University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses

Thomas Reid: motives and the anatomy of the mind

(USC Thesis Other)

Thomas Reid: motives and the anatomy of the mind

PDF

Download a page range

Download transcript

Copy asset link

Request this asset

Transcript (if available)

Content THOMAS REID: MOTIVES AND THE ANATOMY OF THE MIND

by

Esther Kroeker

A dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(PHILOSOPHY)

December 2007

Copyright 2007 Esther Kroeker
ii
Table of Contents
Abbreviations ..........................................................................................................iii
Abstract ................................................................................................................... iv
Introduction.............................................................................................................. 1
Chapter 1: The distinction between Animal and Rational Principles of Action.... 13
Chapter 2: Reid vs. Hume: On rational motives. ................................................... 49
I. Reid and Hume on passion and reason....................................................................... 53
II. Hume and Reid on the nature of desires ................................................................... 68
III. Reid’s Pricean account of desires............................................................................ 82
IV. Evaluation of Reid’s understanding of Hume ......................................................... 91
Chapter 3: Active Power, Reason and the Moral Sense....................................... 104
I. Reason and Active Power ........................................................................................ 105
II. The Moral Sense and its relation to Reason and Active Power .............................. 147
Chapter 4: On the Influence of Motives: Two arguments.................................... 161
I. The No-Motive Argument........................................................................................ 162
II. The Strength of Motive Argument.......................................................................... 187
Chapter 5: Explaining our choices: Reid on Motives, Character and Effort ....... 206
I. Motives: all the reason we need ............................................................................... 209
II. Character: a governed tendency to act .................................................................... 220
III. Effort: the heart of the matter ................................................................................ 235
Chapter 6: Reid’s moral sense theory in context ................................................. 253
I. The Moral Sense tradition ........................................................................................ 254
II. Reid and the moral sense tradition.......................................................................... 270
III. Reid’s contribution to the moral sense tradition.................................................... 275
Chapter 7: Reid on the Moral Sense and Moral Perception................................. 295
I. Introduction.............................................................................................................. 295
II. Perception and natural signs ................................................................................... 296
III. The perception of beauty and the internal sense of taste ....................................... 311
III. Moral perception and the moral sense................................................................... 319
Conclusion: Agents and their Motives................................................................. 333
Bibliography......................................................................................................... 352
iii
Abbreviations
Reid’s Works:

AC Thomas Reid on the Animate Creation: Papers Relating to the Life
Sciences, ed. Paul Wood (University Park, Pennsylvania: The Pennsylvania
State University Press, 1995).

COR The Correspondence of Thomas Reid, ed. Paul Wood (University Park, Pa.:
Pennsylvania State University Press, 2002).

EAP Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind, ed. Baruch A. Brody
(Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1969).

EIP Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, ed. Baruch A. Brody
(Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1969).

INQ An Inquiry into the Human Mind: On the Principles of Common Sense, ed.
Derek R. Brookes (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1997).

PE Practical Ethics: Being Lectures and Papers on Natural Religion, Self-
Government, Natural Jurisprudence, and the Law of Nations, ed. Knud
Haakonssen (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1990).

Hume’s Works:
SE Hume’s Second Enquiry: An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals,
ed. Tom L. Beauchamp (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press,
1998).

