the body, of what sort soever, and disquiet of the mind, is uneasiness: and with this is always joined desire, equal to the pain or uneasiness felt; and is scarce distinguishable from it. For desire being nothing but an uneasiness in the want of an absent good, in reference to any pain felt, ease is that absent good; and till that ease be attained, we may call it desire; nobody feeling pain that he wishes not to be eased of, with a desire equal to that pain, and inseparable from it. Besides this desire of ease from pain, there is another of absent positive good; and here also the desire and uneasiness are equal. As much as we desire any absent good, so much are we in pain for it. But here all absent good does not, according to the greatness it has, or is acknowledged to have, cause pain equal to that greatness; as all pain causes desire equal to itself: because the absence of good is not always a pain, as the presence of pain is. And therefore absent good may be looked on and considered without desire. But so much as there is anywhere of desire, so much there is of uneasiness.

Let us return, then, to the question: what determines the will when we act? On second thought, I am inclined to think the answer is not the greater good we see before us. That is the usual view. Instead, some UNEASINESS we feel at the moment determines the will, usually the most pressing uneasiness. This uneasiness determines the will from one moment to the next and leads us to act. We may call this uneasiness what it is: DESIRE. Desire is the mind’s uneasiness at lacking some good that is absent. All bodily pain, of whatever kind, and all mental distress are forms of uneasiness. This uneasiness is always accompanied by desire equal to the pain or uneasiness felt, and hardly distinguishable from it. For desire is nothing but uneasiness at lacking an absent good. When we feel pain, relief is that absent good. Until relief comes, we may call this uneasiness desire. No one feels pain without wishing for relief, with a desire equal to the pain and inseparable from it. Besides the desire for relief from pain, there is also desire for some absent positive good. Here too, desire and uneasiness are equal. The more we desire an absent good, the more we suffer from its absence. But an absent good does not always cause pain equal to its value, or to the value we recognize in it. In contrast, all pain causes desire equal to itself. The reason is that the absence of good is not always painful, whereas the presence of pain always is. So we may consider an absent good without desiring it. But wherever there is desire, there is an equal amount of uneasiness.

32. Desire is Uneasiness.

32. Desire is uneasiness.

That desire is a state of uneasiness, every one who reflects on himself will quickly find. Who is there that has not felt in desire what the wise man says of hope, (which is not much different from it,) that it being ‘deferred makes the heart sick’; and that still proportionable to the greatness of the desire, which sometimes raises the uneasiness to that pitch, that it makes people cry out, ‘Give me children,’ give me the thing desired, ‘or I die.’ Life itself, and all its enjoyments, is a burden cannot be borne under the lasting and unremoved pressure of such an uneasiness.

Anyone who reflects on their own experience will quickly find that desire is a state of uneasiness. Who has not felt in desire what the wise man says of hope, that hope ‘deferred makes the heart sick’? (Hope is not very different from desire.) This uneasiness always grows in proportion to the strength of the desire. Sometimes the uneasiness becomes so great that people cry out, ‘Give me children,’ give me what I desire, ‘or I die.’ Life itself, and all its pleasures, becomes an unbearable burden under the lasting, unrelieved pressure of such uneasiness.

33. The Uneasiness of Desire determines the Will.

33. The discomfort of desire determines the will.

Good and evil, present and absent, it is true, work upon the mind. But that which IMMEDIATELY determines the will from time to time, to every voluntary action, is the UNEASINESS OF DESIRE, fixed on some absent good: either negative, as indolence to one in pain; or positive, as enjoyment of pleasure. That it is this uneasiness that determines the will to the successive voluntary actions, whereof the greatest part of our lives is made up, and by which we are conducted through different courses to different ends, I shall endeavour to show, both from experience, and the reason of the thing.

Good and evil, whether present or absent, do indeed affect the mind. But the UNEASINESS OF DESIRE for some absent good IMMEDIATELY determines the will in each voluntary action. That good may be relief from something, such as freedom from pain for someone in pain. Or it may be something positive, such as the enjoyment of pleasure. I will try to show that this uneasiness determines the will in one voluntary action after another. These actions make up most of our lives and lead us along different paths to different ends. I will argue from both experience and the reasoning behind the matter.

34. This is the Spring of Action.

34. This is what drives action.

When a man is perfectly content with the state he is in—which is when he is perfectly without any uneasiness—what industry, what action, what will is there left, but to continue in it? Of this every man’s observation will satisfy him. And thus we see our all-wise Maker, suitably to our constitution and frame, and knowing what it is that determines the will, has put into man the uneasiness of hunger and thirst, and other natural desires, that return at their seasons, to move and determine their wills, for the preservation of themselves, and the continuation of their species. For I think we may conclude, that, if the BARE CONTEMPLATION of these good ends to which we are carried by these several uneasinesses had been sufficient to determine the will, and set us on work, we should have had none of these natural pains, and perhaps in this world little or no pain at all. ‘It is better to marry than to burn,’ says St. Paul, where we may see what it is that chiefly drives men into the enjoyments of a conjugal life. A little burning felt pushes us more powerfully than greater pleasure in prospect draw or allure.

When a man is completely content with his condition, he feels no uneasiness at all. What effort, action, or choice remains for him, except to stay as he is? Everyone’s own observations will confirm this. So we see that our all-wise Maker has acted in keeping with our nature and how we are made. Knowing what determines the will, he has given us the uneasiness of hunger, thirst, and other natural desires. These desires return at regular times to move and direct our wills toward preserving ourselves and continuing our species. For I think we may draw a conclusion about the good ends these various forms of uneasiness lead us toward. If the MERE THOUGHT of these good ends were enough to direct our wills and make us act, we would have none of these natural pains. And perhaps we would have little or no pain at all in this world. ‘It is better to marry than to burn,’ says St. Paul. His words show us what chiefly drives people to seek the pleasures of married life. A little burning desire that we feel pushes us more powerfully than the prospect of greater pleasure attracts us.

35. The greatest positive Good determines not the Will, but present Uneasiness alone.

35. The greatest positive good does not determine the will. Only present uneasiness does.

It seems so established and settled a maxim, by the general consent of all mankind, that good, the greater good, determines the will, that I do not at all wonder that, when I first published my thoughts on this subject I took it for granted; and I imagine that, by a great many, I shall be thought more excusable for having then done so, than that now I have ventured to recede from so received an opinion. But yet, upon a stricter inquiry, I am forced to conclude that GOOD, the GREATER GOOD, though apprehended and acknowledged to be so, does not determine the will, until our desire, raised proportionably to it, makes us uneasy in the want of it. Convince a man never so much, that plenty has its advantages over poverty; make him see and own, that the handsome conveniences of life are better than nasty penury: yet, as long as he is content with the latter, and finds no uneasiness in it, he moves not; his will never is determined to any action that shall bring him out of it. Let a man be ever so well persuaded of the advantages of virtue, that it is as necessary to a man who has any great aims in this world, or hopes in the next, as food to life: yet, till he hungers or thirsts after righteousness, till he FEELS AN UNEASINESS in the want of it, his WILL will not be determined to any action in pursuit of this confessed greater good; but any other uneasiness he feels in himself shall take place, and carry his will to other actions. On the other side, let a drunkard see that his health decays, his estate wastes; discredit and diseases, and the want of all things, even of his beloved drink, attends him in the course he follows: yet the returns of uneasiness to miss his companions, the habitual thirst after his cups at the usual time, drives him to the tavern, though he has in his view the loss of health and plenty, and perhaps of the joys of another life: the least of which is no inconsiderable good, but such as he confesses is far greater than the tickling of his palate with a glass of wine, or the idle chat of a soaking club. It is not want of viewing the greater good: for he sees and acknowledges it, and, in the intervals of his drinking hours, will take resolutions to pursue the greater good; but when the uneasiness to miss his accustomed delight returns, the greater acknowledged good loses its hold, and the present uneasiness determines the will to the accustomed action; which thereby gets stronger footing to prevail against the next occasion, though he at the same time makes secret promises to himself that he will do so no more; this is the last time he will act against the attainment of those greater goods. And thus he is, from time to time, in the state of that unhappy complainer, Video meliora, proboque, deteriora sequor: which sentence, allowed for true, and made good by constant experience, may in this, and possibly no other way, be easily made intelligible.

All humanity seems to agree on a firmly established principle: good, or the greater good, determines the will. So I am not at all surprised that I took this principle for granted when I first published my thoughts. I imagine many people will find my earlier acceptance more excusable than my present departure from such a widely accepted opinion. But closer examination forces me to a different conclusion. GOOD, the GREATER GOOD, does not determine the will merely because we recognize and acknowledge its value. Only when our desire grows in proportion to that good, making us uneasy without it, does it determine the will. Convince a man as thoroughly as you like that abundance has advantages over poverty. Make him see and admit that life's comforts are better than miserable poverty. Yet as long as he remains content with poverty and feels no uneasiness about it, he does not act. His will never moves him to do anything that would lift him out of poverty. A man may be thoroughly convinced of virtue's advantages. He may believe virtue is as necessary as food to anyone with great ambitions here or hopes for the next life. Yet until he hungers or thirsts for righteousness, until he FEELS AN UNEASINESS at lacking virtue, conviction will not suffice. His WILL will not move him to pursue this acknowledged greater good. Instead, any other uneasiness he feels will take priority and direct his will toward other actions. On the other hand, consider a drunkard who sees his health declining and his wealth draining away. He sees that his way of life brings disgrace, disease, and a lack of everything, even his beloved drink. Yet whenever he feels uneasy about missing his companions, his habitual thirst at the usual hour drives him to the tavern. He goes despite seeing that he risks losing health, prosperity, and perhaps the joys of another life. Even the least of these is a considerable good. He admits that each is far better than pleasing his palate with wine or chatting idly with his drinking companions. His problem is not a failure to recognize the greater good. He sees and acknowledges that good, and between drinking sessions he resolves to pursue it. But when his uneasiness at missing his usual pleasure returns, the acknowledged greater good loses its hold. His present uneasiness directs his will toward his usual action. That action then becomes more firmly established, making it more likely to prevail the next time. Meanwhile, he secretly promises himself that he will never do it again. This will be the last time he acts against attaining those greater goods. And so, time after time, he shares the condition of the unhappy person who complains: I see the better course and approve it, but follow the worse. Once we accept this statement as true, as constant experience confirms, we can readily understand it in this way. Perhaps no other explanation can make it so readily understandable.

36. Because the Removal of Uneasiness is the first Step to Happiness.

36. Because getting rid of uneasiness is the first step toward happiness.

If we inquire into the reason of what experience makes so evident in fact, and examine, why it is uneasiness alone operates on the will, and determines it in its choice, we shall find that, we being capable but of one determination of the will to one action at once, the present uneasiness that we are under does NATURALLY determine the will, in order to that happiness which we all aim at in all our actions. For, as much as whilst we are under any uneasiness, we cannot apprehend ourselves happy, or in the way to it; pain and uneasiness being, by every one, concluded and felt to be inconsistent with happiness, spoiling the relish even of those good things which we have: a little pain serving to mar all the pleasure we rejoiced in. And, therefore, that which of course determines the choice of our will to the next action will always be—the removing of pain, as long as we have any left, as the first and necessary step towards happiness.

If we ask why experience makes this fact so clear, we must examine why uneasiness alone moves the will. Why does uneasiness determine what we choose? We will find that we can choose only one action at a time. So our present uneasiness NATURALLY determines our choice, in pursuit of the happiness we seek in all our actions. For as long as we feel any uneasiness, we cannot consider ourselves happy or on the way to happiness. Everyone recognizes and feels that pain and uneasiness are incompatible with happiness. They spoil our enjoyment even of the good things we have. A little pain is enough to spoil all the pleasure we were enjoying. Therefore, as long as any pain remains, removing pain will always naturally determine our choice of the next action. Removing pain is the first and necessary step toward happiness.

37. Because Uneasiness alone is present.

37. Because only uneasiness is present.

Another reason why it is uneasiness alone determines the will, is this: because that alone is present and, it is against the nature of things, that what is absent should operate where it is not. It may be said that absent good may, by contemplation, be brought home to the mind and made present. The idea of it indeed may be in the mind and viewed as present there; but nothing will be in the mind as a present good, able to counterbalance the removal of any uneasiness which we are under, till it raises our desire; and the uneasiness of that has the prevalency in determining the will. Till then, the idea in the mind of whatever is good is there only, like other ideas, the object of bare unactive speculation; but operates not on the will, nor sets us on work; the reason whereof I shall show by and by. How many are to be found that have had lively representations set before their minds of the unspeakable joys of heaven, which they acknowledge both possible and probable too, who yet would be content to take up with their happiness here? And so the prevailing uneasiness of their desires, let loose after the enjoyments of this life, take their turns in the determining their wills; and all that while they take not one step, are not one jot moved, towards the good things of another life, considered as ever so great.

