Philosophy
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Free Will vs. Surface Freedom
We often believe that we are choosing freely, but for many philosophers, this is a kind of “surface freedom.” We like the
feeling of being able to "do what we want" and "being free" to act, and choose, as we will. The question remains: what if
"what we will" is not under our control?
Having “free will” means being an agent capable of in�uencing the world, being the source of your own actions, and having
choices that are “up to you.” Freedom is important because we need to be free in order to be responsible for our actions.
We often praise or blame people for what they do, being able to praise and blame actually assumes that we are free.
Here’s an example: if someone is genetically predisposed to become an alcoholic or a kleptomaniac, we usually look at
their drinking or stealing with some sympathy, we think of them as �ghting a battle compared to someone who just does
these things for fun without any extenuating circumstances.
The view that our decisions have causes is related closely to causal determinism, the view that the state of the world at a
given time determines the state of the world at the next moment. If causal determinism is true, then every event is the
result of other causes, not our own free will. Every event that occurs, including human action, is entirely the result of
earlier causes.
Free will is a problem. If it seems obvious that you are perfectly free to choose and decide, then reconsider what causes
you to act in speci�c ways. Free will is a huge problem because our sense of free will and the physical structure of the
world contradict each other.
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Introduction
Hard determinism is the view most closely associated with d’Holbach. He would
say that what we call free will is simply a modi�cation of the physical brain. We
necessarily seek to enhance/ensure our own existence. As natural beings, we are
wholly subject to laws of nature. In this sense, forces independent of us create
desires/drives in us that determine what we do.
“You say that I feel free. This is an illusion, which may be compared to that of the �y in
the fable, who, upon the pole of a heavy carriage, applauded himself for directing its
course. Man, who thinks himself free, is a �y who imagines he has the power to move
the universe, while is himself unknowingly carried along by it.” - d’Holbach
For d’Holbach, the idea that our actions are determined is a logical consequence
of our selves as physical, natural beings. Notice that this is a logical argument
(Unit 1) as well as a concept of the self (Unit 2).
Although d’Holbach lived in a time before genetic research and the concept of
genetic predispositions, in a way he is a precursor to the research we now do on the human genome and the way that we
look to our genes for reasons why we make the choices we do, why we like the things we like, and why we might have a
family trait that results in speci�c medical conditions.
Reading Assignments
Questions to Consider
Baron d’Holbach is focused on how our drives and desires connect with our decisions.
Is there any way for us to overcome or �ght our drives in his theory?
According to Baron d’Holbach, we are not the original motive of our actions. What then
is the original motive or cause of our actions?
If our will is directed at preserving our self and our life, do we need to be able to re�ect
on the consequences of our actions ahead of time?
Making Connections
How does d’Holbach’s materialism contrast with Descartes’ dualism between the mind and the body? If d’Holbach is right, can we really aspire to live life in a better way in the sense of Russell’s Value of Philosophy from Unit 1?
If Hume in Unit 3 was doubtful that we really have direct impressions of causes, then why does d’Holbach argue that there are prior causes of actions (just not our own will)?
A Defense of Determinism
Baron d'Holbach
Excerpts from D’Holbach’s “The System of Nature”, Volumn I of III, Chapter XI: Of the System of
Man’s free agency. Released in 2013 in The Project Gutenberg. First published in French in 1770
under the pseudonym of Mirabaud. This e-book based on a facsimile reprint of an English
translation originally published 1820-21. This e-text covers the �rst of the original two volumes.
The full book can be downloaded from http://www.gutenberg.org/�les/8909/8909-h/8909-
h.htm#link2H_4_0018
Those who have pretended that the soul is distinguished from the body, is immaterial, draws
its ideas from its own peculiar source, acts by its own energies without the aid of any
exterior object; by a consequence of their own system, have enfranchised it from those
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physical laws, according to which all beings of which we have a knowledge are obliged to act.
They have believed that the foul is mistress of its own conduct, is able to regulate its own
peculiar operations; has the faculty to determine its will by its own natural energy; in a
word, they have pretended man is a free agent.
It has been already suf�ciently proved, that the soul is nothing more than the body,
considered relatively to some of its functions, more concealed than others: it has been
shewn, that this soul, even when it shall be supposed immaterial, is continually modi�ed
conjointly with the body; is submitted to all its motion; that without this it would remain
inert and dead: that, consequently, it is subjected to the in�uence of those material, to the
operation those physical causes, which give impulse to the body; of which the mode of
existence, whether habitual or transitory, depends upon the material elements by which it is
surrounded; that form its texture; that constitute its temperament; that enter into it by the
means of the aliments; that penetrate it by their subtility; the faculties which are called
intellectual, and those qualities which are styled moral, have been explained in a manner
purely physical; entirely natural: in the last place, it has been demonstrated, that all the
ideas, all the systems, all the affections, all the opinions, whether true or false, which man
forms to himself, are to be attributed to his physical powers; are to be ascribed to his
material senses. Thus man is a being purely physical; in whatever manner he is considered,
he is connected to universal Nature: submitted to the necessary, to the immutable laws that
she imposes on all the beings she contains, according to their peculiar essences;
conformable to the respective properties with which, without consulting them, she endows
each particular species. Man's life is a line that Nature commands him to describe upon the
surface of the earth: without his ever being able to swerve from it even for an instant. He is
born without his own consent; his organizations does in no wise depend upon himself; his
ideas come to him involuntarily; his habits are in the power of those who cause him to
contract them; he is unceasingly modi�ed by causes, whether visible or concealed, over
which he has no controul; give the hue to his way of thinking, and determine his manner of
acting. He is good or bad—happy or miserable—wise or foolish—reasonable or irrational,
without his will going for anything in these various states. Nevertheless, in despite of the
shackles by which he is bound, it is pretended he is a free agent, or that independent of the
causes by which he is moved, he determines his own will; regulates his own condition.
Check Your Answer
Baron d’Holbach taught that:
(a) Humans are free agents
(b) Humans have free will
(c) No one has free will
(d) Humans have some free will
The correct answer is (c) No one has free will.
They have believed that the foul is mistress of its own conduct, is able to regulate its
own peculiar operations; has the faculty to determine its will by its own natural energy;
in a word, they have pretended man is a free agent.
Check Your Answer
Baron d’Holbach believed that man is derived from matter, therefore:
(a) Souls are really immaterial “stuff.”
(b) Immaterial stuff of which souls are made does not exist.
(c) Souls if they exist are really derived from matter, like music from a plucked string.
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However slender the foundation of this opinion, of which every thing ought to point out to
him the error; it is current at this day for an incontestible truth, and believed enlightened; it
is the basis or religion, which has been incapable of imagining how man could either merit
reward or deserve punishment if he was not a free agent. Society has been believed
interested in this system, because an idea has gone abroad, that if all the actions of man
were to be contemplated as necessary, the right of punishing those who injure their
associates would no longer exist. At length human vanity accommodated itself to an
hypothesis which, unquestionable, appears to distinguish man from all other physical
beings, by assigning to him the special privilege of a total independence of all other causes;
but of which a very little re�ection would have shewn him the absurdity or even the
impossibility.
(d) There is no such thing as a soul.
The correct answer is (c) Souls if they exist are really derived from matter, like music
from a plucked string.
soul, even when it shall be supposed immaterial, is continually modi�ed conjointly with
the body;
Check Your Answer
Baron d’Holbach believed that every bit of human intellectual life was the product of:
(a) Material forces
(b) Intellectual forces
(c) Spiritual forces
(d) Immaterial forces
The correct answer is (a) Material forces.
all the ideas, all the systems, all the affections, all the opinions, whether true or false,
which man forms to himself, are to be attributed to his physical powers; are to be
ascribed to his material senses.
Check Your Answer
When Baron d’Holbach looked as humans and nature he came to believe that:
(a) Humans are free.
(b) Humans are not free because of nature’s immutable laws.
(c) Humans are souls trapped in bodies.
(d) Humans are partially free, so d’Holbach is a compatibilist.
The correct answer is (b) Humans are not free because of nature’s immutable laws.
