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stolen venison, Shakespeare went to London | new light over the history of Shakespeare's in 1581; and Mr. Halliwell thinks that he mind, and the development of his opinions. have been an actor in 1582. It would We have already seen Nash referring Shakebe quite consonant with tradition to suppose speare to English Seneca for such sentences that he began his career of author, as well as "blood is a beggar." Those who are acas his career of player, as a young malcon- quainted with the history of the times know tent, in opposition both to the laws and to of the persistent policy by which the Tudors the governors of his country. sought to depress and impoverish the old nobility, and raise up rivals against them in new men, and of the opposition which this policy aroused in men of various tendencies. Here, then, is one topic, one line of investi gation of Shakespeare's relations with current political ideas, which is calculated to throw much light on the intention of his chronicle plays. Another topic is his relation with the ideas represented by the Earl of Essex and his party. It may safely be said that: the politics of that period can be fully elucidated only by the contemporary criticism of the stage. The two, the fact and the comment, mutually reflect light; and neither history nor literary criticism can dispense with the method which interprets each by the other.

But whatever conclusions we may arrive at in the instance of Pericles, one thing is certain-namely, that the Elizabethan dramatists, and Shakespeare perhaps more than any other of them, give the abstracts and brief chronicles of their own age, translated into and symbolized by the chronicles of other countries and of former times. Herein we have a line of investigation which is wholly unworked, and which promises considerable results. The labours of Shakespearean critics have been chiefly occupied in finding literary correspondences, in tracing the origin of his plots, and discovering the sources of his expressions. The task still remains, to trace his political correspondences and thus to discover his political, and even perhaps his philosophical and religious, affinities. It is only thus that we shall come to understand the true growth and the vital nature of the Elizabethan drama. It was not a fixed manufacture, but a living Proteus, having its home not in printed books but in an alterable manuscript and in the changeful memories of the actors; it was a thing which could be adapted to many purposes, and made to correspond to various occasions, by slight alterations, omissions, and additions. A new prologue might give quite a new drift to old allusions; an intercalated speech, such as Hamlet talks of, might make an innocent play into "mitching mallecho" that means mischief." The play was never finally fixed till it was printed; and even then it was only fixed in what might soon prove an obsolete and antiquated form. Indeed, there are many indications to show that, when the players had finally abandoned an old form of a drama, they handed it over to the printers, in order to make profit of the old form as a pamphlet, while they made profit of the new form as a play. Henslow's diary tells us a good deal of the fact of the adaptation of old plays for new occasions, such as for exhibition at court. It is a problem for the critic, to trace this gradual growth of plays, to find the original matter below the luxuriant after-growth, and to trace the dates and the occasions of the various additions. It is a difficult, but perhaps not wholly impossible task; and any successful solution of the problem, even with regard to a limited number of plays, would shed a

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And such a method requires quite a new way of dealing with the dramas of Shakespeare. Since for many years of his life his authorship was a secret, it follows that the history of his dramas ought to be traced far beyond and behind the first acknowledged and named editions of his plays. It is mere superstition to identify the dates of their printing with those of their first composi tion. In an age when even poems meant only to be read were circulated in manuscript for years before they were printed, it is preposterous to identify the period of the production with that of the printing of a play. The play was seldom printed till it had become obsolete. If the method, in question could be carried out, we should be able to trace the dramatic career of Shakespeare from the first years of his coming to London, from 1581 instead of 1591, and to understand his critical, not practical, relationship to the events of his time, and thence to deduce his position in his own world. The very perfection of his artistic powers has led to a depreciation of his personality. He is regarded rather as a mirror in which nature is perfectly reflected than as a person actuated by the common motives of nature. The ideal usually formed of him is one in which the preference of one thing over another is limited to the most rudimentary platitudes; and it is thought derogatory to his genius to make him an upholder of any principle worth asserting. It would be a good deed to remove him from this Epicurean heaven of moral indifference, and to

show that he took, as a reasoner, a decided | But it is monstrous to suppose that nobody

part in the affairs which engrossed the highest minds of his day.

ART. IV. THE WILL AND FREEWILL.

THERE is no need of many words to prove the exceeding difficulty of the question usually proposed under the term Freedom of the Will. In Great Britain it has attracted more of the attention of philosophers than any other problem in metaphysics; and it is perhaps further than any other from showing signs of approaching settlement. When we review what has been already urged in the course of the controversy, and ask ourselves how the opposed views may be made more intelligible to the opponents, we might easily conclude that nothing now remains to be done, and that the question must be left unanswered, apparently, for ever. At present, the principal combatants seem to be reduced to a blank aye on the one side, and a blank no on the other. We have to consider once more whether it is possible to advance beyond this stage; and, even if it should appear to be impossible, something will be gained by exhibiting the impossibility. It will therefore be my object, not so much to prove the truth of my own opinion, as to ascertain what is the point at issue, and to set forth impartially what has been said on all sides. When that has been done, it will be comparatively easy to state my own view. It would be no small thing to determine the point at issue, and the number of possible doctrines about it, and what these are, and what are the arguments for and against each of them, and what consequences they logically entail upon their adherents. Then it may be hoped that each of us will at least know what it is that he believes, and why he believes it, and who are his opponents, and why they differ from him. This, then, will be the scope of my undertaking:-I. To ascertain the point at issue; II. To examine the arguments commonly alleged; III. To add what I have to say on my own behalf. It will be sufficient for my purpose to refer exclusively to writers of the British Schools.

