H. P. Grice and G. F. Stout

 

Stout, reader in mental philosophy, Oxford.

Grice cites Stout's reprint of "Voluntary action" in "Philosophy and Psychology". 

 In a paper by Mr. Shand on "Attention and the Will",  read in the first instance before the Aristotelian Society,  and afterwards published in Mind? it is maintained that  what we call a voluntary decision is a unique differentiation  of conative thought. Its uniqueness is, according to Mr.  Shand, analogous to that of visual as compared with tactual  or other sensations. His argument is based on an analysis  of involuntary action. Sometimes our bodily organs execute  an action in opposition to our express volition. From this  it follows that mere efficacy in determining bodily move-  ment is no distinctive character of will. If we proceed to  look for other characters, we find none that belong exclu-  sively to will, as compared with the counter-impulses which,  in certain cases of involuntary action, frustrate volition.  Attention, desire, effort are all involved in the voluntary  attitude; but they may all belong as well to the antagonistic  tendency which renders the voluntary attitude abortive. The  theory that an act of will consists in identifying the tendency  to a certain line of action with the self, is true in itself, but  it is not an ultimate explanation. If we inquire what identi-  fication with self means, it turns out that we can define the  self only by reference to a presupposed conception of will.  There is no other mark by which to distinguish a conation  identified with the self from one which is not so identified,  except that the first is a volition, and that the second is not.  Mr. Shand infers that a determination of the will must be  an attitude of mind, having a distinctive quality incapable  of further analysis or description. Mr. Shand's analysis is   1 N. S. Vol. iv. p. 450.  51     52 STUDIES IN PHILOSOPHY AND PSYCHOLOGY n   very acute and methodical; but I am not sure that it is con-  clusive. In this article I propose to put forward an alterna-  tive view which does not appear to me to be open to the  objections urged by Mr, Shand. I shall begin with a general  examination of the nature of voluntary choice, and*I shall  then consider those instances of involuntary action on which  Mr. Shand lays so much stress.   At the outset, we must exclude as irrelevant all con-  sideration of the actual motor efficacy of various conations.  This is a result reached by Mr. Shand through analysis of  special instances, but it is in reality obvious from the nature  of the case. The question as to the nature of a certain mode  of consciousness is quite independent of the question whether  or not this mode of consciousness will be followed by a  certain train of occurrences in the organism and in the  environment. If I will to produce an explosion by applying  a lighted match to gunpowder, my volition is none the less  a volition because in the course of its execution the match  goes out or the powder proves to be damp. Similarly, the  volition is none the less a volition if it turns out that my  muscular apparatus refuses to act, or acts in a way contrary  to my intentions. The connexion between certain modes of  consciousness and corresponding movements of the limbs  adapted to satisfy our desires is a benevolent dispensation  of Providence; but it does not enter into the constitution of  the conscious state which precedes the executive series of  occurrences. When the conscious state is one of volition, it  is indeed necessary that the subject should look forward to  the bodily movements either as practically certain, or at  least as possible. A belief of this kind is an essential ingredi-  ent of the voluntary attitude. But the existence of the belief  is in itself sufficient. Its truth or falsehood is a matter of  indifference. In a precisely analogous way we must, in  determining to produce a gunpowder explosion, assume  that the powder is or may be dry enough to take fire. But  it is by no means necessary that the gunpowder in point of  fact should be dry.   The ground is now cleared for our further advance. \Ve  have merely to analyse the facts of consciousness. We have     ii VOLUNTARY ACTION S3   in no way to consider the conditions under which the execu-  tive apparatus of muscles joined to tendons, etc., is brought  into play. The first question which confronts us is: What is  the difference between that conation which we call a deter-  mination of the will and other conations? We may simplify  the problem, to begin with, by excluding ail modes of cona-  tion which do not include the idea of an end. We may also  exclude all longings after the unattainable. But a conation  which derives its definite character from the idea of an end  as attainable is a desire. We have, then, only to deal with  desires. The question is, how does a desire differ from a  volition? The only answer Mr. Shand can find is that a  desire is a desire, and a volition is a volition. The difference  between them is, according to him, incapable of