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As a part, subordinate to the great whole, man is obliged to experience its in�uence. To be a
free agent it were needful that each individual was of greater strength than the entire of
Nature; or, that he was out of this Nature: who, always in action herself, obliges all the
beings she embraces, to act, and to concur to her general motion; or, as it has been said
elsewhere, to conserve her active existence, by the motion that all beings produce in
consequence of their particular energies, which result from their being submitted to �xed,
eternal, and immutable laws. In order that man might be a free agent, it were needful that all
beings should lose their essences; it is equally necessary that he himself should no longer
enjoy physical sensibility; that he should neither know good nor evil; pleasure nor pain; but
if this was the case, from that moment he would no longer be in a state to conserve himself,
or render his existence happy; all beings would become indifferent to him; he would no
longer have any choice; he would cease to know what he ought to love; what it was right he
should fear; he would not have any acquaintance with that which he should seek after; or
with that which it is requisite he should avoid. In short, man would be an unnatural being;
totally incapable of acting in the manner we behold. It is the actual essence of man to tend
to his well-being; to be desirous to conserve his existence; if all the motion of his machine
springs as a necessary consequence from this primitive impulse; if pain warns him of that
which he ought to avoid; if pleasure announces to him that which he should desire; if it is in
his essence to love that which either excites delight, or, that from which he expects
agreeable sensations; to hate that which makes him either fear contrary impressions; or,
that which af�icts him with uneasiness; it must necessarily be, that he will be attracted by
that which he deems advantageous; that his will shall be determined by those objects which
he judges useful; that he will be repelled by those beings which he believes prejudicial,
either to his habitual, or to his transitory mode of existence; by that which he considers
disadvantageous. It is only by the aid of experience, that man acquires the faculty of
understanding what he ought to love; of knowing what he ought to fear. Are his organs
sound? his experience will be true: are they unsound? it will be false: in the �rst instance he
will have reason, prudence, foresight; he will frequently foresee very remote effects; he will
know, that what he sometimes contemplates as a good, may possibly become an evil, by its
necessary or probable consequences: that what must be to him a transient evil, may by its
result procure him a solid and durable good. It is thus experience enables him to foresee
that the amputation of a limb will cause him painful sensation, he consequently is obliged to
fear this operation, and he endeavours to avoid the pain; but if experience has also shewn
him, that the transitory pain this amputation will cause him may be the means of saving his
life; the preservation, of his existence being of necessity dear to him, he is obliged to submit
himself to the momentary pain with a view to procuring a permanent good, by which it will
be overbalanced.
Thus man is a being purely physical; in whatever manner he is considered, he is
connected to universal Nature: submitted to the necessary, to the immutable laws that
she imposes on all the beings she contains, according to their peculiar essences;
conformable to the respective properties with which, without consulting them, she
endows each particular species.
Check Your Answers
Baron d’Holbach does not believe that humans are free agents (i.e., have free will)
because:
(a) They lost their free will when they went to school.
(b) Lost their free agency when they had to obey their boss.
(c) Would have to be stronger than Nature.
(d) Would have to be immaterial beings to be free.
The correct answer is (c) Would have to be stronger than Nature.
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The will, as we have elsewhere said, is a modi�cation of the brain, by which it is disposed to
action or prepared to give play to the organs. This will is necessarily determined by the
qualities, good or bad, agreeable or painful, of the object or the motive that acts upon his
senses; or of which the idea remains with him, and is resuscitated by his memory. In
consequence, he acts necessarily; his action is the result of the impulse he receives either
from the motive, from the object, or from the idea, which has modi�ed his brain, or disposed
his will. When he does not act according to this impulse, it is because there comes some new
cause, some new motive, some new idea, which modi�es his brain in a different manner,
gives him a new impulse, determines his will in another way; by which the action of the
former impulse is suspended: thus, the sight of an agreeable object, or its idea, determines
his will to set him in action to procure it; but if a new object or a new idea more powerfully
attracts him, it gives a new direction to his will, annihilates the effect of the former, and
prevents the action by which it was to be procured. This is the mode in which re�ection,
experience, reason, necessarily arrests or suspends the action of man's will; without this, he
would, of necessity, have followed the anterior impulse which carried him towards a then
desirable object. In all this he always acts according to necessary laws, from which he has no
means of emancipating himself.
If, when tormented with violent thirst, he �gures to himself an idea, or really perceives a
fountain, whose limpid streams might cool his feverish habit, is he suf�cient master of
himself to desire or not to desire the object competent to satisfy so lively a want? It will no
doubt be conceded, that it is impossible he should not be desirous to satisfy it; but it will be
said,—If at this moment it is announced to him, the water he so ardently desires is poisoned,
he will, notwithstanding his vehement thirst, abstain from drinking it; and it has, therefore,
been falsely concluded that he is a free agent. The fact, however, is, that the motive in either
case is exactly the same: his own conservation. The same necessity that determined him to
drink, before he knew the water was deleterious, upon this new discovery, equally
determines him not to drink; the desire of conserving himself, either annihilates or suspends
the former impulse; the second motive becomes stronger than the preceding; that is, the
fear of death, or the desire of preserving himself, necessarily prevails over the painful
sensation caused by his eagerness to drink. But, (it will be said) if the thirst is very parching,
an inconsiderate man, without regarding the danger, will risque swallowing the water.
Nothing is gained by this remark: in this case, the anterior impulse only regains the
ascendency; he is persuaded, that life may possibly be longer preserved, or that he shall
derive a greater good by drinking the poisoned water, than by enduring the torment, which,
to his mind, threatens instant dissolution: thus, the �rst becomes the strongest, and
necessarily urges him on to action. Nevertheless, in either case, whether he partakes of the
water, or whether he does not, the two actions will be equally necessary; they will be the
effect of that motive which �nds itself most puissant; which consequently acts in a most
coercive manner upon his will.
This example will serve to explain the whole phaenomena of the human will. This will, or
rather the brain, �nds itself in the same situation as a bowl, which although it has received
an impulse that drives it forward in a straight line, is deranged in its course, whenever a
force, superior to the �rst, obliges it to change its direction. The man who drinks the
poisoned water, appears a madman; but the actions of fools are as necessary as those of the
most prudent individuals. The motives that determine the voluptuary, that actuate the
debauchee to risk their health, are as powerful, their actions are as necessary, as those
which decide the wise man to manage his. But, it will be insisted, the debauchee may be
prevailed on to change his conduct; this does not imply that he is a free agent; but, that
motives may be found suf�ciently powerful to annihilate the effect of those that previously
acted upon him; then these new motives determine his will to the new mode of conduct he
may adopt, as necessarily as the former did to the old mode.
Man is said to deliberate when the action of the will is suspended; this happens when two
opposite motives act alternately upon him. To deliberate, is to hate and to love in
succession; it is to be alternately attracted and repelled; it is to be moved sometimes by one
motive, sometimes by another. Man only deliberates when he does not distinctly
understand the quality of the objects from which he receives impulse, or when experience
To be a free agent it were needful that each individual was of greater strength than the
entire of Nature;
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has not suf�ciently apprised him of the effects, more or less remote, which his actions will
produce. He would take the air, but the weather is uncertain; he deliberates in consequence;
he weighs the various motives that urge his will to go out or to stay at home; he is at length
determined by that motive which is most probable; this removes his indecision, which
necessarily settles his will either to remain within or to go abroad: this motive is always
either the immediate or ultimate advantage he �nds or thinks he �nds in the action to which
he is persuaded.
Man's will frequently �uctuates between two objects, of which either the presence or the
ideas move him alternately: he waits until he has contemplated the objects or the ideas they
have left in his brain; which solicit him to different actions; he then compares these objects
or ideas: but even in the time of deliberation, during the comparison, pending these
alternatives of love and hatred, which succeed each other sometimes with the utmost
rapidity, he is not a free agent for a single instant; the good or the evil which he believes he
�nds successively in the objects, are the necessary motives of these momentary wills; of the
rapid motion of desire or fear that he experiences as long as his uncertainty continues. From
this it will be obvious, that deliberation is necessary; that uncertainty is necessary; that
whatever part he takes, in consequence of this deliberation, it will always necessarily be that
which he has judged, whether well or ill, is most probable to turn to his advantage.
When the soul is assailed by two motives that act alternately upon it, or modify it
successively, it deliberates; the brain is in a sort of equilibrium, accompanied with perpetual
oscillations, sometimes towards one object, sometimes towards the other, until the most
forcible carries the point, and thereby extricates it, from this state of suspense, in which
consists the indecision of his will. But when the brain is simultaneously assailed by causes
equally strong, that move it in opposite directions; agreeable to the general law of all bodies,
when they are struck equally by contrary powers, it stops, it is in nisu; it is neither capable to
will nor to act; it waits until one of the two causes has obtained suf�cient force to
overpower the other, to determine its will, to attract it in such a manner that it may prevail
over the efforts of the other cause.