Not the least puzzling feature in the present inquiry is the fact that the great bulk of the practical men in the world are utterly indifferent to the whole matter. Only one thing seems to be ascertained-that, while the philosophers differ toto cœlo, the world is apathetic or even ignorant of the fact. N-4

VOL. LII.

knows, and that scarcely anybody cares to know, whether his will is bond or free. This is so hard to believe that it rather suggests a trenchant remark, by way of ending the controversy at a blow. Every man, it might be said, has a will of some sort or other, which he exercises all day long in some way or other; and doubtless he knows how this will works, as well as he ever can know anything; therefore you may call it bond or free as you please. Though this will hardly prove the discussion to have been nugatory, yet it is enough to advance us to an important stage in our examination. For it does prove that the real point at issue must have been, not the facts of volition, but something connected with the facts of volition by way of inference. And we accordingly find that speculators have been under an obligation to propose no theory of the will which should tend to alter practice, just as they were bound, in their disputes about the evidence of the senses, to admit beforehand that their conclusions, whatever they might be, would leave the world just as they had found it. The attempt to give a practical issue to speculations about the will has commonly involved the speculator in absurdity. In the last century some so-called Fatalists proposed to abrogate all penal laws, on the ground that it is unjust to punish an involuntary malefactor; as if, said Bishop Butler, the necessity which is supposed to destroy the injustice of the crime would not also destroy the injustice of punishing it. And Priestley, who, following Hartley, seems to have held precisely the same theory of the will with Mr. J. S. Mill, though the former used it to support a conclusion (Optimism) which the latter seems not to accept, speaks with equal wisdom. "I cannot," he says, "as a necessarian (meaning a necessitarian, sneers Boswell, who quotes the passage), "hate any man; because I regard him as being, in all respects, just what God has made him to be, and also as doing, with respect to me, nothing but what he was expressly designed and appointed to do; God being the only cause, and man nothing more than the instrument in his hands to execute all his good pleasure."* Now of course the Fatalist might plead that he had made his absurd proposal by decree of Fate; and Priestley might find some sort of shelter for himself under Philosophical Necessity. But in the eye of common sense, each has mightily the air of a man who is testifying to the freedom of his own will, with which

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*The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated, 1782, p. 124.

stolen venison, Shakespeare went to London in 1581; and Mr. Halliwell thinks that he may have been an actor in 1582. It would be quite consonant with tradition to suppose that he began his career of author, as well as his career of player, as a young malcontent, in opposition both to the laws and to the governors of his country.

new light over the history of Shakespeare's mind, and the development of his opinions. We have already seen Nash referring Shakespeare to English Seneca for such sentences as "blood is a beggar." Those who are acquainted with the history of the times know of the persistent policy by which the Tudors sought to depress and impoverish the old nobility, and raise up rivals against them in new men, and of the opposition which this policy aroused in men of various tendencies. Here, then, is one topic, one line of investigation of Shakespeare's relations with current political ideas, which is calculated to throw much light on the intention of his chronicle plays. Another topic is his relation with the ideas represented by the Earl of Essex and his party. It may safely be said that the politics of that period can be fully elucidated only by the contemporary criticism of the stage. The two, the fact and the comment, mutually reflect light; and neither history nor literary criticism can dispense with the method which interprets each by the other.