analysis  in the last resort. I do not agree with this view. I agree  indeed that in volition we have an element which is not  present in desire. This element appears to me to be assign-  able and namable. It consists in a certain kind of judgement  or belief. A volition is a desire qualified and defined by the  judgement that, so far as in us lies, we shall bring about the  attainment of the desired end. Mere longing may be defined  in the floating idea of an end. Mere desire is defined in this  idea together with the problematic judgement that we may  or may not attempt to realise it. A volition, on the other  hand, is a desire defined in the judgement that we are going  to realise an end, if possible. Sometimes the possibility is  simply assumed; sometimes it is made an express condition.  But where the judgement is explicitly conditional, it always  refers to circumstances which are regarded as beyond our  control. The limiting condition may be either indeterminate,  as when we say that we shall do so and so Deo volente.  Perhaps some such indeterminate limitation is always pre-  sent. At any rate it always ought to be present. There is a  story of a man who advertised that his coach would start  D. V. on Wednesday, and whether or not on Thursday. If  we took him at his word, this would be a case of absolute  volition. But it was probably only a case of mental confusion.  Wljere attainment is judged impossible, volition in the full  sense cannot exist. Desire is then defined by a judgement of     54 STUDIES IN PHILOSOPHY AND PSYCHOLOGY n   the form, "I would if I could". This mental attitude seems to  be what is meant by the word wish in ordinary language. A  man who wishes a thing would will it if he had an opportunity.   I do not of course mean to say that a volition is merely  a judgement. My general position is that it is the cognitive  side of our nature which gives determinate character to the  conative. That conation which finds its cognitive definition  in the judgement, "I shall attempt to attain this or that end",  is a volition. Introspective analysis exhibits the conative  tendency as the reason of the judgement as that peculiar  kind of reason which we call a motive.   We have now to inquire whether this account of will ex-  plains its characteristic features. The first point to be con-  sidered is the difference between the state of suspense or  conflict of motives and the state of decision or resolution  which terminates it. The difference certainly does not lie  in any increased intensity of the victorious desire or group  of desires. Nor does it lie in any peculiar vivacity acquired  by the idea of the end to be attained or of the action by  which it is to be attained. The desire may have been more  intensely felt, the idea of the action may have been more  vivid, while the conflict was still going on. The essential  point is, that, with the emergence of volition, the conflict  ceases. There is no longer a struggle of motives. There may  indeed still remain a struggle of another kind, a struggle  against difficulties and obstacles; but these difficulties and  obstacles are regarded as external; there is no longer any  struggle so far as regards our own part in the matter. This  termination of the struggle does not merely mean that one  impulse or group of impulses has turned out to be stronger  than their opponents. They might conceivably manifest  their superior strength without a cessation of conflict. When  two unequal and opposite forces are applied to a particle,  the particle will move in the direction of the stronger force;  but the action of the weaker force still continues to manifest  itself in a diminution of velocity. The triumph of the volun-  tary impulse is not of this kind. In a perfect volition, oppos-  ing impulses are not merely held in check; they are driven  out of the field. If they continue to exist, they do so* as     VOLUNTARY ACTION 55   external obstacles to a volition already formed. They are  no longer motives; they are on the same footing with any  other difficulty in the way of attainment.   Now, on my view, the characteristic difference between  the state of indecision and that of decision, is that in the  first we do not yet know what we are going to do, and that  in the second we do know what we are going to do.  Does this explain why impulses, which in the state of in-  decision appear as motives, in the state of decision either  disappear or appear only as obstacles? It is a rule of formal  logic that two contradictory propositions cannot be both  true. Hence, if we judge that we are going to adopt one  line of conduct, we ipso facto judge that we are not going  to adopt an incompatible line of conduct. The incompatible  lines of conduct are thus placed outside the sphere of de-  liberation. When we know what we are going to do, we can  no longer weigh pros and cons. The die is cast. What were  previously motives cease to be motives. The effect of the  judgement which constitutes volition on opposing impulses  is analogous to that of any other judgement which excludes  the possibility of action. We cannot will to do what we be-  lieve to be impossible. But if we believe that we are going  to adopt one line of conduct, incompatible lines become  pro tanto impossible. Of course, all depends on the strength  of the belief; but this is only saying that the efficiency of a  volition in maintaining itself depends on the strength of  the volition.   