Another reason why uneasiness alone determines the will is that uneasiness alone is present. It is against the nature of things for something absent to act where it is not. Some may say that thinking about an absent good can bring it into the mind and make it present. The idea of that good may indeed be in the mind and be viewed as present there. But no good can be present in the mind strongly enough to outweigh relief from our uneasiness until it arouses desire. Then the uneasiness of that desire has the strongest influence in determining the will. Until then, the idea of any good is merely something we think about passively, like other ideas. It neither acts on the will nor moves us to act. I will explain the reason shortly. How many people have had vivid descriptions of heaven’s unspeakable joys presented to their minds? They acknowledge that these joys are both possible and probable, yet would be content with happiness here. So their desires, given free rein to pursue this life’s pleasures, produce uneasiness that takes turns determining their wills. Meanwhile, they take not a single step toward the good things of another life. They are not moved toward those things in the slightest, however great they consider them.

38. Because all who allow the Joys of Heaven possible, pursue them not.

38. Because not all who accept that the joys of Heaven are possible pursue those joys.

Were the will determined by the views of good, as it appears in contemplation greater or less to the understanding, which is the state of all absent good, and that which, in the received opinion, the will is supposed to move to, and to be moved by,—I do not see how it could ever get loose from the infinite eternal joys of heaven, once proposed and considered as possible. For, all absent good, by which alone, barely proposed, and coming in view, the will is thought to be determined, and so to set us on action, being only possible, but not infallibly certain, it is unavoidable that the infinitely greater possible good should regularly and constantly determine the will in all the successive actions it directs; and then we should keep constantly and steadily in our course towards heaven, without ever standing still, or directing our actions to any other end: the eternal condition of a future state infinitely outweighing the expectation of riches, or honour, or any other worldly pleasure which we can propose to ourselves, though we should grant these the more probable to be obtained: for nothing future is yet in possession, and so the expectation even of these may deceive us. If it were so that the greater good in view determines the will, so great a good, once proposed, could not but seize the will, and hold it fast to the pursuit of this infinitely greatest good, without ever letting it go again: for the will having a power over, and directing the thoughts, as well as other actions, would, if it were so, hold the contemplation of the mind fixed to that good.

Suppose the will were determined by how great or small a good appears when the understanding considers it. This is how we consider all good things we do not yet possess. And the usual view is that such good things attract and move the will. If so, I cannot see how the will could ever turn away from the infinite, eternal joys of heaven. Once those joys had been presented and considered possible, how could the will break free of them? For all good things we do not yet possess are only possible, not absolutely certain. Yet the usual view is that merely presenting such good things to the mind determines the will and prompts action. On that view, an infinitely greater possible good must always determine the will in every successive action it directs. We would then move constantly and steadily toward heaven. We would never stop or direct our actions toward any other goal. For our eternal condition in a future life infinitely outweighs any riches, honour, or worldly pleasure we might hope for. This remains true even if we grant that those worldly goods are more likely to be obtained. For we do not yet possess anything that lies in the future. So even our expectations of worldly goods may disappoint us. If the greater good before the mind determines the will, so great a good could not fail to seize it. Once presented, this infinitely greatest good would hold the will firmly in pursuit of it, never letting go. For the will has power over our thoughts and directs them, just as it directs our other actions. So, if this view were correct, the will would keep the mind fixed on that good.

39. But any great Uneasiness is never neglected.

39. But great discomfort is never ignored.

This would be the state of the mind, and regular tendency of the will in all its determinations, were it determined by that which is considered and in view the greater good. But that it is not so, is visible in experience; the infinitely greatest confessed good being often neglected, to satisfy the successive uneasiness of our desires pursuing trifles. But, though the greatest allowed, even everlasting unspeakable, good, which has sometimes moved and affected the mind, does not stedfastly hold the will, yet we see any very great and prevailing uneasiness having once laid hold on the will, let it not go; by which we may be convinced, what it is that determines the will. Thus any vehement pain of the body; the ungovernable passion of a man violently in love; or the impatient desire of revenge, keeps the will steady and intent; and the will, thus determined, never lets the understanding lay by the object, but all the thoughts of the mind and powers of the body are uninterruptedly employed that way, by the determination of the will, influenced by that topping uneasiness, as long as it lasts; whereby it seems to me evident, that the will, or power of setting us upon one action in preference to all others, is determined in us by uneasiness: and whether this be not so, I desire every one to observe in himself.

Such would be the mind’s state, and the will’s regular direction in every choice, under one condition. The will would have to be guided by whatever good we consider greater and have in view. But experience shows that the will is not guided this way. We often neglect what we admit is an infinitely greater good to satisfy one uneasy desire after another for trifles. Yet even the greatest acknowledged good, everlasting and beyond description, does not keep a steady hold on the will. This remains true even when that good has sometimes moved and affected the mind. By contrast, we see that a very great, overpowering uneasiness, once it takes hold of the will, never releases it. This contrast can convince us of what determines the will. Consider severe bodily pain, the uncontrollable passion of someone violently in love, or an impatient desire for revenge. Each keeps the will steady and focused. Once directed this way, the will never allows the understanding to set its object aside. Instead, all the mind’s thoughts and the body’s powers are continually devoted to that object. The will directs them under the influence of that overriding uneasiness, for as long as the uneasiness lasts. So it seems evident to me that uneasiness determines the will, our power to choose one action over all others. I ask everyone to observe within themselves whether this is so.

40. Desire accompanies all Uneasiness.

40. Desire comes with all discomfort.

I have hitherto chiefly instanced in the UNEASINESS of desire, as that which determines the will: because that is the chief and most sensible; and the will seldom orders any action, nor is there any voluntary action performed, without some desire accompanying it; which I think is the reason why the will and desire are so often confounded. But yet we are not to look upon the uneasiness which makes up, or at least accompanies, most of the other passions, as wholly excluded in the case. Aversion, fear, anger, envy, shame, &c. have each their uneasinesses too, and thereby influence the will. These passions are scarce any of them, in life and practice, simple and alone, and wholly unmixed with others; though usually, in discourse and contemplation, that carries the name which operates strongest, and appears most in the present state of the mind. Nay, there is, I think, scarce any of the passions to be found without desire joined with it. I am sure wherever there is uneasiness, there is desire. For we constantly desire happiness; and whatever we feel of uneasiness, so much it is certain we want of happiness; even in our own opinion, let our state and condition otherwise be what it will. Besides, the present moment not being our eternity, whatever our enjoyment be, we look beyond the present, and desire goes with our foresight, and that still carries the will with it. So that even in joy itself, that which keeps up the action whereon the enjoyment depends, is the desire to continue it, and fear to lose it: and whenever a greater uneasiness than that takes place in the mind, the will presently is by that determined to some new action, and the present delight neglected.

So far, I have focused mainly on the UNEASINESS of desire as what determines the will. This is because desire’s uneasiness is the chief and most noticeable kind. The will seldom directs an action, and we seldom perform a voluntary action, without some accompanying desire. I think this is why the will and desire are so often confused. But we must not exclude the uneasiness that makes up, or at least accompanies, most other emotions. Aversion, fear, anger, envy, shame, and so on each have their own uneasiness and thereby influence the will. In everyday life, scarcely any of these emotions occur alone, entirely unmixed with others. Yet when discussing or reflecting on emotions, we usually name the strongest and most noticeable emotion in the mind’s present state. Indeed, I think scarcely any emotion exists without desire accompanying it. I am sure that wherever there is uneasiness, there is desire. For we constantly desire happiness. Whatever uneasiness we feel, we are certainly that much short of happiness, even in our own judgment. This is true whatever our circumstances may otherwise be. Besides, the present moment does not last forever. Whatever we enjoy, we look beyond the present. Desire accompanies our view of the future, and that desire continues to guide the will. So even in joy, we keep doing what sustains our enjoyment because we desire its continuation and fear its loss. Whenever a greater uneasiness than that desire and fear enters the mind, this greater uneasiness immediately determines the will. The will then directs us toward a new action, and we neglect our present pleasure.

41. The most pressing Uneasiness naturally determines the Will.

41. The most pressing discomfort naturally determines the will.

But we being in this world beset with sundry uneasinesses, distracted with different desires, the next inquiry naturally will be,—Which of them has the precedency in determining the will to the next action? and to that the answer is,—That ordinarily which is the most pressing of those that are judged capable of being then removed. For, the will being the power of directing our operative faculties to some action, for some end, cannot at any time be moved towards what is judged at that time unattainable: that would be to suppose an intelligent being designedly to act for an end, only to lose its labour; for so it is to act for what is judged not attainable; and therefore very great uneasinesses move not the will, when they are judged not capable of a cure: they in that case put us not upon endeavours. But, these set apart the most important and urgent uneasiness we at that time feel, is that which ordinarily determines the will, successively, in that train of voluntary actions which makes up our lives. The greatest present uneasiness is the spur to action, that is constantly most felt, and for the most part determines the will in its choice of the next action. For this we must carry along with us, that the proper and only object of the will is some action of ours, and nothing else. For we producing nothing by our willing it, but some action in our power, it is there the will terminates, and reaches no further.

But in this world, we face many kinds of uneasiness and are pulled in different directions by different desires. The next question naturally follows: Which of these takes priority in determining our will to act next? The answer is usually the most pressing uneasiness among those we believe we can relieve at that time. The will is the power to direct our abilities toward an action for some purpose. So the will cannot move us toward a goal we believe, at that moment, is unattainable. Otherwise, an intelligent being would deliberately act toward a goal only to waste its effort. For that is what we do when we act toward a goal we believe is unattainable. Therefore, even very great uneasiness does not move the will when we believe it cannot be relieved. In such cases, that uneasiness does not prompt us to make an effort. But setting those cases aside, the most important and urgent uneasiness we feel ordinarily determines the will. This happens at each step in the series of voluntary actions that makes up our lives. Our greatest present uneasiness is the spur to action we consistently feel most strongly. For the most part, that uneasiness determines the will’s choice of our next action. For we must remember that the will’s proper and only object is an action of our own, and nothing else. By willing, we produce nothing except an action within our power. The will ends at that action and reaches no further.

42. All desire Happiness.

42. Everyone wants happiness.

If it be further asked,—What it is moves desire? I answer,—happiness, and that alone. Happiness and misery are the names of two extremes, the utmost bounds whereof we know not; it is what be in itself good; and what is apt to produce any degree of pain be evil; yet it often happens that we do not call it so when it comes in competition with a greater of its sort; because, when they come in competition, the degrees also of pleasure and pain have justly a preference. So that if we will rightly estimate what we call good and evil, we shall find it lies much in comparison: for the cause of every less degree of pain, as well as every greater degree of pleasure, has the nature of good, and vice versa.

If someone further asks what drives desire, I answer: happiness, and happiness alone. Happiness and misery are two extremes whose ultimate limits we do not know. What is good in itself is good, and whatever tends to cause any degree of pain is evil. Yet we often do not call something good or evil when we compare it with something greater of its kind. This is because, when we compare pleasures or pains, their different degrees rightly determine our preference. So, if we judge correctly what we call good and evil, we will find that much depends on comparison. Whatever causes less pain, as well as whatever causes greater pleasure, has the nature of good. Conversely, whatever causes greater pain or less pleasure has the nature of evil.

43. [* missing]

43. [* missing]

44. What Good is desired, what not.

44. What good is desired, and what good is not.

Though this be that which is called good and evil, and all good be the proper object of desire in general; yet all good, even seen and confessed to be so, does not necessarily move every particular man’s desire; but only that part, or so much of it as is considered and taken to make a necessary part of HIS happiness. All other good, however great in reality or appearance, excites not a man’s desires who looks not on it to make a part of that happiness wherewith he, in his present thoughts, can satisfy himself. Happiness, under this view, every one constantly pursues, and desires what makes any part of it: other things, acknowledged to be good, he can look upon without desire, pass by, and be content without. There is nobody, I think, so senseless as to deny that there is pleasure in knowledge: and for the pleasures of sense, they have too many followers to let it be questioned whether men are taken with them or no. Now, let one man place his satisfaction in sensual pleasures, another in the delight of knowledge: though each of them cannot but confess, there is great pleasure in what the other pursues; yet, neither of them making the other’s delight a part of HIS happiness, their desires are not moved, but each is satisfied without what the other enjoys; and so his will is not determined to the pursuit of it. But yet, as soon as the studious man’s hunger and thirst make him uneasy, he, whose will was never determined to any pursuit of good cheer, poignant sauces, delicious wine, by the pleasant taste he has found in them, is, by the uneasiness of hunger and thirst, presently determined to eating and drinking, though possibly with great indifferency, what wholesome food comes in his way. And, on the other side, the epicure buckles to study, when shame, or the desire to recommend himself to his mistress, shall make him uneasy in the want of any sort of knowledge. Thus, how much soever men are in earnest and constant in pursuit of happiness, yet they may have a clear view of good, great and confessed good, without being concerned for it, or moved by it, if they think they can make up their happiness without it. Though as to pain, THAT they are always concerned for; they can feel no uneasiness without being moved. And therefore, being uneasy in the want of whatever is judged necessary to their happiness, as soon as any good appears to make a part of their portion of happiness, they begin to desire it.