But whatever conclusions we may arrive at in the instance of Pericles, one thing is certain—namely, that the Elizabethan dramatists, and Shakespeare perhaps more than any other of them, give the abstracts and brief chronicles of their own age, translated into and symbolized by the chronicles of other countries and of former times. Herein we have a line of investigation which is wholly unworked, and which promises considerable results. The labours of Shakespearean erities have been chiefly occupied in finding literary correspondences, in tracing the origin of his plots, and discovering the sources of his expressions. The task still remains, to trace his political correspondences and thus to discover his political, and even perhaps his philosophical and religious, And such a method requires quite a new affinities. It is only thus that we shall come way of dealing with the dramas of Shaketo understand the true growth and the vital speare. Since for many years of his life his nature of the Elizabethan drama. It was authorship was a secret, it follows that the not a fixed manufacture, but a living Proteus, history of his dramas ought to be traced far having its home not in printed books but in beyond and behind the first acknowledged an alterable manuscript and in the changeful and named editions of his plays. It is mere memories of the actors; it was a thing which superstition to identify the dates of their could be adapted to many purposes, and printing with those of their first composi made to correspond to various occasions, by tion. In an age when even poems meant slight alterations, omissions, and additions. only to be read were circalated in manuA new prologue might give quite a new seript for years before they were printed, it drift to old allusions; an intercalated speech, is preposterous to identify the period of the such as Hamlet talks of, might make an in- production with that of the printing of a nocent play into mitching mallecho" that play. The play was seldom printed till it “means mischief.” The play was never fin- had become obsolete. If the method in ally fixed tili it was printed; and even then question could be carried out, we should be it was only fixed in what might soon prove able to trace the dramatic career of Shakean obsolete and antiquated form. Indeed, speare from the first years of his coming to there are many indications to show that, London, from 1581 instead of 1591, and to when the players had finally abandoned an understand his critical. not practical, relaold form of å drama, they handed it over to tionship to the events of his time, and thence the printers, in order to make profit of the to deduce his position in his own world. old form as a pamphlet, while they made The very perfection of his artistic powers profit of the new forin as a play. Henslow's has led to a depreciation of his personailty. diary tells us a good deal of the fact of the He is regarded rather as a mirror in which adaptation of old plays for new occasions. nature is perfectly reflected than as a person such as for exhibition at court. It is a pro- actuated by the common motives of nature. blem for the criti, to trace this gradual. The ideal usually formed of him is one in growth of plays to find the original matter, which the preference of one thing over anobelow the Taruriant after-growth and to trace ther is limited to the most rudimentary plathe dates and the occasions of the various additions. It is a difficult, but perhaps not wholly impossible task; and any successful solution of the problem, even with regard to Ümited number of plays would shed a

titudes; and it is thought derwatory to his genius to make him an upholder of any principle worth asserting. It will be s good deed to remove him from this Epicurean heaven of moral indifference, and to

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show that he took, as a reasoner, a decided | But it is monstrous to suppose that nobody

part in the affairs which engrossed the highest minds of his day.

ART. IV. THE WILL AND FREEWILL.

THERE is no need of many words to prove the exceeding difficulty of the question usually proposed under the term Freedom of the Will. In Great Britain it has attracted more of the attention of philosophers than any other problem in metaphysics; and it is perhaps further than any other from showing signs of approaching settlement. When we review what has been already urged in the course of the controversy, and ask ourselves how the opposed views may be made more intelligible to the opponents, we might easily conclude that nothing now remains to be done, and that the question must be left unanswered, apparently, for ever. At present, the principal combatants seem to be reduced to a blank aye on the one side, and a blank no on the other. We have to consider once more whether it is possible to advance beyond this stage; and, even if it should appear to be impossible, something will be gained by exhibiting the impossibility. It will therefore be my object, not so much to prove the truth of my own opinion, as to ascertain what is the point at issue, and to set forth impartially what has been said on all sides. When that has been done, it will be comparatively easy to state my own view. It would be no small thing to determine the point at issue, and the number of possible doctrines about it, and what these are, and what are the arguments for and against each of them, and what consequences they logically entail upon their adherents. Then it may be hoped that each of us will at least know what it is that he believes, and why he believes it, and who are his opponents, and why they differ from him. This, then, will be the scope of my undertaking :-I. To ascertain the point at issue; II. To examine the arguments commonly alleged; III. To add what I have to say on my own behalf. It will be sufficient for my purpose to refer exclusively to writers of the British Schools.

Not the least puzzling feature in the present inquiry is the fact that the great bulk of the practical men in the world are utterly indifferent to the whole matter. Only one thing seems to be ascertained-that, while the philosophers differ toto cœlo, the world is apathetic or even ignorant of the fact. N-4

VOL. LII.