It is clear from this why the psychological strength of a  volition, viz., its power to maintain itself, is by no means  measured by the residual strength of the desire which forms  its motive, after the strength of competing desires has been  deducted. But we have still to take into account other cir-  cumstances which give volition a fixity not explicable by  the initial strength of the desire which at the outset formed its  motive. The first of these is the influence which an estab-  lished belief has on the general flow of mental activity. The  judgement that we are going to act in such and such a way  shapes our thoughts and our other volitions into consistency  \Wth itself. Having once decided on reading a paper at the   <     56 STUDIES IN PHILOSOPHY AND PSYCHOLOGY ir   Psychological Congress this year, my thoughts tend to dwell  on the subject I am to discuss. I read books connected with  it. Again, the fact that I am going to read it at a certain  date goes far to regulate the disposal of my time in other  respects. -I do not go abroad at Easter, but take aJholiday  in England. I refuse an invitation for the summer, and so on.  Thus, the judgement that I am going to Munich becomes  a centre round which other judgements group themselves in  systematic unity. It thus becomes more and more inter-  woven with the general body of thought and conation. The  more advanced this process is, the greater fixity does my  volition acquire. To disturb it is to disturb the whole system  of tendencies with which it has become interwoven. In this  way I may commit myself to such an extent that it becomes  impossible to draw back.   Another circumstance which contributes to the fixity of  volition is that it involves identification of a certain line of  conduct with the idea of self. This phrase as ordinarily used  is rather vague, and Mr. Shand has made capital out of its  vagueness. But from my point of view it is definite enough.  When I judge that in so far as in me lies I shall realise a  certain end, the endeavour to realise that end becomes ipso  facto an integral part of the idea of myself. Failure to realise  it is regarded as my failure, my defeat. Thus volition be-  comes strengthened in the face of obstacles by all the com-  bative emotions. These are of varying kinds and of varying  degrees of strength in different individuals; but whatever  tendencies may exist to hold out or struggle against opposi-  tion, merely because it is opposition, are enlisted in the  service of the will, inasmuch as the idea of the line of con-  duct willed is an integral part of the idea of self.   The phrase identification with self may have a deeper  significance. It may refer to the nature of the motives of  voluntary decision, to the nature of the desire which is  regarded as the reason of the judgement that we are going  to act in a given way. This motive may be a comprehensive  tendency which controls the whole course of our lives, and  the counteracting impulses over which it triumphs may be  comparatively special and isolated. The tendency which* is     n VOLUNTARY ACTION 57   the ground of volition may be an essential part of the general  outline of our mental organisation; whereas counter ten-  dencies may be occasional and temporary impulses. The  devoted patriot who rejects a bribe abides by his principles  instead of yielding to temptation. In abiding by his prin-  ciples, he is also said to "maintain his integrity". If he had  yielded to temptation, he would have violated the continuity  and consistency of his existence as a whole; he would have  felt that he had suffered defeat; remorse would have ensued.  In accepting the bribe, he would be aware that his mental  attitude at the moment was not representative of his general  mental attitude. He would only be able to identify the act  with the idea of himself for the time being, not with the  idea of himself as a whole. The volition of the moment  would not be representative of the volition of other moments.  He would have before his eyes a coming time of repentance  or regret. Now, I do not mean that this would be so in all  cases; it sometimes happens that temptation is so over-  whelming, or creeps in so insidiously, that the voice of  principle does not make itself heard at the moment. But  where it does, as it often does, it is clear that the tendency  to preserve the unity and continuity of the self forms a very  strong influence both in determining volition and in giving  it fixity when once it is formed. The certainty that if our  volition is broken and we act in opposition to it we are  likely to rue it all our life after may enable us to turn aside  unhesitatingly from what might otherwise be irresistible  temptations.   