Although this is what we call good and evil, and all good is in general a proper object of desire, a distinction remains. Not every good thing necessarily stirs every person’s desire, even when that person recognizes and admits its goodness. Only what a person considers a necessary part of HIS happiness stirs his desire. No other good, however great it really is or appears, awakens his desire. He must see that good as contributing to the happiness he currently thinks would satisfy him. Everyone constantly pursues happiness understood in this way, and desires whatever contributes to that happiness. Other things he recognizes as good may leave him without desire. He can pass them by and be content without them. Nobody, I think, is so foolish as to deny that knowledge brings pleasure. And sensory pleasures have too many followers for anyone to question whether people enjoy them. Now suppose one man finds satisfaction in sensory pleasures, and another in the pleasures of knowledge. Each must admit that the other’s pursuit offers great pleasure. Yet neither considers the other’s pleasure part of HIS happiness, so neither feels any desire for that pleasure. Each is satisfied without what the other enjoys, so his will does not lead him to pursue it. But as soon as hunger and thirst make the scholar uncomfortable, his will turns toward eating and drinking. The pleasant tastes of fine food, tangy sauces, and delicious wine never led him to pursue them. Yet the discomfort of hunger and thirst now leads him to eat and drink whatever wholesome food comes his way. He may care very little about what he consumes. On the other hand, the lover of fine food sets himself to studying when a lack of knowledge troubles him. Shame may cause this discomfort, or a desire to win the favor of the woman he loves. Thus, however earnestly and steadily people pursue happiness, they may clearly recognize something as good, even greatly and admittedly good. Yet they may neither care about nor be moved by that good if they think they can be happy without it. Pain, however, always concerns them. They cannot feel any discomfort without being moved by it. They therefore feel discomfort when they lack anything they judge necessary for happiness. As soon as some good seems to form part of their own happiness, they begin to desire it.

45. Why the greatest Good is not always desired.

45. Why we do not always desire the greatest good.

This, I think, any one may observe in himself and others,—That the greater visible good does not always raise men’s desires in proportion to the greatness it appears, and is acknowledged, to have: though every little trouble moves us, and sets us on work to get rid of it. The reason whereof is evident from the nature of our happiness and misery itself. All present pain, whatever it be, makes a part of our present misery: but all absent good does not at any time make a necessary part of our present happiness, nor the absence of it make a part of our misery. If it did, we should be constantly and infinitely miserable; there being infinite degrees of happiness which are not in our possession. All uneasiness therefore being removed, a moderate portion of good serve at present to content men; and a few degrees of pleasure in a succession of ordinary enjoyments, make up a happiness wherein they can be satisfied. If this were not so, there could be no room for those indifferent and visibly trifling actions, to which our wills are so often determined, and wherein we voluntarily waste so much of our lives; which remissness could by no means consist with a constant determination of will or desire to the greatest apparent good. That this is so, I think few people need go far from home to be convinced. And indeed in this life there are not many whose happiness reaches so far as to afford them a constant train of moderate mean pleasures, without any mixture of uneasiness; and yet they could be content to stay here for ever: though they cannot deny, but that it is possible there may be a state of eternal durable joys after this life, far surpassing all the good that is to be found here. Nay, they cannot but see that it is more possible than the attainment and continuation of that pittance of honour, riches, or pleasure which they pursue, and for which they neglect that eternal state. But yet, in full view of this difference, satisfied of the possibility of a perfect, secure, and lasting happiness in a future state, and under a clear conviction that it is not to be had here,—whilst they bound their happiness within some little enjoyment or aim of this life, and exclude the joys of heaven from making any necessary part of it,—their desires are not moved by this greater apparent good, nor their wills determined to any action, or endeavour for its attainment.

I think anyone can observe this in themselves and others. A greater good does not always stir our desire in proportion to its apparent and acknowledged value. Yet every little trouble moves us to act to get rid of it. The reason is clear from the nature of happiness and misery themselves. All present pain, whatever it may be, forms part of our present misery. But not every good we lack is a necessary part of our present happiness. Nor does lacking that good necessarily make us miserable. If it did, we would be constantly and infinitely miserable. There are infinitely many degrees of happiness that we do not possess. So, once all discomfort is removed, a moderate amount of good is enough to content people for the moment. A succession of ordinary enjoyments, offering modest pleasures, makes up a happiness they can find satisfying. If this were not so, there would be no room for the inconsequential and obviously trivial actions we so often choose. Yet we willingly waste so much of our lives on them. Such idleness could never fit with a will or desire constantly directed toward the greatest apparent good. I think few people need to look beyond their own lives to be convinced of this. Indeed, few people in this life enjoy even a steady stream of modest, ordinary pleasures without any discomfort. Yet they would be content to remain here forever. They cannot deny, however, the possibility of eternal, lasting joys after this life. Those joys would far surpass all the good to be found here. Indeed, they must recognize that such joys are more likely than obtaining and keeping the little honour, wealth, or pleasure they pursue. Yet for those small rewards, they neglect that eternal state. Still, they fully recognize this difference. They accept the possibility of perfect, secure, and lasting happiness in a future life. They are also clearly convinced that such happiness cannot be found here. Yet they limit their happiness to some small enjoyment or goal in this life. They do not count the joys of heaven as a necessary part of their happiness. As long as they do this, the greater good they recognize does not stir their desires. Nor does it move them to choose any action or effort to attain it.

46. Why not being desired, it moves not the Will.

46. Why something does not move the will when it is not desired.

The ordinary necessities of our lives fill a great part of them with the uneasinesses of hunger, thirst, heat, cold, weariness, with labour, and sleepiness, in their constant returns, &c. To which, if, besides accidental harms, we add the fantastical uneasiness (as itch after honour, power, or riches, &c.) which acquired habits, by fashion, example, and education, have settled in us, and a thousand other irregular desires, which custom has made natural to us, we shall find that a very little part of our life is so vacant from THESE uneasinesses, as to leave us free to the attraction of remoter absent good. We are seldom at ease, and free enough from the solicitation of our natural or adopted desires, but a constant succession of uneasinesses out of that stock which natural wants or acquired habits have heaped up, take the will in their turns; and no sooner is one action dispatched, which by such a determination of the will we are set upon, but another uneasiness is ready to set us on work. For, the removing of the pains we feel, and are at present pressed with, being the getting out of misery, and consequently the first thing to be done in order to happiness,—absent good, though thought on, confessed, and appearing to be good, not making any part of this unhappiness in its absence, is justled out, to make way for the removal of those uneasinesses we feel; till due and repeated contemplation has brought it nearer to our mind, given some relish of it, and raised in us some desire: which then beginning to make a part of our present uneasiness, stands upon fair terms with the rest to be satisfied, and so, according to its greatness and pressure, comes in its turn to determine the will.

The ordinary needs of life fill much of our time with recurring discomforts: hunger, thirst, heat, cold, fatigue, work, sleepiness, and so on. Besides accidental injuries, we must also consider the discontent created by our imaginations, such as cravings for honour, power, or riches. Habits acquired through fashion, example, and education have established these cravings in us. Add a thousand other unruly desires that custom has made natural to us. We will then find that very little of life is free from THESE discomforts. They leave us little freedom to feel the attraction of good things that are absent and more distant. We are seldom comfortable enough, or free enough from the demands of our natural or acquired desires. Instead, discomforts constantly succeed one another, drawing on the store built up by natural needs or acquired habits. Each discomfort takes its turn in directing the will. No sooner have we completed an action prompted by the will in this way than another discomfort spurs us into action. For removing the pains we feel and that press upon us now means escaping misery. Removing those pains is therefore the first thing we must do to achieve happiness. An absent good may be considered, acknowledged as good, and seen as good. Yet its absence forms no part of our present unhappiness. So the absent good is pushed aside to make room for relieving the discomforts we feel. This continues until careful, repeated reflection brings that good closer to our minds and gives us some taste for it. Such reflection also awakens some desire for that good. The desire then begins to form part of our present discomfort. It can now compete on equal terms with our other desires for satisfaction. So, according to its strength and urgency, the desire takes its turn in directing the will.

47. Due Consideration raises Desire.

47. Careful consideration increases desire.

And thus, by a due consideration, and examining any good proposed, it is in our power to raise our desires in a due proportion to the value of that good, whereby in its turn and place it may come to work upon the will, and be pursued. For good, though appearing and allowed ever so great, yet till it has raised desires in our minds, and thereby made us uneasy in its want, it reaches not our wills; we are not within the sphere of its activity, our wills being under the determination only of those uneasinesses which are present to us, which (whilst we have any) are always soliciting, and ready at hand, to give the will its next determination. The balancing, when there is any in the mind, being only, which desire shall be next satisfied, which uneasiness first removed. Whereby it comes to pass that, as long as any uneasiness, any desire, remains in our mind, there is no room for good, barely as such, to come at the will, or at all to determine it. Because, as has been said, the FIRST step in our endeavours after happiness being to get wholly out of the confines of misery, and to feel no part of it, the will can be at leisure for nothing else, till every uneasiness we feel be perfectly removed: which, in the multitude of wants and desires we are beset with in this imperfect state, we are not like to be ever freed from in this world.

Thus, by carefully considering and examining any proposed good, we can make our desire for it match its value. In this way, that good may, in its proper turn and place, influence the will and become something we pursue. For however great a good may seem and be acknowledged to be, it must first awaken desire in us. That desire must make us uneasy because we lack that good. Until then, the good does not reach our wills, and we remain outside its influence. Our wills are determined only by the uneasiness we feel at present. Whenever we feel any uneasiness, it constantly presses us and stands ready to determine what we will do next. When the mind weighs alternatives, it considers only which desire to satisfy next, which uneasiness to remove first. So, as long as any uneasiness or desire remains in our minds, good alone cannot reach or determine the will. For, as already explained, the FIRST step in pursuing happiness is to escape misery entirely and feel none of it. Until every uneasiness we feel is completely removed, the will has no freedom to attend to anything else. Yet so many needs and desires trouble us in our imperfect condition that we are unlikely ever to be free of uneasiness in this world.

48. The Power to suspend the Prosecution of any Desire makes way for consideration.

48. The ability to pause before acting on any desire allows time for reflection.

There being in us a great many uneasinesses, always soliciting and ready to determine the will, it is natural, as I have said, that the greatest and 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 any of its desires; and so all, one after another; is at liberty to consider the objects of them, examine them on all sides, and weigh them with others. In this lies the liberty man has; and from the not using of it right comes all that variety of mistakes, errors, and faults which we run into in the conduct of our lives, and our endeavours after happiness; whilst we precipitate the determination of our wills, and engage too soon, before due examination. To prevent this, we have a power to suspend the prosecution of this or that desire; as every one daily may experiment in himself. This seems to me the source of all liberty; in this seems to consist that which is (as I think improperly) called FREE-WILL. For, during this suspension of any desire, before the will be determined to action, and the action (which follows that determination) done, we have opportunity to examine, view, and judge of the good or evil of what we are going to do; and when, upon due examination, we have judged, we have done our duty, all that we can, or ought to do, in pursuit of our happiness; and it is not a fault, but a perfection of our nature, to desire, will, and act according to the last result of a fair examination.

We have many feelings of unease, constantly urging us to act and ready to determine our will. As I have said, the strongest and most pressing feeling naturally determines what we choose to do next. Usually it does, but not always. For experience clearly shows that, in most cases, the mind can SUSPEND acting on and satisfying any desire. It can therefore suspend all its desires, one after another. The mind is then free to consider what those desires aim at, examine each aim fully, and weigh it against others. Our freedom lies in this ability to pause and consider. Failing to use this freedom properly causes all the various mistakes, errors, and faults in our lives and our pursuit of happiness. We rush our decisions and commit ourselves too soon, before examining our choices properly. To prevent these mistakes, we can suspend the pursuit of any particular desire. Everyone can test this ability in themselves every day. This ability seems to me the source of all freedom. It seems to be what people call FREE-WILL, though I think that name is improper. While a desire is suspended, we have not yet decided to act or performed the action that follows that decision. During this pause, we can examine, consider, and judge the good or evil of what we are about to do. Once we have judged after proper examination, we have done our duty. We have done all we can, or ought to do, in pursuit of our happiness. To desire, choose, and act according to the final judgment of a fair examination is no fault. Rather, it is a perfection of our nature.