This mechanism, so simple, so natural, suf�ces to demonstrate, why uncertainty is painful;
why suspense is always a violent state for man. The brain, an organ so delicate, so mobile,
experiences such rapid modi�cations, that it is fatigued; or when it is urged in contrary
directions, by causes equally powerful, it suffers a kind of compression, that prevents the
activity which is suitable to the preservation of the whole, which is necessary to procure
what is advantageous to its existence. This mechanism will also explain the irregularity, the
indecision, the inconstancy of man; and account for that conduct, which frequently appears
an inexplicable mystery, which indeed it is, under the received systems. In consulting
experience, it will be found that the soul is submitted to precisely the same physical laws as
the material body. If the will of each individual, during a given time, was only moved by a
single cause or passion, nothing would be more easy than to foresee his actions; but his
heart is frequently assailed by contrary powers, by adverse motives, which either act on him
simultaneously or in succession; then his brain, attracted in opposite directions, is either
fatigued, or else tormented by a state of compression, which deprives it of activity.
Sometimes it is in a state of incommodious inaction; sometimes it is the sport of the
alternate shocks it undergoes. Such, no doubt, is the state in which man �nds himself, when
a lively passion solicits him to the commission of crime, whilst fear points out to him the
danger by which it is attended: such, also, is the condition of him whom remorse, by the
continued labour of his distracted soul, prevents from enjoying the objects he has criminally
obtained.
If the powers or causes, whether exterior or interior, acting on the mind of man, tend
towards opposite points, his soul, is well as all other bodies, will take a mean direction
between the two; in consequence of the violence with which his soul is urged, his condition
becomes sometimes so painful that his existence is troublesome: he has no longer a
tendency to his own peculiar conservation; he seeks after death, as a sanctuary against
himself—as the only remedy to his despair: it is thus we behold men, miserable and
discontented, voluntarily destroy themselves, whenever life becomes insupportable. Man is
competent to cherish his existence, no longer than life holds out charms to him; when he is
wrought upon by painful sensations, or drawn by contrary impulsions, his natural tendency
is deranged, he is under the necessity to follow a new route; this conducts him to his end,
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which it even displays to him as the most desirable good. In this manner may be explained,
the conduct of those melancholy beings, whose vicious temperaments, whose tortured
consciences, whose chagrin, whose ennui, sometimes determine them to renounce life.
The various powers, frequently very complicated, that act either successively or
simultaneously upon the brain of man, which modify him so diversely in the different
periods of his existence, are the true causes of that obscurity in morals, of that dif�culty
which is found, when it is desired to unravel the concealed springs of his enigmatical
conduct. The heart of man is a labyrinth, only because it very rarely happens that we possess
the necessary gift of judging it; from whence it will appear, that his circumstances, his
indecision, his conduct, whether ridiculous, or unexpected, are the necessary consequences
of the changes operated in him; are nothing but the effect of motives that successively
determine his will; which are dependent on the frequent variations experienced by his
machine. According to these variations, the same motives have not, always, the same
in�uence over his will, the same objects no longer enjoy the faculty of pleasing him; his
temperament has changed, either for the moment, or for ever. It follows as a consequence,
that his taste, his desires, his passions, will change; there can be no kind of uniformity in his
conduct, nor any certitude in the effects to be expected.
Choice by no means proves the free-agency of man; he only deliberates when he does not
yet know which to choose of the many objects that move him, he is then in an
embarrassment, which does not terminate, until his will as decided by the greater advantage
he believes be shall �nd in the object he chooses, or the action he undertakes. From whence
it may be seen that choice is necessary, because he would not determine for an object, or for
an action, if he did not believe that he should �nd in it some direct advantage. That man
should have free-agency, it were needful that he should be able to will or choose without
motive; or, that he could prevent motives coercing his will. Action always being the effect of
his will once determined, as his will cannot be determined but by a motive, which is not in his
own power, it follows that he is never the master of the determination of his own peculiar
will; that consequently he never acts as a free agent. It has been believed that man was a
free agent, because he had a will with the power of choosing; but attention has not been
paid to the fact, that even his will is moved by causes independent of himself, is owing to that
which is inherent in his own organization, or which belongs to the nature of the beings
acting on him. Indeed, man passes a great portion of his life without even willing. His will
attends the motive by which it is determined. If he was to render an exact account of every
thing he does in the course of each day, from rising in the morning to lying down at night, he
would �nd, that not one of his actions have been in the least voluntary; that they have been
mechanical, habitual, determined by causes he was not able to foresee, to which he was
either obliged to, yield, or with which he was allured to acquiesce; he would discover, that all
the motives of his labours, of his amusements, of his discourses, of his thoughts, have been
necessary; that they have evidently either seduced him or drawn him along. Is he the master
of willing, not to withdraw his hand from the �re when he fears it will be burnt? Or has he
the power to take away from �re the property which makes him fear it? Is he the master of
not choosing a dish of meat which he knows to be agreeable, or analogous to his palate; of
not preferring it to that which he knows to be disagreeable or dangerous? It is always
according to his sensations, to his own peculiar experience, or to his suppositions, that he
judges of things either well or ill; but whatever way be his judgment, it depends necessarily
on his mode of feeling, whether habitual or accidental, and the qualities he �nds in the
causes that move him, which exist in despite of himself.
All the causes which by his will is actuated, must act upon him in a manner suf�ciently
marked, to give him some sensation, some perception, some idea, whether complete or
incomplete, true or false; as soon as his will is determined, he must have felt, either strongly
or feebly; if this was not the case he would have determined without motive: thus, to speak
correctly, there are no causes which are truly indifferent to the will: however faint the
impulse he receives, whether on the part of the objects themselves, or on the part of their
images or ideas, as soon as his will acts, the impulse has been competent to determine him.
In consequence of a slight, of a feeble impulse, the will is weak, it is this weakness of the will
that is called indifference. His brain with dif�culty perceives the sensation, it has received; it
consequently acts with less vigour, either to obtain or remove the object or the idea that has
modi�ed it. If the impulse is powerful, the will is strong, it makes him act vigorously, to
obtain or to remove the object which appears to him either very agreeable or very
incommodious.
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It has been believed man was a free agent, because it has been imagined that his soul could
at will recall ideas, which sometimes suf�ce to check his most unruly desires. Thus, the idea
of a remote evil frequently prevents him from enjoying a present and actual good: thus,
remembrance, which is an almost insensible, a slight modi�cation of his brain, annihilates, at
each instant, the real objects that act upon his will. But he is not master of recalling to
himself his ideas at pleasure; their association is independent of him; they are arranged in
his brain, in despite of him, without his own knowledge, where they have made an
impression more or less profound; his memory itself depends upon his organization; its
�delity depends upon the habitual or momentary state in which he �nds himself; when his
will is vigorously determined to some object or idea that excites a very lively passion in him,
those objects or ideas that would be able to arrest his action no longer present themselves
to his mind; in those moments his eyes are shut to the dangers that menace him, of which
the idea ought to make him forbear; he marches forward headlong towards the object by
whose image he is hurried on; re�ection cannot operate upon him in any way; he sees
nothing but the object of his desires; the salutary ideas which might be able to arrest his
progress disappear, or else display themselves either too faintly or too late to prevent his
acting. Such is the case with all those who, blinded by some strong passion, are not in a
condition to recal to themselves those motives, of which the idea alone, in cooler moments,
would be suf�cient to deter them from proceeding; the disorder in which they are, prevents
their judging soundly; render them incapable of foreseeing the consequence of their
actions; precludes them from applying to their experience; from making use of their reason;
natural operations, which suppose a justness in the manner of associating their ideas; but to
which their brain is then not more competent, in consequence of the momentary delirium it
suffers, than their hand is to write whilst they are taking violent exercise.
Man's mode of thinking is necessarily determined by his manner of being; it must, therefore,
depend on his natural organization, and the modi�cation his system receives independently
of his will. From this we are obliged to conclude, that his thoughts, his re�ections, his
manner of viewing things, of feeling, of judging, of combining ideas, is neither voluntary nor
free. In a word, that his soul is neither mistress of the motion excited in it, nor of
representing to itself, when wanted, those images or ideas that are capable of
counterbalancing the impulse it receives. This is the reason why man, when in a passion,
ceases to reason; at that moment reason is as impossible to be heard, as it is during an
extacy, or in a �t of drunkenness. The wicked are never more than men who are either drunk
or mad: if they reason, it is not until tranquility is re-established in their machine; then, and
not till then, the tardy ideas that present themselves to their mind, enable them to see the
consequence of their actions, and give birth to ideas, that bring on them that trouble, which
is designated shame, regret, remorse.