The fixity of will is also strengthened, often in a very  high degree, by aversion to the state of irresolution. Sus-  pense is in itself disagreeable; and when we have emerged  from it by a voluntary decision we shrink from lapsing  into it once more. Besides this, prolonged and repeated  indecision is highly detrimental in the general conduct of  life. The man who knows his own mind is far more efficient  than the man who is always wavering. Hence in most per-  sons there is a strong tendency to abide by a resolution  just because it is a resolution. This tendency is greatly  strengthened by social relations. If we are weak and     58 STUDIES IN PHILOSOPHY AND PSYCHOLOGY n   vacillating, no one will depend upon us; we shall be viewed  with a kind of contempt. Mere vanity may go far to give  (ixity to the will.   I have now assigned what I take to be sufficient reasons  why a voluntary determination often has a permanence and  a power of maintaining itself greatly out of proportion to  the relative strength of the original conation which forms  its motive. No doubt my list of reasons could be extended:  but I have probably said enough for present purposes.   We have now to consider the distinction between volun-  tary and involuntary action. In the strictest sense of the  word, an involuntary action is one which takes place in  Dpposition to a voluntary resolution which exists simul-  taneously with it and is not displaced by it. Thus, if I deter-  mine to make a certain stroke at billiards, and if in the  moment of action the muscular apparatus fails me, so as to  give rise to an unintended, jerky movement, my action is  strictly involuntary. But the most interesting case is where  the will is defeated, not by an accidental derangement of  the motor process, but by an antagonistic desire. We have  a typical example of this in the unsuccessful effort to restrain  a reflex movement over which we have normally a sufficient  control.   Suppose a party of soldiers to be climbing a crag in the  dark so as to surprise a castle. Noiselessness is a condition  of success. A sneeze or a cough probably means defeat and  loss of life. Now it is possible to a large extent to restrain  the actions of sneezing or coughing; but if the irritation is  sufficiently intense and persistent, repression only makes  the ultimate outburst more violent. One of the soldiers may  be determined not to sneeze, although the impulse is so  strong as to give him great uneasiness. The sneeze would  be a relief, and the impulse to sneeze is a desire. None the  less, if the impulse prove irresistible, the sneeze is involun-  tary. Now it may be said that in the moment in which the  reflex apparatus is escaping or is about to escape from con-  trol the soldier foresees what is going to happen. It may be  said that he judges that he is about to sneeze, and that  therefore the sneeze ought, on my view of the matter, to be     VOLUNTARY ACTION 59   regarded as voluntary. Here, however, there is a very im-  portant distinction to be made. A voluntary act is one which  takes place in consequence of the judgement that, so far as  in us lies, we shall perform it. The converse is not true.  The act is not voluntary when the judgement that the action  is going to take place arises because the action is already  otherwise determined. In the present instance, the know-  ledge that the reflex impulse is triumphing, or is about to  triumph, is not the condition which causes it to triumph.  The sneeze is merely an external circumstance, on the same  plane with other external circumstances of an unfavourable  kind, such as the inconvenient watchfulness of a sentinel,  or any other accident which might defeat the attempt to  surprise the fortress. We have assumed that the sneeze is in  fact contrary to volition; but we may go further. In such a  case it is impossible to suppose that the soldier could will  the sneeze. His life and his main interests in life depend  on the success of the attempt. There is here an indentifica-  tion of the end in view with the idea of the self, which is  not merely a consequence of volition, but is of such a nature  that it must inevitably determine volition. On the one hand,  we have an isolated and momentary reflex impulse; on the  other, the man's very existence and career is at stake. If we  deduct from the man's mental organisation all the interests  which prompt him not to sneeze, and all the interests inter-  woven with these, we have taken away from him his self as  a whole, including even the possibility of gratifying future  impulses to sneeze. On the other hand, if we suppose the  chance irritation of the mucous membrane to be absent,  it makes scarcely the slightest difference to the man's per-  sonality as a whole. A self can hardly consist in a sneeze.  