49. To be determined by our own Judgment, is no Restraint to Liberty.

49. Being guided by our own judgment does not limit our freedom.

This is so far from being a restraint or diminution of freedom, that it is the very improvement and benefit of it; it is not an abridgment, it is the end and use of our liberty; and the further we are removed from such a determination, the nearer we are to misery and slavery. A perfect indifference in the mind, not determinable by its last judgment of the good or evil that is thought to attend its choice, would be so far from being an advantage and excellency of any intellectual nature, that it would be as great an imperfection, as the want of indifferency to act, or not to act, till determined by the will, would be an imperfection on the other side. A man is at liberty to lift up his hand to his head, or let it rest quiet: he is perfectly indifferent in either; and it would be an imperfection in him, if he wanted that power, if he were deprived of that indifferency. But it would be as great an imperfection, if he had the same indifferency, whether he would prefer the lifting up his hand, or its remaining in rest, when it would save his head or eyes from a blow he sees coming: it is as much a perfection, that desire, or the power of preferring, should be determined by good, as that the power of acting should be determined by the will; and the certainer such determination is, the greater is the perfection. Nay, were we determined by anything but the last result of our own minds, judging of the good or evil of any action, we were not free.

Far from limiting or reducing freedom, this makes freedom better and more beneficial. It does not restrict our liberty. It is the purpose of liberty and what liberty is for. The less our choices are guided in this way, the closer we come to misery and slavery. Suppose the mind were completely indifferent between choices, unmoved by its final judgment about their likely good or bad consequences. Such indifference would not be an advantage or excellence in any thinking being. It would be as great a flaw as lacking the freedom to act or not act until the will decides. A man is free to raise his hand to his head or leave it still. He is equally free to do either. It would be a flaw if he lacked this power and were deprived of this freedom. But suppose raising his hand would protect his head or eyes from a blow he sees coming. It would be just as great a flaw if he were equally willing to raise his hand or leave it still. It is an excellence for desire, or the power to prefer, to be guided by what is good. It is equally an excellence for the power to act to be guided by the will. The more reliably each is guided in this way, the greater the excellence. Indeed, we would not be free if anything else determined our choices besides our own minds’ final judgment. That judgment concerns the good or evil of an action.

50. The freest Agents are so determined.

50. The freest agents are determined in this way.

If we look upon those superior beings above us, who enjoy perfect happiness, we shall have reason to judge that they are more steadily determined in their choice of good than we; and yet we have no reason to think they are less happy, or less free, than we are. And if it were fit for such poor finite creatures as we are to pronounce what infinite wisdom and goodness could do, I think we might say, that God himself CANNOT choose what is not good; the freedom of the Almighty hinders not his being determined by what is best.

If we consider the beings above us who enjoy perfect happiness, we have reason to draw a conclusion. Their choices are more firmly guided by what is good than ours are. Yet we have no reason to think these beings are less happy or less free than we are. And if limited creatures like us could rightly judge what infinite wisdom and goodness could do, we might say this: God himself CANNOT choose what is not good. The Almighty’s freedom does not prevent his choices from being guided by what is best.

51. A constant Determination to a Pursuit of Happiness no Abridgment of Liberty.

51. A constant determination to pursue happiness does not limit freedom.

But to give a right view of this mistaken part of liberty let me ask,—Would any one be a changeling, because he is less determined by wise considerations than a wise man? Is it worth the name of freedom to be at liberty to play the fool, and draw shame and misery upon a man’s self? If to break loose from the conduct of reason, and to want that restraint of examination and judgment which keeps us from choosing or doing the worse, be liberty, true liberty, madmen and fools are the only freemen: but yet, I think, nobody would choose to be mad for the sake of such liberty, but he that is mad already. The constant desire of happiness, and the constraint it puts upon us to act for it, nobody, I think, accounts an abridgment of liberty, or at least an abridgment of liberty to be complained of. God Almighty himself is under the necessity of being happy; and the more any intelligent being is so, the nearer is its approach to infinite perfection and happiness. That, in this state of ignorance, we short-sighted creatures might not mistake true felicity, we are endowed with a power to suspend any particular desire, and keep it from determining the will, and engaging us in action. This is standing still, where we are not sufficiently assured of the way: examination is consulting a guide. The determination of the will upon inquiry, is following the direction of that guide: and he that has a power to act or not to act, according as SUCH determination directs, is a free agent: such determination abridges not that power wherein liberty consists. He that has his chains knocked off, and the prison doors set open to him, is perfectly at liberty, because he may either go or stay, as he best likes, though his preference be determined to stay, by the darkness of the night, or illness of the weather, or want of other lodging. He ceases not to be free; though the desire of some convenience to be had there absolutely determines his preference, and makes him stay in his prison.

But to explain this mistaken view of liberty, let me ask a question. Would anyone choose to be intellectually disabled because wise considerations guide him less than they guide a wise man? Is being free to act like a fool and bring shame and misery on yourself worthy of the name freedom? Suppose true liberty means escaping reason’s guidance and lacking the restraint of examination and judgment that prevents worse choices or actions. If so, only madmen and fools are free. Yet I think nobody would choose madness for such liberty unless he were already mad. Our constant desire for happiness compels us to pursue it. Nobody, I think, considers this a restriction on liberty, or at least a restriction worth complaining about. God Almighty himself is necessarily happy. The more necessarily happy any intelligent being is, the closer that being comes to infinite perfection and happiness. In our ignorance, we shortsighted creatures might mistake what true happiness is. To prevent that mistake, we have the power to pause any particular desire. We can stop that desire from determining our will and moving us to act. Pausing a desire is like standing still when we are not sure enough of the way. Examining our choices is like consulting a guide. Letting inquiry determine our will is like following that guide’s directions. Anyone who can act or not act as SUCH a decision directs is a free agent. Having the will determined in this way does not reduce the power in which liberty consists. A man whose chains have been removed and whose prison doors stand open is completely free. He can either leave or stay, as he prefers. He remains free even if darkness, bad weather, or a lack of other lodging determines his preference to stay. He does not cease to be free, though his desire for some comfort available there completely determines his preference. That desire makes him stay in his prison.

52. The Necessity of pursuing true Happiness the Foundation of Liberty.

52. The need to pursue true happiness is the foundation of freedom.

As therefore the highest perfection of intellectual nature lies in a careful and constant pursuit of true and solid happiness; so the care of ourselves, that we mistake not imaginary for real happiness, is the necessary foundation of our liberty. The stronger ties we have to an unalterable pursuit of happiness in general, which is our greatest good, and which as such, our desires always follow, the more are we free from any necessary determination of our will to any particular action, and from a necessary compliance with our desire, so upon any particular, and then appearing preferable good, till we have duly examined whether it has a tendency to, or be inconsistent with, our real happiness: and therefore, till we are as much informed upon this inquiry as the weight of the matter, and the nature of the case demands, we are, by the necessity of preferring and pursuing true happiness as our greatest good, obliged to suspend the satisfaction of our desires in particular cases.

The highest perfection of an intelligent being lies in carefully and steadily pursuing true and lasting happiness. So guarding against mistaking imagined happiness for real happiness is the necessary foundation of our freedom. Happiness in general is our greatest good, and our desires always pursue happiness as such. The more firmly we are bound to pursue happiness, the freer we are from being forced into any particular action. We are also freer from having to satisfy a desire for some particular good that seems preferable at the time. We remain free until we have properly examined whether that good promotes our real happiness or conflicts with it. Because we must prefer and pursue true happiness as our greatest good, we must delay satisfying particular desires. We must wait until we understand enough to meet the demands of the matter’s importance and the circumstances.

53. Power to Suspend.

53. The Ability to Pause.

This is the hinge on which turns the LIBERTY of intellectual beings, in their constant endeavours after, and a steady prosecution of true felicity,—That they CAN SUSPEND this prosecution in particular cases, till they have looked before them, and informed themselves whether that particular thing which is then proposed or desired lie in the way to their main end, and make a real part of that which is their greatest good. For, the inclination and tendency of their nature to happiness is an obligation and motive to them, to take care not to mistake or miss it; and so necessarily puts them upon caution, deliberation, and wariness, in the direction of their particular actions, which are the means to obtain it. Whatever necessity determines to the pursuit of real bliss, the same necessity, with the same force, establishes suspense, deliberation, and scrutiny of each successive desire, whether the satisfaction of it does not interfere with our true happiness, and mislead us from it. This, as seems to me, is the great privilege of finite intellectual beings; and I desire it may be well considered, whether the great inlet and exercise of all the liberty men have, are capable of, or can be useful to them, and that whereon depends the turn of their actions, does not lie in this,—That they can suspend their desires, and stop them from determining their wills to any action, till they have duly and fairly examined the good and evil of it, as far forth as the weight of the thing requires. This we are able to do; and when we have done it, we have done our duty, and all that is in our power; and indeed all that needs. For, since the will supposes knowledge to guide its choice, all that we can do is to hold our wills undetermined, till we have examined the good and evil of what we desire. What follows after that, follows in a chain of consequences, linked one to another, all depending on the last determination of the judgment, which, whether it shall be upon a hasty and precipitate view, or upon a due and mature examination, is in our power; experience showing us, that in most cases, we are able to suspend the present satisfaction of any desire.

The LIBERTY of thinking beings rests on this ability: in their constant efforts and steady pursuit of true happiness, they CAN SUSPEND that pursuit in particular cases. They can pause until they have looked ahead and learned whether a proposed or desired thing serves their ultimate goal. They can ask whether it truly forms part of their greatest good. For their natural tendency toward happiness gives them both a duty and a motive to avoid mistaking or missing happiness. This necessarily makes them cautious, thoughtful, and watchful in directing the particular actions through which they seek happiness. Whatever necessity drives them to pursue real happiness also requires, with equal force, that they pause, deliberate, and examine each successive desire. They must consider whether satisfying that desire would interfere with their true happiness and lead them away from it. This, it seems to me, is the great privilege of thinking beings whose understanding is limited. I ask that we carefully consider whether this ability is the chief source and exercise of all human freedom. I mean all the freedom people have, can have, or can find useful, and on which their actions depend. Does that freedom not lie in their ability to suspend their desires and prevent those desires from determining their actions? They can pause until they have properly and fairly examined an action's good and bad consequences. That examination must be as thorough as the importance of the matter requires. We are able to do this. Once we have done so, we have done our duty and everything within our power, indeed everything needed. For the will requires knowledge to guide its choice. So all we can do is keep our wills undecided until we have examined what we desire for good and evil. Whatever happens afterward follows in a chain of connected consequences, all depending on our final judgment. But we can control whether that judgment rests on a hasty glance or a careful, thorough examination. Experience shows that, in most cases, we can delay the immediate satisfaction of any desire.

54. Government of our Passions the right Improvement of Liberty.

54. Controlling Our Passions Is the Proper Use of Freedom.

But if any extreme disturbance (as sometimes it happens) possesses our whole mind, as when the pain of the rack, an impetuous uneasiness, as of love, anger, or any other violent passion, running away with us, allows us not the liberty of thought, and we are not masters enough of our own minds to consider thoroughly and examine fairly;—God, who knows our frailty, pities our weakness, and requires of us no more than we are able to do, and sees what was and what was not in our power, will judge as a kind and merciful Father. But the forbearance of a too hasty compliance with our desires, the moderation and restraint of our passions, so that our understandings may be free to examine, and reason unbiassed, give its judgment, being that whereon a right direction of our conduct to true happiness depends; it is in this we should employ our chief care and endeavours. In this we should take pains to suit the relish of our minds to the true intrinsic good or ill that is in things; and not permit an allowed or supposed possible great and weighty good to slip out of our thoughts, without leaving any relish, any desire of itself there till, by a due consideration of its true worth, we have formed appetites in our minds suitable to it, and made ourselves uneasy in the want of it, or in the fear of losing it. And how much this is in every one’s power, by making resolutions to himself, such as he may keep, is easy for every one to try. Nor let any one say, he cannot govern his passions, nor hinder them from breaking out, and carrying him into action; for what he can do before a prince or a great man, he can do alone, or in the presence of God, if he will.

But sometimes an extreme disturbance takes over our whole mind. The pain of torture on the rack, or an overwhelming distress caused by love, anger, or another violent passion, may sweep us away. If such distress leaves us unable to think freely, we cannot control our minds enough to consider matters thoroughly and fairly. God knows our frailty, pities our weakness, and requires no more of us than we can do. He sees what was and was not within our power, and will judge us as a kind and merciful Father. But directing our conduct toward true happiness depends on resisting the urge to satisfy our desires too quickly. We must moderate and restrain our passions so that our minds can examine matters freely and our reason can judge impartially. These efforts should be our chief concern. We should work to bring our minds' tastes into line with the true goodness or badness of things themselves. We must not let a great and important good slip from our thoughts without leaving any attraction or desire behind. This applies whether we acknowledge that good as attainable or merely suppose it might be. We must first consider its true worth carefully enough to develop desires suited to it. We must make ourselves feel uneasy at lacking that good or at the fear of losing it. Everyone can easily test how far this lies within their power by making resolutions they can keep. Nor should anyone say they cannot control their passions or prevent those passions from erupting and driving them to act. Whatever restraint they can exercise before a prince or an important person, they can exercise alone or before God, if they choose.