knows, and that scarcely anybody cares to know, whether his will is bond or free. This is so hard to believe that it rather suggests a trenchant remark, by way of ending the controversy at a blow. Every man, it might be said, has a will of some sort or other, which he exercises all day long in some way or other; and doubtless he knows how this will works, as well as he ever can know anything; therefore you may call it bond or free as you please. Though this will hardly prove the discussion to have been nugatory, yet it is enough to advance us to an important stage in our examination. For it does prove that the real point at issue must have been, not the facts of volition, but something connected with the facts of volition by way of inference. And we accordingly find that speculators have been under an obligation to propose no theory of the will which should tend to alter practice, just as they were bound, in their disputes about the evidence of the senses, to admit beforehand that their conclusions, whatever they might be, would leave the world just as they had found it. The attempt to give a practical issue to speculations about the will has commonly involved the speculator in absurdity. In the last century some so-called Fatalists proposed to abrogate all penal laws, on the ground that it is unjust to punish an involuntary malefactor; as if, said Bishop Butler, the necessity which is supposed to destroy the injustice of the crime would not also destroy the injustice of punishing it. And Priestley, who, following Hartley, seems to have held precisely the same theory of the will with Mr. J. S. Mill, though the former used it to support a conclusion (Optimism) which the latter seems not to accept, speaks with equal wisdom. "I cannot," he says, as a necessarian" (meaning a necessitarian, sneers Boswell, who quotes the passage), "hate any man; because I regard him as being, in all respects, just what God has made him to be, and also as doing, with respect to me, nothing but what he was expressly designed and appointed to do; God being the only cause, and man nothing more than the instrument in his hands to execute all his good pleasure.' Now of course the Fatalist might plead that he had made his absurd proposal by decree of Fate; and Priestley might find some sort of shelter for himself under Philosophical Necessity. But in the eye of common sense, each has mightily the air of a man who is testifying to the freedom of his own will, with which

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*The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated, 1782, p. 124.

he is well acquainted, and to the bondage of | have been used; for these sometimes refer the will of his neighbour, about which he knows nothing.

A mere question of fact can hardly supply matter for infinite discussion; because the relevant facts must either be such as can be observed, or else such as cannot, and in both cases we have an end in view. Not but what the facts of volition are difficult to observe; because they are acts of the mind which have been so often performed without observation that observation has at length become both irksome and difficult. Long study and patient care are needed in order that the observer may feel assured that his task has been well done and truly remembered; nor is any person fitted to consider the weight of the arguments until he has with much pains acquired a clear knowledge of the facts. Few of the people who have ventured to act as judges have cared to take the necessary trouble; and this goes far to explain why the controversy has always come to nothing. If the facts of volition were as easy of observation as the facts of vision, the theory of the will would perhaps be now in the same state as the theory of optics. But facts accompanying acts of bodily sensation are much more easy both to observe and to remember than facts of purely mental sensation.

Perhaps it may be thought that the conclusion, that the debate was properly not about the facts but about inferences to be drawn from the facts, is so obvious as to need no proof. But it is by no means so obvious as never to have been overlooked. On the contrary, the confusion has been very common; and hence we find such phrases as Freedom of the Will used habitually in two senses. Practical sagacity kept the disputants right in the main; because ambiguity of terms does not produce error unless the same term is used in two senses in the same syllogism, so that the syllogism contains four terms. But it was something added to a load of difficulties, that everybody, so to speak, should have apprehended only dimly what was the matter in dispute, and what the facts of volition had to do with it; though this confusion was not the cause of their failure, and clearness would only have enabled them, not to do what they attempted, but to do by a shorter method what they did-viz. to edify themselves by the statement of their own position, without convincing those who differed from them.

A great deal of light is thrown upon the question, what is the real matter in dispute, and what is its relation to the facts of volition, by considering the double sense in which the terms peculiar to the controversy

directly to the facts of volition, and sometimes to inferences supposed to be drawn from the facts. That the inferences and not the facts were the point at issue, appears from this, that though all parties made much parade of analysing the facts yet they did not rest in the result of their analysis as in an end, but proceeded to use it as a means to impugn or support certain inferences. Little importance was attached to a knowledge of the facts, except by way of an ar gument; and therefore the doctrine which the argument was designed to support was the real aim of their proceeding, rather than the facts from which the argument was drawn. Now these inferences, which I take to be the real issue, were twofold, a philosophical and a theological; and so the controversy has always presented a twofold aspect, with a corresponding twofold method of proceeding. Those who have approached the question from a philosophical point of view have been concerned with the vulgar notion of moral desert: those who have approached it from a theological point of view, have been concerned with the efficacy of Divine Grace. The philosophers have chiefly appealed to facts of observation, and the theologians to facts of revelation; but since there are some doctrines, belonging both to Natural and to Revealed Religion, which have an intimate bearing upon the discussion, there has always been a great tendency to confuse together the two aspects of the question, and the two methods of treating it. And those who have been most successful in keeping to one method and aspect seem to have done so by accident rather than by design, appearing not to know that it was possible to look at the question in any other light than that in which they looked at it themselves. My attempt to treat the matter will be avowedly philosophical; and theolo gical ideas and arguments will enter into it only accidentally, and so far as they are necessary to a complete discussion. Since speculation is empty when pursued with no reference to possible practice, and since the theory of the will is connected, though indirectly, with matters of the gravest practical interest, it would be unwise to pass by theological lines of thought, if they should cross our path, without a hint either of their existence or of their direction. And we should remember that it is solely to its bearing upon theology that the question owes any widely spread interest which it has ever aroused. Yet it is true that the two modes of proceed ing can be to a great extent kept apart, so that it is enough, while pursuing the one, to indicate briefly the nature of the other. What

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