The errors of philosophers on the free-agency of man, have arisen from their regarding his
will as the primum mobile, the original motive of his actions; for want of recurring back, they
have not perceived the multiplied, the complicated causes, which, independently of him,
give motion to the will itself, or which dispose and modify his brain, whilst he himself is
purely passive in the motion he receives. Is he the master of desiring or not desiring an
object that appears desirable to him? Without doubt it will be answered, No: but he is the
master of resisting his desire, if he re�ects on the consequences. But, I ask, is he capable of
re�ecting on these consequences when his soul is hurried along by a very lively passion,
which entirely depends upon his natural organization, and the causes by which he is
modi�ed? Is it in his power to add to these consequences all the weight necessary to
counterbalance his desire? Is he the master of preventing the qualities which render an
object desirable from residing in it? I shall be told, he ought to have learned to resist his
passions; to contract a habit of putting a curb on his desires. I agree to it without any
dif�culty: but in reply, I again ask, Is his nature susceptible of this modi�cation? Does his
boiling blood, his unruly imagination, the igneous �uid that circulates in his veins, permit him
to make, enable him to apply true experience in the moment when it is wanted? And, even
when his temperament has capacitated him, has his education, the examples set before him,
the ideas with which he has been inspired in early life, been suitable to make him contract
this habit of repressing his desires? Have not all these things rather contributed to induce
him to seek with avidity, to make him actually desire those objects which you say he ought to
resist.
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The ambitious man cries out,—You will have me resist my passion, but have they not
unceasingly repeated to me, that rank, honours, power, are the most desirable advantages in
life? Have I not seen my fellow-citizens envy them—the nobles of my country sacri�ce every
thing to obtain them? In the society in which I live, am I not obliged to feel, that if I am
deprived of these advantages, I must expect to languish in contempt, to cringe under the rod
of oppression?
The miser says,—You forbid me to love money, to seek after the means of acquiring it: alas!
does not every thing tell me, that in this world money is the greatest blessing; that it is
amply suf�cient to render me happy? In the country I inhabit, do I not see all my fellow-
citizens covetous of riches? but do I not also witness that they are little scrupulous in the
means of obtaining wealth? As soon as they are enriched by the means which you censure,
are they not cherished, considered, and respected? By what authority, then, do you object to
my amassing treasure? what right have you to prevent my using means, which although you
call them sordid and criminal, I see approved by the sovereign? Will you have me renounce
my happiness?
The voluptuary argues,—You pretend that I should resist my desires; but was I the maker of
my own temperament, which unceasingly invites me to pleasure? You call my pleasures
disgraceful; but in the country in which I live, do I not witness the most dissipated men
enjoying the most distinguished rank? Do I not behold, that no one is ashamed of adultery
but the husband it has outraged? do not I see men making trophies of their debaucheries,
boasting of their libertinism, rewarded, with applause?
The choleric man vociferates,—You advise me to put a curb on my passions; to resist the
desire of avenging myself: but can I conquer my nature? Can I alter the received opinions of
the world? Shall I not be for ever disgraced, infallibly dishonoured in society, if I do not wash
out, in the blood of my fellow-creature, the injuries I have received?
The zealous enthusiast exclaims,—You recommend to me mildness, you advise me to be
tolerant, to be indulgent to the opinions of my fellow-men; but is not my temperament
violent? Do I not ardently love my God? Do they not assure me that zeal is pleasing to him;
that sanguinary inhuman persecutors have been his friends? That those who do not think as
I do are his enemies? I wish to render myself acceptable in his sight, I therefore adopt the
means you reprobate.
In short, the actions of man are never free; they are always the necessary consequence of
his temperament, of the received ideas, of the notions, either true or false, which he has
formed to himself of happiness: of his opinions, strengthened by example, forfeited by
education, consolidated by daily experience. So many crimes are witnessed on the earth,
only because every thing conspires to render man vicious, to make him criminal; very
frequently, the superstitions he has adopted, his government, his education, the examples
set before him, irresistibly drive him on to evil: under these circumstances morality
preaches virtue to him in vain. In those societies where vice is esteemed, where crime is
crowned, where venality is constantly recompenced, where the most dreadful disorders are
punished, only in those who are too weak to enjoy the privilege of committing them with
impunity; the practice of virtue is considered nothing more than a painful sacri�ce of
fancied happiness. Such societies chastise, in the lower orders, those excesses which they
respect in the higher ranks; and frequently have the injustice to condemn those in penalty of
death, whom public prejudices, maintained by constant example, have rendered criminal.
Man, then, is not a free agent in any one instant of his life; he is necessarily guided in each
step by those advantages, whether real or �ctitious, that he attaches to the objects by which
his passions are roused: these passions themselves are necessary in a being who,
unceasingly tends towards his own happiness; their energy is necessary, since that depends
on his temperament; his temperament is necessary, because it depends on the physical
elements which enter into his composition; the modi�cation of this temperament is
necessary, as it is the infallible result, the inevitable consequence of the impulse he receives
from the incessant action of moral and physical beings.
In despite of these proofs of the want of free-agency in man, so clear to unprejudiced minds,
it will, perhaps, be insisted upon with no small feeling of triumph, that if it be proposed to
any one to move or not to move his hand, an action in the number of those called indifferent,
he evidently appears to be the master of choosing; from which it is concluded, evidence has
been offered of his free-agency. The reply is, this example is perfectly simple; man in
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performing some action which he is resolved on doing, does not by any means prove his
free-agency: the very desire of displaying this quality, excited by the dispute, becomes a
necessary motive which decides his will either for the one or the other of these actions:
what deludes him in this instance, or that which persuades him he is a free agent at this
moment, is, that he does not discern the true motive which sets him in action; which is
neither more nor less than the desire of convincing his opponent: if in the heat of the
dispute he insists and asks, "Am I not the master of throwing myself out of the window?" I
shall answer him, no; that whilst he preserves his reason, there is not even a probability that
the desire of proving his free-agency, will become a motive suf�ciently powerful, to make
him sacri�ce his life to the attempt; if, notwithstanding this, to prove he is a free agent, he
should actually precipitate himself from the window, it would not be a suf�cient warrantry
to conclude he acted freely, but rather that it was the violence of his temperament which
spurred him on to this folly. Madness is a state that depends upon the heat of the blood, not
upon the will. A fanatic or a hero, braves death as necessarily as a more phlegmatic man or a
coward �ies from it. There is, in point of fact, no difference between the man who is cast out
of the window by another, and the man who throws himself out of it, except that the impulse
in the �rst instance comes immediately from without, whilst that which determines the fall
in the second case, springs from within his own peculiar machine, having its more remote
cause also exterior. When Mutius Scaevola held his hand in the �re, he was as much acting
under the in�uence of necessity, caused by interior motives, that urged him to this strange
action, as if his arm had been held by strong men; pride, despair, the desire of braving his
enemy, a wish to astonish him, an anxiety to intimidate him, &c. were the invisible chains
that held his hand bound to the �re. The love of glory, enthusiasm for their country, in like
manner, caused Codrus and Decius to devote themselves for their fellow citizens. The
Indian Calanus and the philosopher Peregrinus were equally obliged to burn themselves, by
the desire of exciting the astonishment of the Grecian assembly.
It is said that free-agency is the absence of those obstacles competent to oppose
themselves to the actions of man, or to the exercise of his faculties: it is pretended that he is
a free agent, whenever, making use of these faculties, he produces the effect he has
proposed to himself. In reply to this reasoning, it is suf�cient to consider that it in no wise
depends upon himself to place or remove the obstacles that either determine or resist him;
the motive that causes his action is no more in his own power than the obstacle that
impedes him, whether this obstacle or motive be within his own machine or exterior of his
person: he is not master of the thought presented to his mind which determines his will; this
thought is excited by some cause independent of himself.
To be undeceived on the system of his free-agency, man has simply to recur to the motive by
which his will is determined, he will always �nd this motive is out of his own controul. It is
said, that in consequence of an idea to which the mind gives birth, man acts freely if he
encounters no obstacle. But the question is, what gives birth to this idea in his brain? has he
the power either to prevent it from presenting itself, or from renewing itself in his brain?
Does not this idea depend either upon objects that strike him exteriorly and in despite of
himself, or upon causes that without his knowledge act within himself and modify his brain?
Can he prevent his eyes, cast without design upon any object whatever, from giving him an
idea of this object, from moving his brain? He is not more master of the obstacles; they are
the necessary effects of either interior or exterior causes, which always act according to
their given properties. A man insults a coward, who is necessarily irritated against his
insulter, but his will cannot vanquish the obstacle that cowardice places to the object of his
desire, which is, to resent the insult; because his natural conformation, which does not
depend upon himself, prevents his having courage. In this case the coward is insulted in
despite of himself, and against his will is obliged patiently to brook the insult he has
received.