55. How Men come to pursue different, and often evil Courses.

55. How people come to follow different and often evil paths.

From what has been said, it is easy to give an account how it comes to pass, that, though all men desire happiness, yet their wills carry them so contrarily; and consequently, some of them to what is evil. And to this I say, that the various and contrary choices that men make in the world do not argue that they do not all pursue good; but that the same thing is not good to every man alike. This variety of pursuits shows, that every one does not place his happiness in the same thing, or choose the same way to it. Were all the concerns of man terminated in this life, why one followed study and knowledge, and another hawking and hunting: why one chose luxury and debauchery, and another sobriety and riches, would not be because every one of these did NOT aim at his own happiness; but because their happiness was placed in different things. And therefore it was a right answer of the physician to his patient that had sore eyes:—If you have more pleasure in the taste of wine than in the use of your sight, wine is good for you; but if the pleasure of seeing be greater to you than that of drinking, wine is naught.

What we have said makes it easy to explain why, although all people desire happiness, their wills lead them in opposite directions. As a result, some are led toward evil. My answer is that people’s different and conflicting choices do not show that they are not all pursuing good. Rather, the same thing is not equally good for everyone. These different pursuits show that people do not all find happiness in the same thing or choose the same path to happiness. Suppose all human concerns ended with this life. One person might pursue study and knowledge, while another preferred falconry and hunting. One might choose luxury and excessive indulgence, while another chose moderation and wealth. These differences would not mean that any of them failed to aim at their own happiness. Rather, they would find happiness in different things. So a doctor gave the right answer to a patient with sore eyes: If you enjoy the taste of wine more than the use of your sight, wine is good for you. But if seeing gives you greater pleasure than drinking, wine is bad for you.

56. All men seek happiness, but not of the same sort.

56. Everyone seeks happiness, but not the same kind.

The mind has a different relish, as well as the palate; and you will as fruitlessly endeavour to delight all men with riches or glory (which yet some men place their happiness in) as you would to satisfy all men’s hunger with cheese or lobsters; which, though very agreeable and delicious fare to some, are to others extremely nauseous and offensive: and many persons would with reason prefer the griping of an hungry belly to those dishes which are a feast to others. Hence it was, I think, that the philosophers of old did in vain inquire, whether summum bonum consisted in riches, or bodily delights, or virtue, or contemplation: and they might have as reasonably disputed, whether the best relish were to be found in apples, plums, or nuts, and have divided themselves into sects upon it. For, as pleasant tastes depend not on the things themselves, but on their agreeableness to this or that particular palate, wherein there is great variety; so the greatest happiness consists in the having those things which produce the greatest pleasure, and in the absence of those which cause any disturbance, any pain. Now these, to different men, are very different things. If, therefore, men in this life only have hope; if in this life only they can enjoy, it is not strange nor unreasonable, that they should seek their happiness by avoiding all things that disease them here, and by pursuing all that delight them; wherein it will be no wonder to find variety and difference. For if there be no prospect beyond the grave, the inference is certainly right—‘Let us eat and drink,’ let us enjoy what we delight in, ‘for to-morrow we shall die.’ This, I think, may serve to show us the reason, why, though all men’s desires tend to happiness, yet they are not moved by the same object. Men may choose different things, and yet all choose right; supposing them only like a company of poor insects; whereof some are bees, delighted with flowers and their sweetness; others beetles, delighted with other kinds of viands, which having enjoyed for a season, they would cease to be, and exist no more for ever.

Minds differ in taste just as palates do. Trying to please everyone with riches or glory is as fruitless as trying to satisfy everyone’s hunger with cheese or lobsters. Yet some people find their happiness in riches or glory. Cheese and lobsters are delicious to some people, but extremely disgusting and unpleasant to others. Many would reasonably prefer hunger pains to dishes that others consider a feast. This difference in taste explains, I think, why ancient philosophers searched in vain for the summum bonum, or highest good. They asked whether it lay in riches, bodily pleasures, virtue, or contemplation. They might just as reasonably have argued over whether apples, plums, or nuts tasted best, and formed rival schools over it. Pleasant tastes depend not on the foods themselves, but on how well they suit each particular palate. And palates vary greatly. In the same way, the greatest happiness consists in having whatever brings the greatest pleasure. It also requires the absence of whatever causes any distress or pain. Now, what brings pleasure or pain differs greatly from person to person. If people have hope only in this life, and can enjoy themselves only here, their choices are neither strange nor unreasonable. They seek happiness by avoiding everything that makes them suffer here and pursuing everything that delights them. We should not be surprised to find variety and differences in these pursuits. For if there is no prospect beyond the grave, the conclusion is certainly right: ‘Let us eat and drink,’ let us enjoy what delights us, ‘for to-morrow we shall die.’ This, I think, may explain why everyone’s desires aim at happiness, yet different things motivate different people. People may choose different things and still all choose rightly, if we suppose they are merely like poor insects. Some are bees, delighted by flowers and their sweetness. Others are beetles, delighted by other kinds of food. After enjoying their pleasures for a while, these insects would cease to be and never exist again.

57. [not in early editions]

57. [not included in early editions]

58. Why men choose what makes them miserable.

58. Why people choose what makes them miserable.

What has been said may also discover to us the reason why men in this world prefer different things, and pursue happiness by contrary courses. But yet, since men are always constant and in earnest in matters of happiness and misery, the question still remains, How men come often to prefer the worse to the better; and to choose that, which, by their own confession, has made them miserable?

What we have said may also explain why people in this world prefer different things and pursue happiness in opposite ways. But people are always consistent and serious about happiness and misery. So the question remains: Why do people often prefer what is worse to what is better? And why do they choose what they themselves admit has made them miserable?

59. The causes of this.

59. What causes this.

To account for the various and contrary ways men take, though all aim at being happy, we must consider whence the VARIOUS UNEASINESSES that determine the will, in the preference of each voluntary action, have their rise:—

People take different and opposing paths, though all aim to be happy. To explain why, we must consider where the VARIOUS FEELINGS OF UNEASE come from. These feelings determine the will’s choice of each voluntary action:

1. From bodily pain.

1. From physical pain.

Some of them come from causes not in our power; such as are often the pains of the body from want, disease, or outward injuries, as the rack, etc.; which, when present and violent, operate for the most part forcibly on the will, and turn the courses of men’s lives from virtue, piety, and religion, and what before they judged to lead to happiness; every one not endeavouring, or not being able, by the contemplation of remote and future good, to raise in himself desires of them strong enough to counterbalance the uneasiness he feels in those bodily torments, and to keep his will steady in the choice of those actions which lead to future happiness. A neighbouring country has been of late a tragical theatre from which we might fetch instances, if there needed any, and the world did not in all countries and ages furnish examples enough to confirm that received observation: NECESSITAS COGIT AD TURPIA; and therefore there is great reason for us to pray, ‘Lead us not into temptation.’

Some of them come from causes beyond our control. Bodily pain, for example, often comes from deprivation, disease, or external injuries, such as torture on the rack. When such pain is present and severe, it usually exerts a powerful force on the will. It turns people’s lives away from virtue, piety, religion, and whatever they previously thought would lead to happiness. Not everyone tries, or is able, to strengthen their desire for distant, future good by reflecting on it. That desire must be strong enough to counterbalance the distress of bodily torment. It must also keep their will firmly committed to choosing actions that lead to future happiness. A neighbouring country has recently been the scene of tragedies that could provide examples, if any were needed. But every country and age already supplies enough examples to confirm the familiar observation: NECESSITAS COGIT AD TURPIA (necessity drives people to shameful acts). So we have very good reason to pray, ‘Lead us not into temptation.’

2. From wrong Desires arising from wrong Judgments.

2. From misguided desires arising from mistaken judgments.

Other uneasinesses arise from our desires of absent good; which desires always bear proportion to, and depend on, the judgment we make, and the relish we have of any absent good; in both which we are apt to be variously misled, and that by our own fault.

Other feelings of unease arise from our desire for good things we do not have. These desires always depend on, and match, our judgment of those good things and our taste for them. We are prone to go wrong in various ways in both our judgment and our taste, through our own fault.

60. Our judgment of present Good or Evil always right.

60. Our judgment of present good or evil is always correct.

In the first place, I shall consider the wrong judgments men make of FUTURE good and evil, whereby their desires are misled. For, as to PRESENT happiness and misery, when that alone comes into consideration, and the consequences are quite removed, a man never chooses amiss: he knows what best pleases him, and that he actually prefers. Things in their present enjoyment are what they seem: the apparent and real good are, in this case, always the same. For the pain or pleasure being just so great and no greater than it is felt, the present good or evil is really so much as it appears. And therefore were every action of ours concluded within itself, and drew no consequences after it, we should undoubtedly never err in our choice of good: we should always infallibly prefer the best. Were the pains of honest industry, and of starving with hunger and cold set together before us, nobody would be in doubt which to choose: were the satisfaction of a lust and the joys of heaven offered at once to any one’s present possession, he would not balance, or err in the determination of his choice.

First, I will consider the mistaken judgments people make about FUTURE good and evil, which mislead their desires. As for PRESENT happiness and misery, a person never chooses wrongly when considering these alone, entirely apart from their consequences. He knows what pleases him most, and that is what he actually prefers. Things experienced in the present are what they seem. In this case, apparent and real good are always the same. Pain or pleasure is exactly as great as it feels, and no greater. So present good or evil is really as great as it appears. Therefore, if every action ended with itself and had no further consequences, we would undoubtedly never choose the wrong good. We would always, without fail, prefer the best. Suppose the pain of honest work and the pain of starving with hunger and cold were presented together. Nobody would doubt which to choose. Suppose the satisfaction of lust and the joys of heaven were both offered for someone's immediate enjoyment. He would neither hesitate nor choose wrongly.

61. Our wrong judgments have regard to future good and evil only.

61. Our mistaken judgments concern only future good and evil.

But since our voluntary actions carry not all the happiness and misery that depend on them along with them in their present performance, but are the precedent causes of good and evil, which they draw after them, and bring upon us, when they themselves are past and cease to be; our desires look beyond our present enjoyments, and carry the mind out to ABSENT GOOD, according to the necessity which we think there is of it, to the making or increase of our happiness. It is our opinion of such a necessity that gives it its attraction: without that, we are not moved by absent good. For, in this narrow scantling of capacity which we are accustomed to and sensible of here, wherein we enjoy but one pleasure at once, which, when all uneasiness is away, is, whilst it lasts, sufficient to make us think ourselves happy, it is not all remote and even apparent good that affects us. Because the indolency and enjoyment we have, sufficing for our present happiness, we desire not to venture the change; since we judge that we are happy already, being content, and that is enough. For who is content is happy. But as soon as any new uneasiness comes in, this happiness is disturbed, and we are set afresh on work in the pursuit of happiness.

But our voluntary actions do not bring all their resulting happiness and misery at the moment we perform them. They also cause good and evil that come upon us after the actions themselves are over. So our desires look beyond our present pleasures and direct our minds toward ABSENT GOOD. We desire that good according to how necessary we think it is to achieve or increase our happiness. Our belief in that necessity gives absent good its attraction. Without that belief, absent good does not move us. For our capacity for pleasure, as we know and experience it here, is very limited. We enjoy only one pleasure at a time. When we feel no uneasiness, that pleasure is enough, while it lasts, to make us think ourselves happy. So not every distant good affects us, even when we recognize it as good. Because our freedom from discomfort and our present enjoyment are enough for our current happiness, we want no risky change. We judge ourselves happy already because we are content, and that is enough. For whoever is content is happy. But as soon as any new uneasiness arises, our happiness is disturbed. We are then set to work again in pursuit of happiness.

62. From a wrong Judgment of what makes a necessary Part of their Happiness.

62. From a mistaken judgment about what is essential to their happiness.

Their aptness therefore to conclude that they can be happy without it, is one great occasion that men often are not raised to the desire of the greatest ABSENT good. For, whilst such thoughts possess them, the joys of a future state move them not; they have little concern or uneasiness about them; and the will, free from the determination of such desires, is left to the pursuit of nearer satisfactions, and to the removal of those uneasinesses which it then feels, in its want of any longings after them. Change but a man’s view of these things; let him see that virtue and religion are necessary to his happiness; let him look into the future state of bliss or misery, and see there God, the righteous Judge, ready to ‘render to every man according to his deeds; to them who by patient continuance in well-doing seek for glory, and honour, and immortality, eternal life; but unto every soul that doth evil, indignation and wrath, tribulation and anguish.’ To him, I say, who hath a prospect of the different state of perfect happiness or misery that attends all men after this life, depending on their behaviour here, the measures of good and evil that govern his choice are mightily changed. For, since nothing of pleasure and pain in this life can bear any proportion to the endless happiness or exquisite misery of an immortal soul hereafter, actions in his power will have their preference, not according to the transient pleasure or pain that accompanies or follows them here, but as they serve to secure that perfect durable happiness hereafter.