T A Treatise of Human Nature, ed. L.A. Selby-Bigge and P.H. Nidditch
(Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1978).
iv
Abstract
For Thomas Reid the careful study of the human mind, the anatomy of the
mind, involves the study of all the operations and faculties of the mind. So far,
most of the literature on Reid has focused on perception, the principles of common
sense, and Reid’s account of active power or moral liberty. In my dissertation,
therefore, I examine Reid’s account of motives or principles of action and their
relation to the different faculties of the mind and I situate and evaluate it in the
context of 18
th
century moral philosophy.
The first two chapters deal with the nature of the different kinds of motives.
In the first chapter I try to understand the difference between Reid’s animal and
rational motives. I argue that rational judgments require intention, will and
judgments, not only about present objects but also about ends that we naturally
value. In the second chapter I argue that there is a difference between Hume’s
calm passions and Reid’s rational motives since for Reid the mere conception of
some end, without any feeling necessarily associated, is a desire or principle of
action. In the third chapter, I examine the relation between active power, reason
and the moral sense. I show that active power implies having reasoning abilities.
However, having active power and hence reasoning abilities does not imply that
one has a functioning moral sense.
v
The next two chapters deal with the relation between principles of action
and moral liberty. In chapter four, I examine two arguments Reid uses to argue
that motives function as advice and not as necessary causes. In chapter five, I
defend and evaluate Reid’s possible answer to the problem of explaining the
agent’s choice between motives.
I argue, in chapter six, that Reid is more truly a moral sense theorist than
his predecessors. In chapter seven, I show that moral perception involves the three
different kinds of natural signs and hence it involves but cannot be reduced to
perception by our external senses. I conclude by examining how motives are
related to the self as a whole.
1
Introduction
Although Thomas Reid criticizes and opposes many of David Hume’s
views, both philosophers seem to be motivated in their work by a common interest
and purpose: the anatomy of the mind. In this dissertation I will be focusing on
Reid’s understanding of the mind, and in particular of the principles of action. It is
interesting, however, to notice that Reid’s enterprise is not original. Indeed, in a
moment of reflection over his own goals and purposes Hume shares his deepest
ambitions with his readers:
Two thousand years with such long interruptions, and under such mighty
discouragements are a small space of time to give any tolerable perfection
to the sciences; and perhaps we are still in too early an age of the world to
discover any principles, which will bear the examination of the latest
posterity. For my part, my only hope is, that I may contribute a little to the
advancement of knowledge, by giving in some particulars a different turn
to the speculations of philosophers, and pointing out to them more
distinctly those subjects, where alone they can expect assurance and
conviction. Human Nature is the only science of man; and yet has been
hitherto the most neglected. ‘T will be sufficient for me, if I can bring it a
little more into fashion; and the hope of this serves to compose my temper
from that spleen, and invigorate it from that indolence, which sometimes
prevail upon me (T 273).

In order to further this science of man, Hume effectuates an anatomy of Human
Nature:
Tis now time to return to a more close examination of our subject, and to
proceed in the accurate anatomy of human nature, having fully explain’d
the nature of our judgment and understanding (T 263).

2
Like Hume, Reid is interested in the science of man and he follows similar
procedures. Indeed, Hume starts by examining the understanding and he then turns
to the passions and ends with a discussion of morals. In his published works, Reid
also starts by examining the intellectual powers of man, and especially his ability
to perceive, judge and believe. After the dissection of the intellectual faculties,
Reid turns to a discussion of the agent’s motives and active power and he ends
with his thoughts about morality. His purposes are similar to Hume’s: to operate
upon the mind. He writes in one of his earliest works that
“there is but one way to the knowledge of nature’s works; the way of
observation and experiment” (Inquiry 11)
“All that we know of the body, is owing to anatomical dissection and
observation, and it must be by an anatomy of the mind that we can discover
its powers and principles” (Inquiry 12).

Reid thus considers himself as a successor to Hume’s anatomical project.
Like Hume, Reid is interested with human nature as it is related to our
actions.
1
He writes:
A just knowledge of our powers, whether intellectual or active, is so far of
real importance to us, as it aids us in the exercise of them. And every man
must acknowledge, that to act properly, is much more valuable than to
think justly or reason acutely (EAP 3).

Man is an active being and hence has certain powers of action and not merely
powers of thought. And for Reid, these powers seem to serve a certain purpose.