The partizans of the system of free-agency appear ever to have confounded constraint with
necessity. Man believes he acts as a free agent, every time he does not see any thing that
places obstacles to his actions; he does not perceive that the motive which causes him to
will is always necessary, is ever independent of himself. A prisoner loaded with chains is
compelled to remain in prison, but he is not a free agent, he is not able to resist the desire to
emancipate himself; his chains prevent him from acting, but they do not prevent him from
willing; he would save himself if they would loose his fetters, but he would not save himself
as a free agent, fear or the idea of punishment would be suf�cient motives for his action.
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Man may therefore cease to be restrained, without, for that reason, becoming a free agent:
in whatever manner he acts, he will act necessarily; according to motives by which he shall
be determined. He may be compared to a heavy body, that �nds itself arrested in its descent
by any obstacle whatever: take away this obstacle, it will gravitate or continue to fall; but
who shall say this dense body is free to fall or not? Is not its descent the necessary effect of
its own speci�c gravity? The virtuous Socrates submitted to the laws of his country,
although they were unjust; notwithstanding the doors of his gaol were left open to him he
would not save himself; but in this he did not act as a free agent; the invisible chains of
opinion, the secret love of decorum, the inward respect for the laws, even when they were
iniquitous, the fear of tarnishing his glory, kept him in his prison: they were motives
suf�ciently powerful, with this enthusiast for virtue, to induce him to wait death with
tranquillity; it was not in his power to save himself, because he could �nd no potential
motive to bring him to depart, even for an instant, from those principles to which his mind
was accustomed.
Man, says he, frequently acts against his inclination, from whence he has falsely concluded
he is a free agent; when he appears to act contrary to his inclination, he is determined to it
by some motive suf�ciently ef�cacious to vanquish this inclination. A sick man, with a view
to his cure, arrives at conquering his repugnance to the most disgusting remedies: the fear
of pain, the dread of death, then become necessary and intelligent motives; consequently,
this sick man cannot be said, with truth, by any means, to act freely.
When it is said, that man is not a free agent, it is not pretended to compare him to a body
moved by a simple impulsive cause: he contains within himself causes inherent to his
existence; he is moved by an interior organ, which has its own peculiar laws; which is itself
necessarily determined, in consequence of ideas formed from perceptions, resulting from
sensations, which it receives from exterior objects. As the mechanism of these sensations, of
these perceptions, and the manner they engrave ideas on the brain of man, are not known to
him, because he is unable to unravel all these motions; because he cannot perceive the chain
of operations in his soul, or the motive-principle that acts within him, he supposes himself a
free agent; which, literally translated, signi�es that he moves himself by himself; that he
determines himself without cause; when he rather ought to say, he is ignorant how or for
why he acts in the manner he does. It is true the soul enjoys an activity peculiar to itself, but
it is equally certain that this activity would never be displayed if some motive or some cause
did not put it in a condition to exercise itself, at least it will not be pretended that the soul is
able either to love or to hate without being moved, without knowing the objects, without
having some idea of their qualities. Gunpowder has unquestionably a particular activity, but
this activity will never display itself, unless �re be applied to it; this, however, immediately
sets in motion.
It is the great complication of motion in man, it is the variety of his action, it is the
multiplicity of causes that move him, whether simultaneously or in continual succession,
that persuades him he is a free agent: if all his motions were simple, if the causes that move
him did not confound themselves with each other, if they were distinct, if his machine was
less complicated, he would perceive that all his actions were necessary, because he would
be enabled to recur instantly to the cause that made him act. A man who should be always
obliged to go towards the west would always go on that side, but he would feel extremely
well, that in so going he was not a free agent: if he had another sense, as his actions or his
motion augmented by a sixth would be still more varied, much more complicated, he would
believe himself still more a free agent than he does with his �ve senses.
It is, then, for want of recurring to the causes that move him, for want of being able to
analyse, from not being competent to decompose the complicated motion of his machine,
that man believes himself a free agent; it is only upon his own ignorance that he founds the
profound yet deceitful notion he has of his free-agency, that he builds those opinions which
he brings forward as a striking proof of his pretended freedom of action. If, for a short time,
each man was willing to examine his own peculiar actions, to search out their true motives,
to discover their concatenation, he would remain convinced that the sentiment he has of his
natural free-agency is a chimera that must speedily be destroyed by experience.
Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that the multiplicity, the diversity of the causes
which continually act upon man, frequently without even his knowledge, render it
impossible, or at least extremely dif�cult, for him to recur to the true principles of his own
peculiar actions, much less the actions of others; they frequently depend upon causes so
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fugitive, so remote from their effects, and which, super�cially examined, appear to have so
little analogy, so slender a relation with them, that it requires singular sagacity to bring them
into light. This is what renders the study of the moral man a task of such dif�culty; this is the
reason why his heart is an abyss, of which it is frequently impossible for him to fathom the
depth. He is, then, obliged to content himself with a knowledge of the general and necessary
laws by which the human heart is regulated; for the individuals of his own species these laws
are pretty nearly the same, they vary only in consequence of the organization that is
peculiar to each, and of the modi�cation it undergoes; this, however, is not, cannot be
rigorously the same in any two. It suf�ces to know that by his essence man tends to
conserve himself, to render his existence happy: this granted, whatever may be his actions, if
he recurs back to this �rst principle, to this general, this necessary tendency of his will, he
never can be deceived with regard to his motives. Man, without doubt, for want of
cultivating reason, being destitute of experience, frequently deceives himself upon the
means of arriving at this end; sometimes the means he employs are unpleasant to his
fellows, because they are prejudicial to their interests; or else those of which he avails
himself appear irrational, because they remove him from the end to which he would
approximate: but whatever may be these means, they have always necessarily and
invariably for object, either an existing or imaginary happiness; are directed to preserve
himself in a state analogous to his mode of existence, to his manner of feeling, to his way of
thinking; whether durable or transitory. It is from having mistaken this truth, that the
greater number of moral philosophers have made rather the romance, than the history of
the human heart; they have attributed the actions of man to �ctitious causes; at least they
have not sought out the necessary motives of his conduct. Politicians and legislators have
been in the same state of ignorance; or else impostors have found it much shorter to employ
imaginary motive-powers, than those which really have existence: they have rather chosen
to make man wander out of his way, to make him tremble under incommodious phantoms,
than guide him to virtue by the direct road to happiness; notwithstanding the conformity of
the latter with the natural desires of his heart. So true it is, that error can never possibly be
useful, to the human species.
Libertarianism: Defense of Free Will
Introduction
Libertarians believe:
We do have free will
Free will is not compatible with determinism
Determinism is therefore false
In "Freedom and Determinism" Richard Taylor (1919-2003) defends libertarianism. He gives a set of arguments
against soft determinism and indeterminism, and advocates for his own theory, “theory of agency.”
Taylor advocates for the concept of self-determinism: free acts must be those caused by the agent themselves as a
‘whole being’. This might seem like an odd exception when most of the events of the natural world seem to follow
predictable, natural laws, but it �ts how we understand our normal day-to-day experience.
Taylor gives an argument against soft determinism: even internally caused actions must have prior causes too, of
the sort that are determined, so soft determinism really just collapses into hard determinism (all acts are
determined). So Taylor does not believe in soft determinism, saying that a person's action was free implies that he or
she could have acted otherwise.
Taylor also provides an argument against indeterminism: acts from chance would be totally random and out of
anyone or anything’s control. This is at odds with our ordinary notion of responsibility.
Taylor believes that our actions are free. In his "theory of agency" free actions are those caused by the person
(agent). A free action is not caused by something within the person (desire) but by the person as a whole.
What does it mean to choose as a “Whole Being”?
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Notice that it logically follows from Taylor’s concept of the whole being that we can be, and we are, morally
responsible for what we do.
Problems for Taylor’s view:
Many people, including many libertarians, �nd the notion of "agent causation" far too mysterious and
problematic. It requires agents to be the uncaused cause of their actions, to be “prime movers unmoved.”
When we do think of examples in which we are in�uenced or coerced to do something, it seems that we are
being moved, i.e., not choosing freely.
Advertising and propaganda use persuasive techniques to get people to believe or to do something. If the
individual is moved to believe or act because of the manipulative techniques used this seems to reduce their
free will choosing. The result is that the individual may believe or act in a manner that is against their best
interests. This is the tactic used by demagogues in all ages.
Libertarian Freedom Reason to Reject Determinism
Direct Link - https://youtu.be/d-RucCEPs3o
Questions to Consider
As you read, consider the following questions:
Richard Taylor argues that soft determinists believe they can act freely, given a
certain set of conditions. What are these conditions?
According to Richard Taylor, freedom involves being an agent and being someone
who can be a cause of what?