People readily conclude that they can be happy without it. This is one major reason they often fail to desire the greatest ABSENT good. While they think this way, the joys of a future life do not move them. They feel little concern or uneasiness about those joys. Without such desires to direct it, the will pursues more immediate satisfactions and relief from the discomforts people currently feel. But change a person’s view of these things. Let him see that virtue and religion are necessary for his happiness. Let him consider the happiness or misery of the future life. Let him see God there, the righteous Judge, ready to ‘give everyone what their deeds deserve. To those who patiently continue doing good, seeking glory, honour, and immortality, he will give eternal life. But for every soul that does evil, there will be indignation and wrath, suffering and anguish.’ Such a person sees the perfect happiness or misery awaiting all people after this life, depending on their conduct here. His standards of good and evil, which guide his choices, are profoundly changed. For no pleasure or pain in this life can compare with an immortal soul’s endless happiness or intense misery hereafter. He will therefore choose among actions within his power by a different standard. His choices will not depend on the passing pleasure or pain that accompanies or follows those actions here. Instead, he will judge actions by how they help secure that perfect, lasting happiness in the life to come.

63. A more particular Account of wrong Judgments.

63. A more detailed account of mistaken judgments.

But, to account more particularly for the misery that men often bring on themselves, notwithstanding that they do all in earnest pursue happiness, we must consider how things come to be represented to our desires under deceitful appearances: and that is by the judgment pronouncing wrongly concerning them. To see how far this reaches, and what are the causes of wrong judgment, we must remember that things are judged good or bad in a double sense:—

But we must explain more precisely why people often make themselves miserable, even though they all sincerely pursue happiness. We must consider how things appear deceptively attractive to our desires. These deceptive appearances arise because we judge things wrongly. To understand how far these errors extend and what causes them, we must remember one point. We judge things to be good or bad in two senses:

First, THAT WHICH IS PROPERLY GOOD OR BAD, IS NOTHING BUT BARELY PLEASURE OR PAIN.

First, WHAT IS TRULY GOOD OR BAD IS NOTHING MORE THAN PLEASURE OR PAIN.

Secondly, But because not only present pleasure and pain, but that also which is apt by its efficacy or consequences to bring it upon us at a distance, is a proper object of our desires, and apt to move a creature that has foresight; therefore THINGS ALSO THAT DRAW AFTER THEM PLEASURE AND PAIN, ARE CONSIDERED AS GOOD AND EVIL.

Secondly, we desire not only present pleasure and pain, but also things that can bring pleasure and pain later. Such things, through their effects or consequences, can motivate a creature capable of foresight. SO THINGS THAT LEAD TO PLEASURE AND PAIN ARE ALSO CONSIDERED GOOD AND EVIL.

64. No one chooses misery willingly, but only by wrong judgment.

64. No one willingly chooses misery, but only chooses it because of poor judgment.

The wrong judgment that misleads us, and makes the will often fasten on the worse side, lies in misreporting upon the various comparisons of these. The wrong judgment I am here speaking of is not what one man may think of the determination of another, but what every man himself must confess to be wrong. For, since I lay it for a certain ground, that every intelligent being really seeks happiness, which consists in the enjoyment of pleasure, without any considerable mixture of uneasiness; it is impossible any one should willingly put into his own draught any bitter ingredient, or leave out anything in his power that would tend to his satisfaction, and the completing of his happiness, but only by a WRONG JUDGMENT. I shall not here speak of that mistake which is the consequence of INVINCIBLE error, which scarce deserves the name of wrong judgment; but of that wrong judgment which every man himself must confess to be so.

The mistaken judgment that misleads us, often making the will choose the worse option, comes from comparing these things incorrectly. I do not mean a judgment that one person makes about another person’s decision. I mean a judgment that each person must himself admit is wrong. For I take it as certain that every intelligent being truly seeks happiness. Happiness consists in enjoying pleasure without any substantial distress mixed in. So no one would willingly add a bitter ingredient to his own drink, except through WRONG JUDGMENT. Nor would anyone, except through such a judgment, leave out anything within his power that would increase his satisfaction and complete his happiness. I will not discuss mistakes caused by unavoidable error, error that is INVINCIBLE. Such mistakes hardly deserve to be called mistaken judgments. Instead, I mean mistaken judgments that each person must himself admit are wrong.

65. Men may err on comparing Present and Future.

65. People may make mistakes when comparing the present and the future.

(I) Therefore, as to present pleasure and pain, the mind, as has been said, never mistakes that which is really good or evil; that which is the greater pleasure, or the greater pain, is really just as it appears. But, though present pleasure and pain show their difference and degrees so plainly as not to leave room to mistake; yet, WHEN WE COMPARE PRESENT PLEASURE OR PAIN WITH FUTURE, (which is usually the case in most important determinations of the will,) we often make wrong judgments of them; taking our measures of them in different positions of distance. Objects near our view are apt to be thought greater than those of a larger size that are more remote. And so it is with pleasures and pains: the present is apt to carry it; and those at a distance have the disadvantage in the comparison. Thus most men, like spendthrift heirs, are apt to judge a little in hand better than a great deal to come; and so, for small matters in possession, part with greater ones in reversion. But that this is a wrong judgment every one must allow, let his pleasure consist in whatever it will: since that which is future will certainly come to be present; and then, having the same advantage of nearness, will show itself in its full dimensions, and discover his wilful mistake who judged of it by unequal measures. Were the pleasure of drinking accompanied, the very moment a man takes off his glass, with that sick stomach and aching head which, in some men, are sure to follow not many hours after, I think nobody, whatever pleasure he had in his cups, would, on these conditions, ever let wine touch his lips; which yet he daily swallows, and the evil side comes to be chosen only by the fallacy of a little difference in time. But, if pleasure or pain can be so lessened only by a few hours’ removal, how much more will it be so by a further distance to a man that will not, by a right judgment, do what time will, i. e. bring it home upon himself, and consider it as present, and there take its true dimensions? This is the way we usually impose on ourselves, in respect of bare pleasure and pain, or the true degrees of happiness or misery: the future loses its just proportion, and what is present obtains the preference as the greater. I mention not here the wrong judgment, whereby the absent are not only lessened, but reduced to perfect nothing; when men enjoy what they can in present, and make sure of that, concluding amiss that no evil will thence follow. For that lies not in comparing the greatness of future good and evil, which is that we are here speaking of; but in another sort of wrong judgment, which is concerning good or evil, as it is considered to be the cause and procurement of pleasure or pain that will follow from it.

(I) So, as already noted, the mind never mistakes what is really good or bad in present pleasure and pain. The greater pleasure or pain really is as great as it seems. Present pleasure and pain reveal their differences and degrees so clearly that we cannot mistake them. But WHEN WE COMPARE PRESENT PLEASURE OR PAIN WITH FUTURE PLEASURE OR PAIN, we often judge wrongly. Such comparisons usually shape our most important choices. We judge these pleasures and pains from different distances. Objects nearby tend to seem larger than bigger objects farther away. The same is true of pleasures and pains. Present pleasures and pains tend to win, while distant ones suffer in the comparison. Thus most people, like heirs who waste their inheritance, tend to prefer a little now to much more later. So they give up greater things they would receive later for smaller things they have now. But everyone must admit that this judgment is wrong, whatever gives them pleasure. For what lies in the future will certainly become present. Then, with the same advantage of nearness, that pleasure or pain will reveal its full size. It will expose the deliberate error of anyone who judged it by unequal standards. Suppose drinking brought an upset stomach and headache the very moment someone drained a glass. In some people, these effects are sure to follow only a few hours later. I think nobody would ever let wine touch their lips on those terms, however much they enjoyed drinking. Yet they drink wine daily. They choose the harmful side only because a small difference in time misleads them. But if a few hours can make pleasure or pain seem so much smaller, how much more can greater distance? The effect will be greater for someone who refuses to use sound judgment to do what time will do. Sound judgment would bring that pleasure or pain home to them, treating it as present and measuring its true size. This is how we usually deceive ourselves about pleasure and pain alone, or the true degrees of happiness and misery. We underestimate the future and prefer the present because it seems greater. I am not discussing another mistaken judgment here, in which pleasures and pains not present are reduced to nothing. People then enjoy whatever they can now and secure that enjoyment, wrongly concluding that no harm will follow. That error does not concern comparing the size of future good and evil, our subject here. Instead, it concerns whether something good or bad will cause and bring about pleasure or pain later.

66. Causes of our judging amiss when we compare present pleasure and pain with future.

66. Why we judge wrongly when comparing present pleasure and pain with future pleasure and pain.

The cause of our judging amiss, when we compare our present pleasure or pain with future, seems to me to be THE WEAK AND NARROW CONSTITUTION OF OUR MINDS. We cannot well enjoy two pleasures at once; much less any pleasure almost, whilst pain possesses us. The present pleasure, if it be not very languid, and almost none at all, fills our narrow souls, and so takes up the whole mind that it scarce leaves any thought of things absent: or if among our pleasures there are some which are not strong enough to exclude the consideration of things at a distance, yet we have so great an abhorrence of pain, that a little of it extinguishes all our pleasures. A little bitter mingled in our cup, leaves no relish of the sweet. Hence it comes that, at any rate, we desire to be rid of the present evil, which we are apt to think nothing absent can equal; because, under the present pain, we find not ourselves capable of any the least degree of happiness. Men’s daily complaints are a loud proof of this: the pain that any one actually feels is still of all other the worst; and it is with anguish they cry out,—‘Any rather than this: nothing can be so intolerable as what I now suffer.’ And therefore our whole endeavours and thoughts are intent to get rid of the present evil, before all things, as the first necessary condition to our happiness; let what will follow. Nothing, as we passionately think, can exceed, or almost equal, the uneasiness that sits so heavy upon us. And because the abstinence from a present pleasure that offers itself is a pain, nay, oftentimes a very great one, the desire being inflamed by a near and tempting object, it is no wonder that that operates after the same manner pain does, and lessens in our thoughts what is future; and so forces us, as it were blindfold, into its embraces.

The reason we judge wrongly when comparing present pleasure or pain with future pleasure or pain seems clear to me. It is THE WEAK AND NARROW NATURE OF OUR MINDS. We cannot easily enjoy two pleasures at once. Still less can we enjoy almost any pleasure while pain grips us. Unless a present pleasure is very faint, almost nonexistent, it fills our narrow souls. It occupies the whole mind, leaving hardly any room to think about things not present. Some pleasures may not be strong enough to keep us from considering distant things. Yet we hate pain so much that even a little extinguishes all our pleasures. A little bitterness mixed into our cup leaves no taste of sweetness. So we want to escape our present suffering at any cost. We tend to think no suffering not currently felt can equal it. This is because, while in pain, we find ourselves incapable of even the slightest happiness. People’s daily complaints offer loud proof of this. Whatever pain someone actually feels always seems the worst of all. In anguish, people cry out, ‘Any pain rather than this: nothing can be as unbearable as what I suffer now.’ So all our efforts and thoughts focus on escaping our present suffering before anything else. We see escape as the first necessary condition of happiness, whatever may follow. In our distress, we think nothing can exceed, or almost equal, the discomfort weighing so heavily on us. And going without a pleasure now within reach is itself painful, often very painful. A nearby, tempting object inflames our desire. So it is no wonder that going without that pleasure affects us as pain does. It makes what lies in the future seem less important. And so it forces us, as though blindfolded, into the embrace of the pleasure before us.

67. Absent good unable to counterbalance present uneasiness.

67. A good not currently enjoyed cannot outweigh present discomfort.

Add to this, that absent good, or, which is the same thing, future pleasure,—especially if of a sort we are unacquainted with,—seldom is able to counterbalance any uneasiness, either of pain or desire, which is present. For, its greatness being no more than what shall be really tasted when enjoyed, men are apt enough to lessen that; to make it give place to any present desire; and conclude with themselves that, when it comes to trial, it may possibly not answer the report or opinion that generally passes of it: they having often found that, not only what others have magnified, but even what they themselves have enjoyed with great pleasure and delight at one time, has proved insipid or nauseous at another; and therefore they see nothing in it for which they should forego a present enjoyment. But that this is a false way of judging, when applied to the happiness of another life, they must confess; unless they will say, God cannot make those happy he designs to be so. For that being intended for a state of happiness, it must certainly be agreeable to every one’s wish and desire: could we suppose their relishes as different there as they are here, yet the manna in heaven will suit every one’s palate. Thus much of the wrong judgment we make of present and future pleasure and pain, when they are compared together, and so the absent considered as future.

