XXIX
THE WILL IS FREE

 

THE free will of man, my dear sir, is the "Tone attribute that is wholly and distinctly his own. Degrees of consciousness nearing man have something that approaches reason, something even closer to memory, and are possessed of attributes comparable to the five senses. But animal life does not have free will. This is man's peculiar possession. Because of free will man is man."

 

It was not Stephen who spoke. It was the professor. Heretofore the professor's messages had been brief, consisting of occasional comment on this or that statement of Stephen's or on some remark made by Joan or myself. But now, with that ancient obstacle, free will, up for formal consideration, the professor led the discourse.

 

"The will of man," he went on, "is hampered not even by his quality, be it low. It is as free for all men as for one. But for an individual to live up to his quality he must use his will in the gathering of quantity. Not to use the freedom of one's will is to deny one's self of self. Free will constitutes every man's opportunity, permitting him to control the degree of consciousness he attains on graduation.

 

"Take a negro servant of—may I still call it our own South?—uneducated, uncultured, unrefined in his tastes, happy with little, undistressed by the lack of creature comforts, unappreciative even of the fact that he is undistressed. Personally I have known such a one, through the use of his free will, to develop quantity most disproportionate to his quality. I have known men of high quality endowment, with talent, with the world's wealth and the attainments that such wealth could command; and I have known these men to go through the entire span of their earth existence and by the use of their own free will develop not one-tenth of the actual quantity that some old Southern uncle had gathered unto himself.

 

"Do not make any mistake about the freedom of man's will. It is his to use, and use develops it, just as exercise develops the muscles of one's body. Disuse deadens it. And as to the purpose of free will make no mistake. For it is only as the free will carries out the behests of that still, small voice, man's quality of consciousness, that the lessons of earth are finished, the book closed, and a wider world a greater freedom and more perfect understanding attained upon graduation."

 

After a moment of silence the professor asked if I had ever studied James's psychology. And when I answered that I had skimmed through it in school he asked, "Where is the book?"

"My copy disappeared long ago," I answered. "Joan has a copy, but—"

"Look behind Moliere," said the professor.

“I want you to read me James's definition of will. We shall see if one who is a dead man can improve on it."

 

I found the book—as the professor had suggested—hidden behind the Moliere volumes. I was surprised. Some months before, in order to make shelf-room, I had packed the few college texts Joan and I had kept, in a box for storage. I was sure I had put the James text in that box.

 

I signaled Joan for interruption of the communication.

 

"Where is your copy of James's psychology? I asked, keeping the book from her view.

"I am sure I don't know," Joan answered.

"Is it in the box I packed for storage?"

"Probably," she said, "though I don't know just what books

you put into that box."

"Do you remember putting the psychology behind Moliere?"

No," replied Joan. "But why do you think I did?"

 

When I related what had happened Joan said she might have placed the James book behind the others. She could not remember having done so, yet she was unable to say positively that she had not.

 

The incident of the professor's apparent knowledge of the whereabouts of Joan's copy of James's psychology furnishes an excellent illustration of the possibility, if not the definite actuality, of subconscious memory assuming the guise of spiritistic communication. I should quote here., however, a remark once made by Stephen. He said: "During mental communication I have access to Joan's subconscious knowledge. You might vaguely mention to me a fact with which I was unfamiliar; if Joan knew of the details of that fact she could inform me of them."

 

When communication was resumed the professor repeated his request that I read him James's definition of will. I read the following:

 

"Desire, wish, will, are states of mind everybody knows, and which no definition can make plainer. We desire to feel, to have, to do, all sorts of things which at the moment are not felt, had, or done. If with the desire there goes a sense that attainment is not possible, we simply wish; but if we believe that the end is in our power, we will that the desired feeling, having, or doing shall be real; and real it presently becomes, either immediately upon the willing or after certain preliminaries have been fulfilled."

 

"Well," said the professor, "I think that is a pretty comprehensive assertion, even according to my wider knowledge. I would add that the will of man is the highest servant of both his mind and soul. Superior to reason, it is the active manifestation of the voice of his quality. Metaphysically, it is the visible, outward sign of his innermost invisible thought; ethically, it results in what is known as morality; practically, it is the achievement of high quantity."

 

"But," I said, "our choice frequently seems determined for us. It appears that we do many things not out of the freedom of our will, but as effect of causes over which we have no control."

 

"Do you remember," the professor replied, "how in seeking to understand the pluralistic nature of the oneness of consciousness you found solution of your difficulties in the thought that experience is broader than reason? Experience likewise testifies to the freedom of man's will. Every man feels that his will is free. Face him with alternatives and bid him choose. He will admit that his choice is influenced by factors external to himself, and by his past and his hopes for the future. Yet he feels always that actual decision rests simply with himself."

 

"But," I said, "if free will is a fact, certainly reason can be made to see it as such."

 

"Evolution," the professor answered, "when considered in the light of Stephen's law of parallels, makes free will clear even to reason. Take chemical affinity. The action of one chemical on another is absolutely determined, yet it is action. Now take an infinitely low form of life the ameba. So closely is the ameba related to mere chemical reaction that its agency seems quite chemical. Yet science recognizes it as more than simply are action; it is life. Go up the scale of life now. More and more the living thing differentiates itself from chemical activity until at last instinct, a really understandable parallel to man's will, is reached. And then, especially in the domestic animals, we find instinct of a still higher order, yet it is not will; the stray dog pauses at a corner, then takes the route home, led by instinct and a form of memory that amounts almost to reason. The dog wills not. At last man is reached.

 

"What is the difference between the instinct which leads the dog to act and the will that prompts the action of a man? Is it not apparent that the dog's urge is conditional, not so conditional as chemical reaction, yet responsive for the most part only to stimuli, while man's will, far from being prodded into activity, is spontaneous, possessed of an actual freedom.

 

"Freedom, in other words, is evolved by consciousness out of that which was less than freedom, and thereby consciousness becomes man. Deny the freedom of a man's will and immediately you have denied man's very being. Man, in truth, can be defined only in terms of free will. He is the free­will degree of consciousness.

 

"But not always does man's will choose wisely. The animal following its instinct seldom errs; a chemical reaction never errs. Not always does man's reason guide his will correctly. It is not his will that fails of freedom, but his reason that fails of wisdom."

 

When the professor had finished Stephen came and said:

 

"It is because your wills are free that fortune-telling is futile. Except as I judge of your quality I do not know what you, in the freedom of your own will, will do to-morrow."

 

"But," I asked, "doesn't supremacy know all?"

 

"You can study the causes at work in a given situation," Stephen answered, "and with more or less accuracy predict the effect that will result from those causes. So do we here, though our more complete knowledge gives us greater accuracy of foresight. And as we approach supremacy, as the causes and their relations one with another become clearer, farther and farther we are able to foresee. It is not otherwise on earth; the quality that is high anticipates the happening that the quality that is low cannot see until it has actually developed. In supremacy the scroll is quite unrolled. Knowing all, supremacy can foresee all. But even supremacy's knowledge of the 'will­be' is founded on understanding of the 'was' and 'is.' The parallel between prevision on my plane and on yours holds even in the supreme degree.