Making Connections
In Taylor, the issue of “cause” is problematic, so much so that he prefers to say that free agents can “originate, initiate, or perform acts.” How does this compare to Hume in Unit 3 and his skepticism about the self and about causes without direct impressions?
In the �rst sections of this reading, Taylor is arguing against soft determinism and against determinism using counterexamples. Based on what we studied about Logic in Unit 1, are his arguments convincing?
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Libertarianism: Defense of Free Will
Richard Taylor
Source: Pojman, Louis P. ed. Introduction to Philosophy: Classical and Contemporary Readings 3rd Ed. New York: Oxford
University Press. 2004.
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Soft Determinism
All versions of this theory have in common three claims, by means of which, it is naively supposed, a reconciliation is
achieved between determinism and freedom. Freedom being, furthermore, a condition of moral responsibility and
the only condition that metaphysics seriously questions, it is supposed by the partisans of this view that
determinism is perfectly compatible with such responsibility. This, no doubt, accounts for its great appeal and wide
acceptance, even by some men of considerable learning.
The three claims of soft determinism are (1) that the thesis of determinism is true, and that accordingly all human
behavior, voluntary or other, like the behavior of all other things, arises from antecedent conditions, given which no
other behavior is possible—in short, that all human behavior is caused and determined; (2) that voluntary behavior
is nonetheless free to the extent that it is not externally constrained or impeded; and (3) that, in the absence of such
obstacles and constraints, the causes of voluntary behavior are certain states, events, or conditions within the agent
himself; namely, his own acts of will or volitions, choices, decisions, desires, and so on.
Thus, on this view, I am free, and therefore sometimes responsible for what I do, provided nothing prevents me from
acting according to my own choice, desire, or volition, or constrains me to act otherwise. There may, to be sure, be
other conditions for my responsibility—such as, for example, an understanding of the probable consequences of my
behavior, and that sort of thing—but absence of constraint or impediment is, at least, one such condition. And, it is
claimed, it is a condition that is compatible with the supposition that my behavior is caused—for it is, by hypothesis,
caused by my own inner choices, desires, and volitions.
Compare Taylor’s example of “imagine my right arm is free” with Descartes and mind-body dualism.
Check Your Answer
For Richard Taylor soft determinism makes three claims, one of which is:
(a) Despite the appearance of freedom, all is secretly determined.
(b) Free choices are an illusion.
(c) voluntary behavior is nonetheless free to the extent that it is not externally constrained or impeded;
(d) voluntary behavior is rarely free, and never unconstrained.
he correct answer is (c) voluntary behavior is nonetheless free to the extent that it is not externally
constrained or impeded.
that voluntary behavior is nonetheless free to the extent that it is not externally constrained or impeded;
Check Your Answer
Richard Taylor sees freedom in soft determinism as meaning:
Test Your Knowledge
Test Your Knowledge
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The Refutation of This
The theory of soft determinism looks good at �rst—so good that it has for generations been solemnly taught from
numberless philosophical chairs and implanted in the minds of students as sound philosophy—but no great acumen
is needed to discover that far from solving any problem, it only camou�ages it. My free actions are those unimpeded
and unconstrained motions that arise from my own inner desires, choices, and volitions; let us grant this
provisionally. But now, whence arise those inner states that determine what my body shall do? Are they within my
control or not? Having made my choice or decision and acted upon it, could I have chosen otherwise or not?
Here the determinist, hoping to surrender nothing and yet to avoid the problem implied in that question, bids us not
to ask it; the question itself, he announces, is without meaning. For to say that I could have done otherwise, he says,
means only that I would have done otherwise if those inner states that determined my action had been different; if,
that is, I had decided or chosen differently. To ask, accordingly, whether I could have chosen or decided differently is
only to ask whether, had I decided to decide differently or chosen to choose differently, or willed to will differently, I
would have decided or chosen or willed differently. And this, of course, is unintelligible nonsense.
But it is not nonsense to ask whether the causes of my actions—my own inner choices, decisions, and desires—are
themselves caused. And of course they are, if determinism is true, for on that thesis everything is caused and
determined. And if they are, then we cannot avoid concluding that, given the causal conditions of those inner states,
I could not have decided, willed, chosen, or desired otherwise than I in fact did, for this is a logical consequence of
the very de�nition of determinism. Of course we can still say that, if the causes of those inner states, whatever they
were, had been different, then their effects, those inner states themselves, would have been different, and that in
this hypothetical sense I could have decided, chosen, willed, or desired differently—but that only pushes our
problem back still another step. For we will then want to know whether the causes of those inner states were within
my control; and so on, ad in�nitum. We are, at each step, permitted to say "could have been otherwise" only in a
provisional sense—provided, that is, something else had been different—but must then retract it and replace it with
"could not have been otherwise" as soon as we discover, as we must at each step, that whatever would have to have
been different could not have been different.
(a) One is never truly free.
(b) One is always fully free.
(c) One is free unless constrained.
(d) One is occasionally the victim of freedom.
The correct answer is (c) One is free unless constrained.
that voluntary behavior is nonetheless free to the extent that it is not externally constrained or impeded;
Check Your Answer
Richard Taylor sees soft determinism, taught widely as truth, as a non-solution that:
(a) Solves everything.
(b) Simply camou�ages the problem.
(c) Opens the door to determinism.
(d) Closes the door to determinism.
The correct answer is (b) Simply camou�ages the problem.
The theory of soft determinism looks good at �rst—so good that it has for generations been solemnly taught
from numberless philosophical chairs and implanted in the minds of students as sound philosophy—but no
great acumen is needed to discover that far from solving any problem, it only camou�ages it.
Test Your Knowledge
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Examples
Such is the dialectic of the problem. The easiest way to see the shadowy quality of soft determinism, however, is by
means of examples.
Let us suppose that my body is moving in various ways, that these motions are not externally constrained or
impeded, and that they are all exactly in accordance with my own desires, choices, or acts of will and whatnot. When
I will that my arm should move in a certain way, I �nd it moving in that way, unobstructed and unconstrained. When I
will to speak, my lips and tongue move, unobstructed and unconstrained, in a manner suitable to the formation of
the words I choose to utter. Now given that this is a correct description of my behavior, namely, that it consists of
the unconstrained and unimpeded motions of my body in response to my own volitions, then it follows that my
behavior is free, on the soft determinist's de�nition of "free." It follows further that I am responsible for that
behavior; or at least, that if I am not, it is not from any lack of freedom on my part.
But if the ful�llment of these conditions renders my behavior free—that is to say, if my behavior satis�es the
conditions of free action set forth in the theory of soft determinism—then my behavior will be no less free if we
assume further conditions that are perfectly consistent with those already satis�ed. We suppose further,
accordingly, that while my behavior is entirely in accordance with my own volitions, and thus "free" in terms of the
conception of freedom we are examining, my volitions themselves are caused. To make this graphic, we can suppose
that an ingenious physiologist can induce in me any volition he pleases, simply by pushing various buttons on an
instrument to which, let us suppose, I am attached by numerous wires. All the volitions I have in that situation are,
accordingly, precisely the ones he gives me. By pushing one button, he evokes in me the volition to raise my hand;
and my hand, being unimpeded, rises in response to that volition. By pushing another, he induces the volition in me
to kick, and my foot, being unimpeded, kicks in response to that volition. We can even suppose that the physiologist
puts a ri�e in my hands, aims it at some passerby, and then, by pushing the proper button, evokes in me the volition
to squeeze my �nger against the trigger, whereupon the passerby falls dead of a bullet wound.
This is the description of a man who is acting in accordance with his inner volitions, a man whose body is unimpeded
and unconstrained in its motions, these motions being the effects of those inner states. It is hardly the description of
a free and responsible agent. It is the perfect description of a puppet. To render a man your puppet, it is not
necessary forcibly to constrain the motions of his limbs, after the fashion that real puppets are moved. A subtler but
no less effective means of making a man your puppet would be to gain complete control of his inner states, and
ensuring, as the theory of soft determinism does ensure, that his body will move in accordance with them.
The example is somewhat unusual, but it is no worse for that. It is perfectly intelligible, and it does appear to refute
the soft determinist's conception of freedom. One might think that, in such a case, the agent should not have
allowed himself to be so rigged in the �rst place, but this is irrelevant; we can suppose that he was not aware that he
was, and was hence unaware of the source of the those inner states that prompted his bodily motions. The example
can, moreover, be modi�ed in perfectly realistic ways, so as to coincide with actual and familiar cases. One can, for
instance, be given a compulsive desire for certain drugs, simply by having them administered to him over a course of
time. Suppose, then, that I do, with neither my knowledge nor consent, thus become a victim of such a desire and act
upon it. Do I act freely, merely by virtue of the fact that I am unimpeded in my quest for drugs? In a sense I do, surely,
but I am hardly free with respect to whether or not I shall use drugs. I never chose to have the desire for them
in�icted upon me.