There is also another case which is peculiarly apt to  give the impression of a weaker motive triumphing over a  stronger, because of an arbitrary interference on the part of  the Ego. It may happen that we are initially merely intro-  spective onlookers at a conflict taking place in our own  mind, and that we then intervene to strengthen one of the  opposing tendencies. Thus I may feel a craving for exercise,  which prompts me to take a walk. This craving is opposed     6O STUDIES IN PHILOSOPHY AND PSYCHOLOGY n   by still stronger tendencies arising from habit and indolence,  which prompt me to sit still and read. These two opposing  sets of motives may at the outset have the field to them-  selves. But I may proceed to reflect on the value of the  opposing tendencies. I then recognise one of them asliealthy  and advantageous, and the other as unhealthy and dis-  advantageous. I accordingly resolve to do what in me lies  to strengthen and develop the motive which from this higher  standpoint I prefer. For attaining this end various means  are at my disposal in various cases. I may call to my mind  reminiscences of past pleasant experiences of muscular  exercise; or I may determine straightway to take a walk  in the belief that the taste for exercise will grow with use.  By these or other means I shall probably succeed sooner  or later in so nursing and fostering a weak tendency as to  make it capable of triumphing through its own strength.  But of course the will to reinforce it is itself determined by  motives which are stronger than opposing motives.   Let us now turn to an example given by Mr. Shand.  "A man may have a morbid craving for drink or opium;  and the ideas which move to its satisfaction may at last  become irresistible." 1 Now there are here three cases to be  considered. In the first place, the morbid craving may be  the motive of a genuine volition, and the action may there-  fore be voluntary at the time at which it takes place. None  the less, it may be maintained that, in a sense, the action is  involuntary. When this is so, a comparison is made between  the totality of interests defeated by indulging in the drink  or opium and the morbid craving itself considered as a  relatively isolated impulse. If the craving were taken away,  the self would still be left. If, on the other hand, all the  interests which are opposed to the indulgence were taken  away, there would be little but the morbid craving itself.  The craving is indeed more than the craving to sneeze;  but it has the same fragmentary and isolated nature, when  compared with the total being of the man, especially when  the man is a Coleridge. Thus the denial that the act is  voluntary may have a good meaning: it may mean that the  1 Mind, N.S. Vol. iv. p. 454-     ii VOLUNTARY ACTION 6 1   volitipn of the moment is discordant with the general voli-  tion of a life-time, so that the intervals between periods of  indulgence are embittered by remorse. It is felt that the  morbid craving, by its isolated intensity, prevents full de-  liberation. There are, it is assumed, in the man's nature a  vast system of conative tendencies, which, if they had found  fair-play, and developed themselves in consciousness, would  have determined volition, even if they did not determine  action. In the second place, the action may take effect before  a voluntary decision has been arrived at. In the midst of  the conflict of motives, one of the opposing impulses may  steal a march on the others, and determine action before  the process of deliberation has worked itself out to a definite  conclusion. We may act before we know what we are going  to do. A man, while still mentally hesitating whether he is  to drink a glass of spirits or not, may find that the morbid  impulse has so vivified the idea of drinking that he is  swallowing the spirits before he has determined whether  to do so or not. The act is then involuntary, because it is  contrary to the volition to suspend action until he has made  up his mind. It is by hypothesis not dependent on the judge-  ment, "I am going to drink". It may also be involuntary in  a deeper sense. It may be that from the constitution of the  man's whole nature he would certainly have willed other-  wise if full deliberation had been possible before action.  In the third place, indulgence in the drink or opium may  be contrary to the man's express volition at the moment.  In this case it is analogous to the involuntary sneeze which  we have already discussed.   The question at issue between determinists and their  opponents is, strictly speaking, not capable of final decision  on psychological grounds. The only clear and definite form  in which the problem can be stated is this: Does volition  always follow the strongest present motives? The deter-  minist assumes that the motive which determines volition  has ipso facto proved itself to be the strongest. The critic of  determinism regards this assumption as a petitio principii.  