1
Hume is interested in similar issues. He writes: “I cannot forbear having a curiosity to be
acquainted with the principles of moral good and evil, the nature and foundation of government,
and the cause of those several passions and inclinations, which actuate and govern me” (Treatise
270-271).
3
What is distinctive about Reid’s views is that they are motivated by a
search for purposes. Reid observes that all of creation seems to be purposeful.
Objects in nature follow laws of nature that bring about a certain order. In this
order, life is possible at all degrees. The material parts of vegetables and of
animals serve a purpose of growth and preservation, and these principles also
follow certain orderly laws of nature. In this order, human beings are able to
survive, live and thrive. The bodies of human beings themselves are made up of
parts that serve different purposes like growth, survival, interaction with the world,
etc. Finally, the mind has different faculties which seem to serve a purpose. Man
has faculties by which he can perceive and judge but also by which he can evaluate
and form his own plans and purposes. In this purposeful universe, to understand
the mind is to understand why man exists, and which purposes he was intended to
pursue. It is here that an examination of liberty and of the different principles of
action has its place. Indeed, Reid writes the following:
“It is evidently the intention of our Maker, that man should be an active,
and not merely a speculative being. For this purpose, certain active powers
have been given him, limited in many respects, but suited to his rank and
place in the creation.
Our business is to manage these powers, by proposing to ourselves the best
ends, planning the most proper system of conduct that is in our power, and
executing it with industry and zeal. This is true wisdom; this is the very
intention of our being” (EAP 1).

Reid’s life project was to understand nature in general. In the Essays on the Active
Powers of the Human Mind, his last published work, his focus is on the mind’s
power to act and to act as it was intended to act. Man’s intention seems to be to
4
further God’s intentions. Hence, man is given power to act, liberty, and faculties
that allow him to act well, according to the best ends or motives. Hence Reid
writes:
“We have reason therefore to think, that to every being to whom God has
given any degree of active power, he has also given some principles of
action, for the direction of that power to the end for which it was intended”
(EAP 64).

In light of Reid’s project, I will, in this dissertation, examine Reid’s
account of the different principles of action. By understanding the different kinds
of motives, their role and relation to the different faculties of the human mind, I
hope to bring to light Reid’s understanding of the structure of the human self.
Although the self is an immaterial substance, it has powers, attributes and qualities
that may be studied and examined.
2
And motives are related to all aspects of the

2
I have no doubts about the fact that one of Reid’s main objectives is a scientific understanding of
human nature, or the self. That the self per se is immaterial does not preclude the possibility of
understanding it, scientifically. I do agree with Rebecca Copenhaver that although the mind is
immaterial for Reid, it can be studied. Indeed, the mind’s operations and faculties are parts of the
agent’s natural constitution and they are hence governed by certain laws of nature and hence can be
the subject of scientific enquiry (see Rebecca Copenhaver,” Is Reid a Mysterian?” Journal of the
History of Philosophy, vol. 44 no. 3 (2006) 449-466). Reid writes in one of his papers on
materialism: “The constitution of the human mind, and all that necessarily flows from its
constitution, though it does not belong to what is now called Natural Philosophy, may justly be
considered as part of the great volume of Nature. Being, therefore, the work of Nature, its powers
and faculties, their extent and limits, their growth and decline, and their connection with the state of
the body, may, not improperly, be called phaenomena of Nature. And as far as these phaenomena
can, by just induction, be reduced to general laws, such laws may properly be called laws of
Nature” (AC 185). In the Inquiry Reid also writes: “There are laws of nature by which the
operations of the mind are regulated; there are also laws of nature that govern the material system:
and as the latter are the ultimate conclusions which the human faculties car reach in the philosophy
of bodies, so the former are the ultimate conclusions we can reach in the philosophy of minds”
(Inquiry 122). However, Copenhaver writes that we cannot have a scientific understanding of
agency or of efficient causes. She writes: “The one aspect of the mind for which Reid cannot
account by Newtonian science is human agency” (Copenhaver, 464). Nevertheless, I think Reid
does not exclude the possibility of understanding agency and the nature of immaterial beings and of
5
human agent. Hence, an anatomy of the mind will involve the examination of the
different principles of action and their involvement with the different faculties of
the mind, like reason and conscience. When possible, I will also try to place Reid’s
views in their context. Hence, I will not only be examining Reid’s own account of
the different motives and faculties but I will also seek to understand the different
views and positions to which he is reacting and thus to situate his views in the
philosophical context of modern moral philosophy.
The first two chapters deal with the nature of the different kinds of motives.
In the first chapter, I try to understand how Reid’s rational motives are different
from what he calls animal motives and in which way the rational ones are superior.
Reid often writes that rational motives are different from the animal ones in that
they require not only intention and will but also judgment. I argue that some
animal motives, like gratitude or resentment, might also require judgment but these
judgments will be about present objects or actions. Rational motives rest on
judgments about ends. All our judgments about ends that are worth pursuing are
motives, but Reid’s two rational motives are desires for ends that we naturally
value or desire more than others. Hence, the rational principles of action, and
especially self-interest and duty, are naturally superior to all other motives.
Reid often writes that Hume misunderstands the nature of the different
principles of action. But how are Reid’s rational motives different from Hume’s