Nor does it, of course, matter whether the inner states which allegedly prompt all my "free" activity are evoked in
me by another agent or by perfectly impersonal forces. Whether a desire which causes my body to behave in a
certain way is in�icted upon me by another person, for instance, or derived from hereditary factors, or indeed from
anything at all, matters not the least. In any case, if it is in fact the cause of my bodily behavior, I cannot but act in
accordance with it. Wherever it came from, whether from personal or impersonal origins, it was entirely caused or
determined, and not within my control. Indeed, if determinism is true, as the theory of soft determinism holds it to
be, all those inner states which cause my body to behave in whatever ways it behaves must arise from
circumstances that existed before I was born; for the chain of causes and effects is in�nite, and none could have
been the least different, given those that preceded.
Simple Indeterminism
We might at �rst now seem warranted in simply denying determinism, and saying that, insofar as they are free, my
actions are not caused; or that, if they are caused by my own inner states—my own desires, impulses, choices,
volitions, and whatnot—then these, in any case, are not caused. This is a perfectly clear sense in which a man's
action, assuming that it was free, could have been otherwise. If it was uncaused, then, even given the conditions
under which it occurred and all that preceded, some other act was nonetheless possible, and he did not have to do
what he did. Or if his action was the inevitable consequence of his own inner states, and could not have been
otherwise given these, we can nevertheless say that these inner states, being uncaused, could have been otherwise,
and could thereby have produced different actions.
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Only the slightest consideration will show, however, that this simple denial of determinism has not the slightest
plausibility. For let us suppose it is true, and that some of my bodily motions—namely, those that I regard as my free
acts—are not caused at all or, if caused by my own inner states, that these are not caused. We shall thereby avoid
picturing a puppet, to be sure—but only by substituting something even less like a man; for the conception that now
emerges is not that of a free man, but of an erratic and jerking phantom, without any rhyme or reason at all.
Suppose that my right arm is free, according to this conception; that is, that its motions are uncaused. It moves this
way and that from time to time, but nothing causes these motions. Sometimes it moves forth vigorously, sometimes
up, sometimes down, sometimes it just drifts vaguely about—these motions all being wholly free and uncaused.
Manifestly I have nothing to do with them at all; they just happen, and neither I nor anyone can ever tell what this
arm will be doing next. It might seize a club and lay it on the head of the nearest bystander, no less to my
astonishment than his. There will never be any point in asking why these motions occur, or in seeking any
explanation of them, for under the conditions assumed there is no explanation. They just happen, from no causes at
all.
This is no description of free, voluntary, or responsible behavior. Indeed, so far as the motions of my body or its
parts are entirely uncaused, such motions cannot even be ascribed to me as my behavior in the �rst place, since I
have nothing to do with them. The behavior of my arm is just the random motion of a foreign object. Behavior that is
mine must be behavior that is within my control, but motions that occur from no causes are without the control of
anyone. I can have no more to do with, and no more control over, the uncaused motions of my limbs than a gambler
has over the motions of an honest roulette wheel. I can only, like him, idly wait to see what happens.
Nor does it improve things to suppose that my bodily motions are caused by my own inner states, so long as we
suppose these to be wholly uncaused. The result will be the same as before. My arm, for example, will move this way
and that, sometimes up and sometimes down, sometimes vigorously and sometimes just drifting about, always in
response to certain inner states, to be sure. But since these are supposed to be wholly uncaused, it follows that I
have no control over them and hence none over their effects. If my hand lays a club forcefully on the nearest
bystander, we can indeed say that this motion resulted from an inner club-wielding desire of mine; but we must add
that I had nothing to do with that desire, and that it arose, to be followed by its inevitable effect, no less to my
astonishment than to his. Things like this do, alas, sometimes happen. We are all sometimes seized by compulsive
impulses that arise we know not whence and we do sometimes act upon these. But because they are far from being
examples of free, voluntary, and responsible behavior, we need only to learn that behavior was of this sort to
conclude that it was not free, voluntary, or responsible. It was erratic, impulsive, and irresponsible.
Determinism and Simple Indeterminism as Theories
Both determinism and simple indeterminism are loaded with dif�culties, and no one who has thought much on them
can af�rm either of them without some embarrassment. Simple indeterminism has nothing whatever to be said for
it, except that it appears to remove the grossest dif�culties of determinism, only, however, to imply perfect
absurdities of its own. Determinism, on the other hand, is at least initially plausible. Men seem to have a natural
inclination to believe in it; it is, indeed, almost required for the very exercise of practical intelligence. And beyond
this, our experience appears always to con�rm it, so long as we are dealing with everyday facts of common
experience, as distinguished from the esoteric researches of theoretical physics. But determinism, as applied to
human behavior, has implications which few men can casually accept, and they appear to be implications which no
modi�cation of the theory can efface.
Both theories, moreover, appear logically irreconcilable to the two items of data that we set forth at the outset;
namely, (1) that my behavior is sometimes the outcome of my deliberation, and (2) that in these and other cases it is
sometimes up to me what I do. Because these were our data, it is important to see, as must already be quite clear,
that these theories cannot be reconciled to them.
I can deliberate only about my own future actions, and then only if I do not already know what I am going to do. If a
certain nasal tickle warns me that I am about to sneeze, for instance, then I cannot deliberate whether to sneeze or
not; I can only prepare for the impending convulsion. But if determinism is true, then there are always conditions
existing antecedently to everything I do, suf�cient for my doing just that, and such as to render it inevitable. If I can
know what those conditions are and what behavior they are suf�cient to produce, then I can in every such case
know what I am going to do and cannot then deliberate about it.
By itself this only shows, of course, that I can deliberate only in ignorance of the causal conditions of my behavior; it
does not show that such conditions cannot exist. It is odd, however, to suppose that deliberation should be a mere
substitute for clear knowledge. Ignorance is a condition of speculation, inference, and guesswork, which have
nothing whatever to do with deliberation. A prisoner awaiting execution may not know when he is going to die, and
he may even entertain the hope of reprieve, but he cannot deliberate about this. He can only speculate, guess—and
wait.
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Worse yet, however, it now becomes clear that I cannot deliberate about what I am going to do, if it is even possible
for me to �nd out in advance, whether I do in fact �nd out in advance or not. I can deliberate only with the view to
deciding what to do, to making up my mind; and this is impossible if I believe that it could be inferred what I am
going to do, from conditions already existing, even though I have not made that inference myself. If I believe that
what I am going to do has been rendered inevitable by conditions already existing, and could be inferred by anyone
having the requisite sagacity, then I cannot try to decide whether to do it or not, for there is simply nothing left to
decide. I can at best only guess or try to �gure it out myself or, all prognostics failing, I can wait and see; but I cannot
deliberate. I deliberate in order to decide what to do, not to discover what it is that I am going to do. But if
determinism is true, then there are always antecedent conditions suf�cient for everything that I do, and this can
always be inferred by anyone having the requisite sagacity; that is, by anyone having a knowledge of what those
conditions are and what behavior they are suf�cient to produce.
This suggests what in fact seems quite clear, that determinism cannot be reconciled with our second datum either,
to the effect that it is sometimes up to me what I am going to do. For if it is ever really up to me whether to do this
thing or that, then, as we have seen, each alternative course of action must be such that I can do it; not that I can do
it in some abstruse or hypothetical sense of "can"; not that I could do it if only something were true that is not true;
but in the sense that it is then and there within my power to do it. But this is never so, if determinism is true, for on
the very formulation of that theory whatever happens at any time is the only thing that can then happen, given all
that precedes it. It is simply a logical consequence of this that whatever I do at any time is the only thing I can then
do, given the conditions that precede my doing it. Nor does it help in the least to interpose, among the causal
antecedents of my behavior, my own inner states, such as my desires, choices, acts of will, and so on. For even
supposing these to be always involved in voluntary behavior—which is highly doubtful in itself—it is a consequence
of determinism that these, whatever they are at any time, can never be other that what they then are. Every chain of
causes and effects, if determinism is true, is in�nite. This is why it is not now up to me whether I shall a moment
hence be male or female. The conditions determining my sex have existed through my whole life, and even prior to
my life. But if determinism is true, the same holds of anything that I ever am, ever become, or ever do. It matters not
whether we are speaking of the most patent facts of my being, such as my sex; or the most subtle, such as my
feelings, thoughts, desires, or choices. Nothing could be other than it is, given what was; and while we may indeed
say, quite idly, that something—some inner state of mind, for instance— could have been different, had only
something else been different, any consolation of this thought evaporates as soon as we add that whatever would
have to have been different could not have been different.