Add to this that an absent good, or future pleasure, seldom outweighs any present discomfort from pain or desire. This is especially true of pleasures we have never experienced. For the greatness of a pleasure amounts only to what we will actually feel when we enjoy it. People are therefore ready enough to discount a future pleasure and let any present desire take priority. They tell themselves that, when experienced, the pleasure may not live up to its reputation or the general opinion of it. They have often found that pleasures praised by others have later proved dull or sickening. Even things they themselves once enjoyed greatly have proved dull or sickening at another time. So they see nothing in the future pleasure worth giving up a present enjoyment for. But they must admit that this judgment is mistaken when applied to the happiness of another life. Otherwise, they must say that God cannot make those happy whom he intends to make happy. For the next life is intended as a state of happiness. It must therefore satisfy everyone’s wishes and desires. Even if we suppose that people’s tastes differ there as much as here, heaven’s manna will suit everyone’s palate. So much for our mistaken judgments when we compare present and future pleasure and pain, treating what is absent as future.

68. Wrong judgment in considering Consequences of Actions.

68. Errors in judging the consequences of actions.

(II). As to THINGS GOOD OR BAD IN THEIR CONSEQUENCES, and by the aptness that is in them to procure us good or evil in the future, we judge amiss several ways.

(II). We judge THINGS GOOD OR BAD IN THEIR CONSEQUENCES by their ability to bring us future good or harm. We make mistakes in these judgments in several ways.

1. When we judge that so much evil does not really depend on them as in truth there does.

1. When we judge that less evil depends on them than actually does.

2. When we judge that, though the consequence be of that moment, yet it is not of that certainty, but that it may otherwise fall out, or else by some means be avoided; as by industry, address, change, repentance, &c.

2. When we judge that, although the consequence is so serious, it is not certain to happen. We judge that events may turn out differently, or that the consequence may somehow be avoided. For example, the consequence may be avoided through effort, skill, change, repentance, and so on.

That these are wrong ways of judging, were easy to show in every particular, if I would examine them at large singly: but I shall only mention this in general, viz. that it is a very wrong and irrational way of proceeding, to venture a greater good for a less, upon uncertain guesses; and before a due examination be made, proportionable to the weightiness of the matter, and the concernment it is to us not to mistake. This I think every one must confess, especially if he considers the usual cause of this wrong judgment, whereof these following are some:—

It would be easy to show how each of these ways of judging is wrong if I examined them individually. But I will make only this general point. Risking a greater good for a lesser one, based on uncertain guesses, is very wrong and irrational. So is doing so before examining the matter as carefully as its importance and our need to avoid error require. I think everyone must admit this, especially when considering the usual causes of such mistaken judgment. Some of those causes are:

69. Causes of this.

69. Reasons for this.

(i) IGNORANCE: He that judges without informing himself to the utmost that he is capable, cannot acquit himself of judging amiss.

(i) IGNORANCE: Anyone who judges without learning as much as they can cannot excuse themselves for judging wrongly.

(ii) INADVERTENCY: When a man overlooks even that which he does know. This is an affected and present ignorance, which misleads our judgments as much as the other. Judging is, as it were, balancing an account, and determining on which side the odds lie. If therefore either side be huddled up in haste, and several of the sums that should have gone into the reckoning be overlooked and left out, this precipitancy causes as wrong a judgment as if it were a perfect ignorance. That which most commonly causes this is, the prevalency of some present pleasure or pain, heightened by our feeble passionate nature, most strongly wrought on by what is present. To check this precipitancy, our understanding and reason were given us, if we will make a right use of them, to search and see, and then judge thereupon. How much sloth and negligence, heat and passion, the prevalency of fashion or acquired indispositions do severally contribute, on occasion, to these wrong judgments, I shall not here further inquire. I shall only add one other false judgment, which I think necessary to mention, because perhaps it is little taken notice of, though of great influence.

(ii) INATTENTION: When someone overlooks even what they know. This is a self-imposed ignorance at that moment, and it misleads our judgment as much as ignorance itself. Judging is rather like balancing an account and deciding which side has more weight. Suppose, then, that either side is added up hastily, leaving out several amounts that should have been counted. Such haste leads to a judgment as mistaken as one based on complete ignorance. The most common cause of such haste is the powerful influence of some present pleasure or pain. Our weak, emotional nature strengthens that influence, since we are most strongly affected by what is present. We were given understanding and reason to check this haste, if we use them properly. They allow us to investigate and examine, and then judge on that basis. Laziness and carelessness, agitation and passion, the power of fashion, and acquired tendencies can each contribute to these mistaken judgments. I will not examine here how much each contributes on particular occasions. I will add only one other mistaken judgment that I think needs mentioning. Perhaps it receives little attention, though it has great influence.

70. Wrong judgment of what is necessary to our Happiness.

70. Misjudging what we need to be happy.

All men desire happiness, that is past doubt: but, as has been already observed, when they are rid of pain, they are apt to take up with any pleasure at hand, or that custom has endeared to them; to rest satisfied in that; and so being happy, till some new desire, by making them uneasy, disturbs that happiness, and shows them that they are not so, they look no further; nor is the will determined to any action in pursuit of any other known or apparent good. For since we find that we cannot enjoy all sorts of good, but one excludes another; we do not fix our desires on every apparent greater good, unless it be judged to be necessary to our happiness: if we think we can be happy without it, it moves us not. This is another occasion to men of judging wrong; when they take not that to be necessary to their happiness which really is so. This mistake misleads us, both in the choice of the good we aim at, and very often in the means to it, when it is a remote good. But, which way ever it be, either by placing it where really it is not, or by neglecting the means as not necessary to it;—when a man misses his great end, happiness, he will acknowledge he judged not right. That which contributes to this mistake is the real or supposed unpleasantness of the actions which are the way to this end; it seeming so preposterous a thing to men, to make themselves unhappy in order to happiness, that they do not easily bring themselves to it.

All people desire happiness. There is no doubt about that. But, as already noted, once people are free from pain, they tend to settle for whatever pleasure is available. Or they settle for a pleasure that habit has made dear to them. They remain satisfied with that pleasure and, being happy, look no further. This continues until some new desire makes them uneasy, disturbs their happiness, and shows them they are not happy. Until then, their will does not move them to pursue any other known or apparent good. We find that we cannot enjoy every kind of good, because one rules out another. So we do not desire every apparently greater good unless we judge it necessary for our happiness. If we think we can be happy without that good, it does not move us. Here is another source of mistaken judgment: people fail to recognize something as necessary for happiness when it really is. This mistake misleads us in choosing the good we pursue. When that good lies far in the future, the mistake also very often misleads us in choosing how to reach it. Either way, a person who misses the great goal of happiness will admit to having judged wrongly. The mistake may lie in looking for happiness where it cannot really be found. Or it may lie in neglecting the means to happiness because they seem unnecessary. The actual or supposed unpleasantness of the actions needed to reach happiness contributes to this mistake. People find it so unreasonable to make themselves unhappy in order to become happy that they struggle to do so.

71. We can change the Agreeableness or Disagreeableness in Things.

71. We can change how pleasant or unpleasant things are to us.

The last inquiry, therefore, concerning this matter is,—Whether it be in a man’s power to change the pleasantness and unpleasantness that accompanies any sort of action? And as to that, it is plain, in many cases he can. Men may and should correct their palates, and give relish to what either has, or they suppose has none. The relish of the mind is as various as that of the body, and like that too may be altered; and it is a mistake to think that men cannot change the displeasingness or indifferency that is in actions into pleasure and desire, if they will do but what is in their power. A due consideration will do it in some cases; and practice, application, and custom in most. Bread or tobacco may be neglected where they are shown to be useful to health, because of an indifferency or disrelish to them; reason and consideration at first recommends, and begins their trial, and use finds, or custom makes them pleasant. That this is so in virtue too, is very certain. Actions are pleasing or displeasing, either in themselves, or considered as a means to a greater and more desirable end. The eating of a well-seasoned dish, suited to a man’s palate, may move the mind by the delight itself that accompanies the eating, without reference to any other end; to which the consideration of the pleasure there is in health and strength (to which that meat is subservient) may add a new GUSTO, able to make us swallow an ill-relished potion. In the latter of these, any action is rendered more or less pleasing, only by the contemplation of the end, and the being more or less persuaded of its tendency to it, or necessary connexion with it: but the pleasure of the action itself is best acquired or increased by use and practice. Trials often reconcile us to that, which at a distance we looked on with aversion; and by repetitions wear us into a liking of what possibly, in the first essay, displeased us. Habits have powerful charms, and put so strong attractions of easiness and pleasure into what we accustom ourselves to, that we cannot forbear to do, or at least be easy in the omission of, actions, which habitual practice has suited, and thereby recommends to us. Though this be very visible, and every one’s experience shows him he can do so; yet it is a part in the conduct of men towards their happiness, neglected to a degree, that it will be possibly entertained as a paradox, if it be said, that men can MAKE things or actions more or less pleasing to themselves; and thereby remedy that, to which one may justly impute a great deal of their wandering. Fashion and the common opinion having settled wrong notions, and education and custom ill habits, the just values of things are misplaced, and the palates of men corrupted. Pains should be taken to rectify these; and contrary habits change our pleasures, and give a relish to that which is necessary or conducive to our happiness. This every one must confess he can do; and when happiness is lost, and misery overtakes him, he will confess he did amiss in neglecting it, and condemn himself for it; and I ask every one, whether he has not often done so?

The final question about this subject, then, is whether people can change how pleasant or unpleasant an action feels. Clearly, in many cases they can. People can and should improve their tastes. They can learn to enjoy things that give them no pleasure, or that they suppose give them none. Mental tastes vary as much as bodily tastes, and both can change. It is a mistake to think people cannot turn dislike or indifference toward actions into pleasure and desire. They can, if they simply do what is within their power. Careful thought will bring about this change in some cases. Practice, effort, and habit will do so in most. People may ignore bread or tobacco even when shown their health benefits, because they feel indifferent toward them or dislike them. Reason and reflection first recommend trying them. Use then reveals their pleasantness, or habit makes them pleasant. This certainly holds true of virtue too. Actions are pleasant or unpleasant either in themselves or as means to a greater, more desirable end. Eating a well-seasoned dish that suits someone's taste may appeal simply because eating it is enjoyable. No further purpose need enter into it. Thinking about the pleasure of health and strength, which food supports, may add a new source of enjoyment. That thought can even make us swallow an unpleasant-tasting medicine. When we value an action as a means, its pleasantness depends entirely on how we think about its goal. It also depends on how strongly we believe the action promotes that goal or is necessarily connected with it. But pleasure in the action itself is best gained or increased through use and practice. Trying something often reconciles us to what we disliked from a distance. Repetition gradually makes us like what may have displeased us on our first attempt. Habits have a powerful appeal. They make familiar actions so easy and pleasant that we cannot keep from doing them. Or, at least, we cannot feel at ease when we leave them undone. Repeated practice has made these actions suit us, and so made them appealing. These effects are very clear, and everyone's experience shows that they can change their tastes in this way. Yet people neglect this part of pursuing happiness so much that the claim may seem paradoxical. People can MAKE things or actions more or less pleasant to themselves. By doing so, they can correct a source of much of their going astray. Fashion and popular opinion have established mistaken ideas, while education and custom have established bad habits. As a result, people assign things the wrong value, and their tastes become corrupted. We should work to correct these faults. Opposing habits can change our pleasures and teach us to enjoy what is necessary or helpful to our happiness. Everyone must admit they can do this. And when someone loses happiness and falls into misery, they will admit that neglecting this work was wrong. They will blame themselves for that neglect. I ask everyone whether they have not often done so.