He Demands some criterion of strength independent of the  actual result in any given case. The challenge is a fair one;     62 STUDIES IN PHILOSOPHY AND PSYCHOLOGY n   but it is very easy for the determinist in answering it to  entrap himself. He may say that strength consists in inten-  sity of impulse or vividness of ideas, or simply in motor  efficacy, however this may arise. It is then easy for the parti-  san of contingent freedom to point out that the will is often  opposed to impulses which are the strongest in the sense  defined. In considering the whole question, it is important  to draw a distinction between the formation of voluntary  decision as the issue of a conflict of motives and the per-  sistence of the decision when once it is formed, in face of  opposing tendencies. The first question, then, is whether  in making up our minds to act or to refrain from acting  we always follow the strongest motive. The strength of the  motive is to be defined independently of the actual outcome  of deliberation. Now, it is clear that the conation which  taken by itself is most intense, or which at the moment can  pass into execution with most facility, sometimes fails to  determine the will. The cases of involuntary action which  we have just discussed are conclusive on this point; but the  strength of a motive may depend on other conditions. It  may depend on the systematic organisation of the mind as  a whole in its conative aspect. On the one hand we may  have a highly generalised and comprehensive tendency  which pervades our whole lives and habitually controls our  special volitions. On the other we may have an isolated and  momentary impulse, such as the tendency to sneeze. The  tendency to sneeze may have more intensity in conscious-  ness, and it may have readier access to the motor apparatus;  but it is not therefore the strongest motive in determining  volition. Its motor efficiency may be so great that it pro-  duces muscular action in opposition to will; but its rela-  tive isolation within the organised unity of the self may make  it quite incapable of becoming the ground of the voluntary  judgement, "I shall act in this or that way so far as in me  lies". Another highly important point is that tendencies  determining volition or largely contributing to determine  it may not be explicitly presented to consciousness as  iiioiives. Their presence may not be discriminated, or, if it  is discriminated, their power may be undervalued; although,     n VOLUNTARY ACTION 63   in fact, they give to the ostensible motive its main force.  Thus a man may suppose he is acting from patriotism, when  he is in reality actuated in a high degree by party spirit.  Subsequent reflection and self-criticism may reveal the  motive which was masked at the time of action. But apart  from this reflective analysis, it will not appear as a deter-  minant of volition; in that case, it is indeed part of the  meaning of the word "I" in the judgement "I choose*', or  "I decide", but it is not explicitly presented as the reason of  the choice or decision. It becomes a motive, not directly,  but indirectly, inasmuch as it is the secret source from  which the explicit motive derives its strength. Now if we  make full allowance for these masked motives, and also for  the strength which a motive may derive from its connexion  with the total mental organisation, it will, I think, be very  difficult for the advocate of contingent freedom to show  that, in forming a resolution, we do not always follow the  strongest motives. The best instances which he can bring  forward are those in which conflicting tendencies appear  to be very evenly balanced, so that the supervening volun-  tary decision looks like an arbitrary interference of the self,  putting a closure on the process of deliberation, and bring-  ing matters to an issue by its own independent action. So  far as his argument here depends on the contrast between  the fixity of a voluntary decision when once formed and  the vacillating struggle of motives before it is formed, he  has, I think, been already answered in this paper. If, on  the other hand, the contention is that opposing tendencies  are sometimes so evenly balanced that the final issue cannot  depend on their relative strength, there does not seem to  be any way of conclusively proving or disproving his  position by special argument in special cases. We must,  of course, take into account the possible presence of masked  motives. We must also lay great stress on aversion to the  state of irresolution, as such. It may be that though we  are at a loss to decide between two courses of action, we  are none the less fully determined not to remain inactive.  Inaction may be obviously worse than either of the alter-  native lines of conduct. We may then choose one of them     64 STUDIES IN PHILOSOPHY AND PSYCHOLOGY n   much in the same way as we take a cigar out of a box,  when it is no matter which we select. Again, many of these  cases of apparently arbitrary decision are due to the re-  flection that one of the groups of opposing impulses owes  its strength largely to temporary conditions to a-passing  mood, or to the circumstances of the moment and that if  we yield to them we shall regret it afterwards.   