It is even more obvious that our data cannot be reconciled to the theory of simple indeterminism. I can deliberate
only about my own actions; this is obvious. But the random, uncaused motion of any body whatever, whether it be a
part of my body or not, is no action of mine and nothing that is within my power. I might try to guess what these
motions will be, just as I might try to guess how a roulette wheel will behave, but I cannot deliberate about them or
try to decide what they shall be, simply because these things are not up to me. Whatever is not caused by anything
is not caused by me, and nothing could be more plainly inconsistent with saying that it is nevertheless up to me what
it shall be.
The Theory of Agency
The only conception of action that accords with our data is one according to which men— and perhaps some other
things too—are sometimes, but of course not always, self-determining beings; that is, beings which are sometimes
the causes of their own behavior. In the case of an action that is free, it must be such that it is caused by the agent
who performs it, but such that no antecedent conditions were suf�cient for his performing just that action. In the
case of an action that is both free and rational, it must be such that the agent who performed it did so for some
reason, but this reason cannot have been the cause of it.
Now this conception �ts what men take themselves to be; namely, beings who act, or who are agents, rather than
things that are merely acted upon, and whose behavior is simply the causal consequence of conditions which they
have not wrought. When I believe that I have done something, I do believe that it was I who caused it to be done, I
who made something happen, and not merely something within me, such as one of my own subjective states, which
is not identical with myself. If I believe that something not identical with myself was the cause of my behavior—some
event wholly external to myself, for instance, or even one internal to myself, such as a nerve impulse, volition, or
whatnot—then I cannot regard that behavior as being an act of mine, unless I further believe that I was the cause of
that external or internal event. My pulse, for example, is caused and regulated by certain conditions existing within
me, and not by myself. I do not, accordingly, regard this activity of my body as my action, and would be no more
tempted to do so if I became suddenly conscious within myself of those conditions or impulses that produce it. This
behavior with which I have nothing to do, behavior that is not within my immediate control, behavior that is not only
not free activity, but not even the activity of an agent to begin with; it is nothing but a mechanical re�ex. Had I never
learned that my very life depends on this pulse beat, I would regard it with complete indifference, as something
foreign to me, like the oscillations of a clock pendulum that I idly contemplate.
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Now this conception of activity, and of an agent who is the cause of it, involves two rather strange metaphysical
notions that are never applied elsewhere in nature. The �rst is that of a self or person—for example, a man—who is
not merely a collection of things or events, but a substance and a self-moving being. For on this view it is a man
himself, and not merely some part of him or something within him, that is the cause of his own activity. Now we
certainly do not know that a man is anything more than an assemblage of physical things and processes, which act in
accordance with those laws that describe the behavior of all other physical things and processes. Even though a
man is a living being, of enormous complexity, there is nothing, apart from the requirements of this theory, to
suggest that his behavior is so radically different in its origin from that of other physical objects, or that an
understanding of it must be sought in some metaphysical realm wholly different from that appropriate to the
understanding of non-living things. Second, this conception of activity involves an extraordinary conception of
causation, according to which an agent, which is a substance and not an event, can nevertheless be the cause of an
event. Indeed, if he is a free agent then he can, on this conception, cause an event to occur—namely, some act of his
own—without anything else causing him to do so. This means that an agent is sometimes a cause, without being an
antecedent suf�cient condition; for if I af�rm that I am the cause of some act of mine, then I am plainly not saying
that my very existence is suf�cient for its occurrence, which would be absurd. If I say that my hand causes my pencil
to move, then I am saying that the motion of my hand is, under the other conditions then prevailing, suf�cient for
the motion of the pencil. But if I then say that I cause my hand to move,I am not saying anything remotely like this,
and surely not that the motion of my self is suf�cient for the motion of my arm and hand, since these are the only
things about me that are moving.
This conception of the causation of events by beings or substances that are not events is, in fact, so different from
the usual philosophical conception of a cause that it should not even bear the same name, for "being a cause"
ordinarily just means "being an antecedent suf�cient condition or set of conditions." Instead, then, of speaking of
agents as causing their own acts, it would perhaps be better to use another word entirely, and say, for instance, that
they originate them, initiate them, or simply that they perform them. Now this is on the face of it a dubious
conception of what a man is. Yet it is consistent with our data, re�ecting the presuppositions of deliberation, and
appears to be the only conception that is consistent with them, as determinism and simple indeterminism are not.
The theory of agency avoids the absurdities of simple indeterminism by conceding that human behavior is caused,
while at the same time avoiding the dif�culties of determinism by denying that every chain of causes and effects is
in�nite. Some such causal chains, on this view, have beginnings, and they begin with agents themselves. Moreover, if
we are to suppose that it is sometimes up to me what I do, and understand this in a sense which is not consistent
with determinism, we must suppose that I am an agent or a being who initiates his own actions, sometimes under
conditions which do not determine what action he shall perform. Deliberation becomes, on this view, something
that is not only possible but quite rational, for it does make sense to deliberate about activity that is truly my own
and that depends in its outcome upon me as its author, and not merely upon something more or less esoteric that is
supposed to be intimately associated with me, such as my thoughts, volitions, choices, or whatnot.
Check Your Answer
For Richard Taylor, some of the libertarian solution to indeterminism is in agency, which means:
(a) Agents make and act upon decisions without prior constraints.
(b) Agents need permission to act.
(c) Agents are covert actors in human decision making.
(d) Agents make bad decisions, but never in philosophy.
The correct answer is (a) Agents make and act upon decisions without prior constraints.
be such that it is caused by the agent who performs it, but such that no antecedent conditions were suf�cient
for his performing just that action.
Check Your Answer
Richard Taylor's idea of causation is such that it seems to be interfering with freedom so instead of saying that
agents are the causes of their own acts it would be better to say:
(a) Agents are victims of forces beyond their control.
Test Your Knowledge
Test Your Knowledge
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One can hardly af�rm such a theory of agency with complete comfort, however, and wholly without
embarrassment, for the conception of men and their powers which is involved in it is strange indeed, if not
positively mysterious. In fact, one can hardly be blamed here for simply denying our data outright, rather than
embracing this theory to which they do most certainly point. Our data—to the effect that men do sometimes
deliberate before acting, and that when they do, they presuppose among other things that it is up to them what they
are going to do—rest upon nothing more than fairly common consent. These data might simply be illusions. It might
in fact be that no man ever deliberates, but only imagines that he does, that from pure conceit he supposes himself
to be the master of his behavior and the author of his acts. Spinoza has suggested that if a stone, having been
thrown into the air, were suddenly to become conscious, it would suppose itself to be the source of its own motion,
being then conscious of what it was doing but not aware of the real cause of its behavior. Certainly men are
sometimes mistaken in believing that they are behaving as a result of choice deliberately arrived at. A man might,
for example, easily imagine that his embarking upon matrimony is the result of the most careful and rational
deliberation, when in fact the causes, perfectly suf�cient for that behavior, might be of an entirely physiological,
unconscious origin. If it is sometimes false that we deliberate and then act as the result of a decision deliberately
arrived at, even when we suppose it to be true, it might always be false. No one seems able, as we have noted, to
describe deliberation without metaphors, and the conception of a thing's being "within one's power" or "up to him"
seems to defy analysis or de�nition altogether, if taken in a sense which the theory of agency appears to require.
These are, then, dubitable conceptions, despite their being so well implanted in the common sense of mankind.
Indeed, when we turn to the theory of fatalism, we shall �nd formidable metaphysical considerations which appear
to rule them out altogether. Perhaps here, as elsewhere in metaphysics, we should be content with discovering
dif�culties, with seeing what is and what is not consistent with such convictions as we happen to have, and then
drawing such satisfaction as we can from the realization that, no matter where we begin, the world is mysterious
and the men who try to understand it are even more so. This realization can, with some justi�cation, make one feel
wise, even in the full realization of his ignorance.
(b) Agency has never been carefully de�ned.
(c) Agents that do harm are not to be trusted.
(d) Agents originate, initiate, or perform acts.
The correct answer is (d) Agents originate, initiate, or perform acts.
This conception of the causation of events by beings or substances that are not events is, in fact, so different
from the usual philosophical conception of a cause that it should not even bear the same name, for "being a
cause" ordinarily just means "being an antecedent suf�cient condition or set of conditions." Instead, then, of
speaking of agents as causing their own acts, it would perhaps be better to use another word entirely, and say,
for instance, that they originate them, initiate them, or simply that they perform them.
For more study and to test your knowledge, please take the Unit 4 Self Assessment - Determinism and Libertarianism: Opposite Views (not graded).