72. Preference of Vice to Virtue a manifest wrong Judgment.

72. Preferring vice to virtue is clearly an error in judgment.

I shall not now enlarge any further on the wrong judgments and neglect of what is in their power, whereby men mislead themselves. This would make a volume, and is not my business. But whatever false notions, or shameful neglect of what is in their power, may put men out of their way to happiness, and distract them, as we see, into so different courses of life, this yet is certain, that morality established upon its true foundations, cannot but determine the choice in any one that will but consider: and he that will not be so far a rational creature as to reflect seriously upon INFINITE happiness and misery, must needs condemn himself as not making that use of his understanding he should. The rewards and punishments of another life which the Almighty has established, as the enforcements of his law, are of weight enough to determine the choice against whatever pleasure or pain this life can show, where the eternal state is considered but in its bare possibility which nobody can make any doubt of. He that will allow exquisite and endless happiness to be but the possible consequence of a good life here, and the contrary state the possible reward of a bad one, must own himself to judge very much amiss if he does not conclude,—That a virtuous life, with the certain expectation of everlasting bliss, which may come, is to be preferred to a vicious one, with the fear of that dreadful state of misery, which it is very possible may overtake the guilty; or, at best, the terrible uncertain hope of annihilation. This is evidently so, though the virtuous life here had nothing but pain, and the vicious continual pleasure: which yet is, for the most part, quite otherwise, and wicked men have not much the odds to brag of, even in their present possession; nay, all things rightly considered, have, I think, even the worse part here. But when infinite happiness is put into one scale, against infinite misery in the other; if the worst that comes to the pious man, if he mistakes, be the best that the wicked can attain to, if he be in the right, who can without madness run the venture? Who in his wits would choose to come within a possibility of infinite misery; which if he miss, there is yet nothing to be got by that hazard? Whereas, on the other side, the sober man ventures nothing against infinite happiness to be got, if his expectation comes not to pass. If the good man be in the right, he is eternally happy; if he mistakes, he is not miserable, he feels nothing. On the other side, if the wicked man be in the right, he is not happy; if he mistakes, he is infinitely miserable. Must it not be a most manifest wrong judgment that does not presently see to which side, in this case, the preference is to be given? I have forborne to mention anything of the certainty or probability of a future state, designing here to show the wrong judgment that any one must allow he makes, upon his own principles, laid how he pleases, who prefers the short pleasures of a vicious life upon any consideration, whilst he knows, and cannot but be certain, that a future life is at least possible.

I will say no more here about the mistaken judgments and neglect of what they can control that lead people astray. That subject would fill a book, and it is not my task. False ideas or shameful neglect of what they can control may lead people away from happiness. These errors send people along the very different paths in life that we see. But one thing remains certain. Morality, when built on its true foundations, must guide the choices of anyone willing to think. Anyone unwilling to reflect seriously on INFINITE happiness and misery fails to act as a rational being. Such a person must condemn himself for not using his understanding as he should. The Almighty has established rewards and punishments in another life to enforce his law. Those rewards and punishments outweigh any pleasure or pain this life can offer, even if eternal life is merely possible. No one can doubt that possibility. Someone may accept that perfect, endless happiness is only a possible result of a good life here. He may likewise accept that endless misery is a possible consequence of a bad life. If so, he must admit that he judges very badly unless he reaches the following conclusion. A virtuous life, with a confident expectation of everlasting happiness that may come, is preferable to a wicked life. The wicked life brings fear of dreadful misery that may very possibly overtake the guilty. At best, it offers the terrible, uncertain hope of ceasing to exist. This preference is plainly right even if a virtuous life brought nothing but pain, and a wicked life constant pleasure. Yet the opposite is generally true. Wicked people have little advantage to boast of, even in what they enjoy now. Indeed, taking everything into account, I think they have the worse share even in this life. But put infinite happiness on one side of the scales and infinite misery on the other. Suppose the worst outcome for the devout person, if mistaken, is the best the wicked person can achieve, if right. Who could take that risk without being mad? Who in his right mind would choose to risk infinite misery? Even if he escapes that misery, he gains nothing by taking the risk. By contrast, the person who lives sensibly risks nothing if his expectation fails, while standing to gain infinite happiness. If the good person is right, he is eternally happy. If he is mistaken, he is not miserable, for he feels nothing. On the other hand, if the wicked person is right, he is not happy. If he is mistaken, he is infinitely miserable. Surely anyone who fails to see immediately which choice is better must be making an obvious error of judgment. I have deliberately said nothing about the certainty or probability of a future life. My purpose here is to show an error people must acknowledge even on their own principles, however they frame them. They make that error if, for any reason, they prefer the brief pleasures of a wicked life. For they know, and cannot help being certain, that a future life is at least possible.

73. Recapitulation—Liberty of indifferency.

73. Summary: Freedom to choose without preference.

To conclude this inquiry into human liberty, which, as it stood before, I myself from the beginning fearing, and a very judicious friend of mine, since the publication, suspecting to have some mistake in it, though he could not particularly show it me, I was put upon a stricter review of this chapter. Wherein lighting upon a very easy and scarce observable slip I had made, in putting one seemingly indifferent word for another that discovery opened to me this present view, which here, in this second edition, I submit to the learned world, and which, in short, is this: LIBERTY is a power to act or not to act, according as the mind directs. A power to direct the operative faculties to motion or rest in particular instances is that which we call the WILL. That which in the train of our voluntary actions determines the will to any change of operation is SOME PRESENT UNEASINESS, which is, or at least is always accompanied with that of DESIRE. Desire is always moved by evil, to fly it: because a total freedom from pain always makes a necessary part of our happiness: but every good, nay, every greater good, does not constantly move desire, because it may not make, or may not be taken to make, any necessary part of our happiness. For all that we desire, is only to be happy. But, though this general desire of happiness operates constantly and invariably, yet the satisfaction of any particular desire CAN BE SUSPENDED from determining the will to any subservient action, till we have maturely examined whether the particular apparent good which we then desire makes a part of our real happiness, or be consistent or inconsistent with it. The result of our judgment upon that examination is what ultimately determines the man; who could not be FREE if his will were determined by anything but his own desire, guided by his own judgment.

To conclude this inquiry into human liberty, I must explain why I reviewed this chapter more closely. From the beginning, I feared that my earlier account contained a mistake. After publication, a friend whose judgment I greatly respect also suspected a mistake, though he could not identify it. These doubts led me to review the chapter more carefully. During that review, I discovered a simple, barely noticeable slip: I had substituted one word for another, thinking them equivalent. That discovery led me to the view I now submit to the learned world in this second edition. In short, my view is this: LIBERTY is the power to act or not to act, as the mind directs. The power to direct our active abilities toward movement or rest in particular cases is what we call the WILL. In the course of our voluntary actions, SOME PRESENT UNEASINESS determines the will to change what we are doing. This uneasiness is either desire itself or is always accompanied by the uneasiness of DESIRE. Evil always stirs desire to escape it, because complete freedom from pain is always a necessary part of our happiness. But not every good, or even every greater good, always stirs desire. Such a good may not be a necessary part of our happiness, or we may not consider it necessary. For all we desire is to be happy. But although this general desire for happiness works constantly and without change, we can suspend any particular desire's influence. The pursuit of its satisfaction CAN BE SUSPENDED from determining the will to take any action serving that desire. We can maintain this suspension until we have carefully examined the apparent good we desire. We must examine whether that good forms part of our real happiness, or is consistent or inconsistent with our happiness. Our judgment after that examination is what ultimately determines how we act. We could not be FREE if anything determined our will except our own desire, guided by our own judgment.

74. Active and passive power, in motions and in thinking.

74. Active and passive power in movement and thought.

True notions concerning the nature and extent of LIBERTY are of so great importance, that I hope I shall be pardoned this digression, which my attempt to explain it has led me into. The ideas of will, volition, liberty, and necessity, in this Chapter of Power, came naturally in my way. In a former edition of this Treatise I gave an account of my thoughts concerning them, according to the light I then had. And now, as a lover of truth, and not a worshipper of my own doctrines, I own some change of my opinion; which I think I have discovered ground for. In what I first writ, I with an unbiassed indifferency followed truth, whither I thought she led me. But neither being so vain as to fancy infallibility, nor so disingenuous as to dissemble my mistakes for fear of blemishing my reputation, I have, with the same sincere design for truth only, not been ashamed to publish what a severer inquiry has suggested. It is not impossible but that some may think my former notions right; and some (as I have already found) these latter; and some neither. I shall not at all wonder at this variety in men’s opinions: impartial deductions of reason in controverted points being so rare, and exact ones in abstract notions not so very easy especially if of any length. And, therefore, I should think myself not a little beholden to any one, who would, upon these or any other grounds, fairly clear this subject of LIBERTY from any difficulties that may yet remain.

Accurate ideas about the nature and limits of LIBERTY are so important that I hope readers will forgive this digression. My attempt to explain liberty has led me into it. The ideas of will, volition, liberty, and necessity arose naturally in this chapter on Power. In an earlier edition of this book, I explained my thoughts on these matters according to my understanding at the time. Now, as a lover of truth rather than a worshipper of my own doctrines, I admit my opinion has changed somewhat. I believe I have found reasons for that change. When I first wrote, I followed truth without bias or preference, wherever I thought truth led me. But I am not so vain as to imagine I cannot be wrong. Nor am I so dishonest as to hide my mistakes for fear of damaging my reputation. So, with the same sincere aim of seeking truth alone, I have not been ashamed to publish my further findings. These are the results of a more rigorous inquiry. Some may think my earlier views were right. Some may prefer my later views, as I have already found. Some may agree with neither. I will not be at all surprised by these differences of opinion. Impartial reasoning about disputed questions is rare. Precise reasoning about abstract ideas is also far from easy, especially when the reasoning involves many steps. So I would be very grateful to anyone who could fairly resolve any remaining difficulties about LIBERTY. They might do so on these grounds or on any others.

75. Summary of our Original ideas.

75. Summary of our basic ideas.

And thus I have, in a short draught, given a view of OUR ORIGINAL IDEAS, from whence all the rest are derived, and of which they are made up; which, if I would consider as a philosopher, and examine on what causes they depend, and of what they are made, I believe they all might be reduced to these very few primary and original ones, viz. EXTENSION, SOLIDITY, MOBILITY, or the power of being moved; which by our senses we receive from body: PERCEPTIVITY, or the power of perception, or thinking; MOTIVITY, or the power of moving: which by reflection we receive from OUR MINDS.

I have thus briefly outlined OUR ORIGINAL IDEAS, from which all our other ideas come and are composed. If I examined these ideas as a philosopher, I would consider their causes and what they are made of. I believe they might all be reduced to these very few basic, original ideas: EXTENSION, SOLIDITY, and MOBILITY, or the power to be moved. We receive these ideas from bodies through our senses. Then there are PERCEPTIVITY, or the power to perceive or think, and MOTIVITY, or the power to move things. We receive these ideas by reflecting on OUR MINDS.

I crave leave to make use of these two new words, to avoid the danger of being mistaken in the use of those which are equivocal.

I ask permission to use these two new words to avoid being misunderstood when using words with several meanings.

To which if we add EXISTENCE, DURATION, NUMBER, which belong both to the one and the other, we have, perhaps, all the original ideas on which the rest depend. For by these, I imagine, might be EXPLAINED the nature of colours, sounds, tastes, smells, and ALL OTHER IDEAS WE HAVE, if we had but faculties acute enough to perceive the severally modified extensions and motions of these minute bodies, which produce those several sensations in us. But my present purpose being only to inquire into the knowledge the mind has of things, by those ideas and appearances which God has fitted it to receive from them, and how the mind comes by that knowledge; rather than into their causes or manner of Production, I shall not, contrary to the design of this Essay, see myself to inquire philosophically into the peculiar constitution of BODIES, and the configuration of parts, whereby THEY have the power to produce in us the ideas of their sensible qualities. I shall not enter any further into that disquisition; it sufficing to my purpose to observe, that gold or saffron has power to produce in us the idea of yellow, and snow or milk the idea of white, which we can only have by our sight without examining the texture of the parts of those bodies or the particular figures or motion of the particles which rebound from them, to cause in us that particular sensation, though, when we go beyond the bare ideas in our minds and would inquire into their causes, we cannot conceive anything else to be in any sensible object, whereby it produces different ideas in us, but the different bulk, figure, number, texture, and motion of its insensible parts.

If we add EXISTENCE, DURATION, and NUMBER, which belong to both, we have, perhaps, all the basic ideas on which the rest depend. For I imagine these ideas might EXPLAIN the nature of colours, sounds, tastes, smells, and ALL OTHER IDEAS WE HAVE. But such an explanation would require senses sharp enough to detect the varying extensions and motions of minute bodies. These minute bodies produce our different sensations. But my present purpose is only to examine the mind’s knowledge of things and how the mind gains that knowledge. This knowledge comes through the ideas and appearances that God has fitted the mind to receive from things. My purpose is not to investigate the causes of these ideas or how they are produced. So I will not depart from this Essay’s aim by investigating the particular structure of BODIES. Nor will I examine how the arrangement of their parts gives THEM the power to produce ideas of their sensible qualities in us. I will pursue that inquiry no further. For my purpose, it is enough to observe that gold or saffron can produce in us the idea of yellow. Likewise, snow or milk can produce the idea of white. We can gain these ideas only through sight, without examining how the parts of those bodies are arranged. Nor need we examine the particular shapes or motions of the particles that bounce off those bodies and cause those sensations. Yet we may go beyond the mere ideas in our minds and seek their causes. If we do, we can conceive of nothing else in a sensible object that produces different ideas in us except differences in its imperceptible parts. These differences are in the size, shape, number, arrangement, and motion of those parts.