We have already by implication dealt with the case of a  conflict between a preformed volition and an impulse which  interferes with its execution. Sometimes the impulse upsets  the volition; but in many instances the fact that the volition  is a volition, and not a mere desire, gives it a power and  permanence disproportioned to the strength of its original  motive. A man may have made up his mind to commit a  murder, or to make a confession of his shortcomings before  a public audience. It may be that he would never have made  up his mind to act in such a way in the actual presence of  his innocent victim or of the unsympathetic public; none  the less his resolution may maintain itself at the sticking  point, and be followed by corresponding action, although  it could not have come into being at the actual crisis of  its execution. If I have explained why the fixity of will  should be out of proportion to the relative strength of the  corresponding desire, I have cut the ground from under  the feet of those who make a case for contingent freedom  by referring to hard cases of volition. In all "hard cases of  volition", says James, we feel "as if the line taken when the  rarer and more ideal motives prevail, were the line of greater  resistance, and as if the line of coarser motivation were the  more previous and easy one, even at the very moment when  we refuse to follow it". 1 In general, the superior force of the  tendencies opposed to volition consist in their isolated in-  tensity, or in their readier access to the motor apparatus.  But in any case, the strength referred to is the strength of  desire or impulse, as such, and not the peculiar strength  which belongs to volition because it is volition.   Professor Sidgwick has said that "against the formidable  array of cumulative evidence offered for Determinism there   1 Principles of Psychology, Vol. ii. p. 548.     n VOLUNTARY ACTION 65   is but one opposing argument of real "force; the immediate  affirmation of consciousness in the moment of deliberate  action. And certainly, in the case of actions in which I have  a distinct consciousness of choosing between alternatives  of conduct, one of which I conceive as right or reasonable,  I find it impossible not to think that I can now choose to  do what I so conceive, however strong may be my inclina-  tion to act unreasonably, and however uniformly I may  have yielded to such inclinations in the past.' 11 Sidgwick  does not himself definitely accept this as a valid argument.  He refuses to discuss it because he thinks the psychological  issue is irrelevant to his purpose. Our interest being purely  psychological, we cannot adopt this course. We have to  inquire how this consciousness of freedom arises, and what  support it lends to the argument in favour of contingent  freedom. At the outset we must notice that it is not confined  to the case contemplated by Professor Sidgwick. Wherever  there is full and prolonged deliberation, the subject is, up  to the time when the decision is formed, under the impres-  sion that it is possible for him to choose either of two alterna-  tive courses of action. The reason is, I think, plain. Before  he has decided, he does not know what he is going to do.  This is what his indecision means. He must therefore  regard all the alternative ends which he has in mind as  possible objects of volition. But this obviously constitutes  no argument for contingent freedom. We might as well  argue that the fall of a penny is not causally determined,  because when we throw it we do not know whether head  or tail will turn up. There is, however, a further complica-  tion when one of the courses of action is judged to be  reasonable and opposing courses unreasonable. We here  not merely regard it as possible that the reasonable course  may or may not be chosen; we also affirm that it is what  we ought to choose. And this, I take it, means that it is  what we would choose, if the grounds for it were fully  brought home to us, instead of being arrested in their  development by the impulse of the moment, or by desires  which, if not momentary, are at least comparatively isolated   1 The Methods of Ethics, pp. 55-56.   F     66 STUDIES IN PHILOSOPHY AND PSYCHOLOGY n   in the total organisation of the self. When we say that we  ought to choose a certain course, we mean, I think, that it  would be chosen by an ideal self. The contrast between the  ideal self and the actual self is in the first place a contrast  between the self as a systematic unity and relatively de-  tached tendencies. In the second place, it is a contrast  between an undeveloped and a developed self. The develop-  ment intended is the development of the self as a whole in  the direction at once of more perfect unity and of greater  differentiation. The developed self would recognise itself  as the goal to which the undeveloped self was on the whole  tending. Thus, when we say we ought to pursue a certain  course, we mean that we should actually decide on pursuing  it if we were more completely what we already are. We  mean, therefore, that there is in us a possibility of so decid-  ing.