efficient causes, that is, of doing metaphysics. Metaphysics, however, must always have its roots in
a scientific understanding of human nature.
6
calm passions? I try to answer this question in the second chapter and I examine
what Reid and Hume both mean by ‘passion’ and ‘reason’. In the first part of this
chapter I explain Reid’s own understanding of Hume’s account and what both
philosophers mean by passion and reason. I show that both would agree that
reason plays a role in the formation of our motives and both would agree that
desires must be present in order to be moved to action. In the second part of the
chapter, however, I show that although reason does play a motivational role for
Hume, feelings must also be present in order to desire something. According to
Reid’s understanding of Hume, non-intentional feelings are the essential elements
of desire for Hume. I argue that for Reid, on the contrary, desires do not
necessarily require feelings. I show in the third part of the chapter that Reid would
agree with Richard Price that the mere conception of an end, without any feeling
necessarily associated, just is the principle of action. I conclude by evaluating and
defending Reid’s interpretation of Hume’s account of motives.
The next two chapters deal with the relation between motives and active
power. Indeed, it is important for Reid that human beings who have active power
may act according to the best motives in order to use their power to the end for
which it was intended. In the third chapter, I examine the relation between active
power and reason. It is clear for Reid that beings who have active power should
exert that power according to the best principles of action (EAP 64), but it is not
that clear for Reid whether or not one could have active power and lack reasoning
7
abilities. Jerome Weinstock has argued that Reid is inconsistent in his account of
this relation. And Dean Hazelton has argued that reason, for Reid, is coextensive
with active power but only in the case of moral agents. Hence, there might be
agents who are not moral and who may have active power but no reasoning
abilities. I argue that both accounts are wrong. There are different degrees of
reason for Reid. The faculty of reason need not be very developed in order to
conceive. And conception is the act of the understanding that is required only for
animal motives. In order to be moved by the two rational motives, however, a
more developed degree of reason is required. Indeed, one must be able to form
judgments about the relation of objects or about moral truths, etc. Also, actions
that result from animal motives only do not seem to be the result of an exertion of
power on the part of the agent. Active power implies the ability to will and to
refrain from willing, but it seems to me that refraining from willing is only
possible if one can form a judgment about the value of the action. Hence I believe
that Reid would hold that exerting one’s active power requires having rational
motives. Therefore, even though Reid would call the relation between active
power and reason contingently necessary (because human nature is contingent on
God’s will), I believe that his own definition of moral liberty implies having
reasoning abilities. Hence, for Reid, there are no beings who could have moral
liberty and yet lack reasoning abilities. However, having active power and thus
reasoning abilities does not necessarily imply having a functioning moral sense.
8
Reid offers several arguments for the fact that the active power that human
beings often possess is a power over their own will and not just over their actions.
Apart from these arguments for moral liberty, Reid also argues that moral liberty is
possible because motives do not determine the will but only influence it. In chapter
four, I examine two arguments that Reid offers against the defenders of necessity
in order to show that motives function like advice and not like physical causes.
The first, difficult, argument I examine is one in which Reid argues that if man
cannot act without a motive he does not have any power at all, which is absurd,
hence man can act without a motive. And if human beings can act without
motives, then motives are not the sole causes of human actions. The necessitarians
like Hume, Priestley and Collins, to which Reid seems to be reacting, might accept
most of Reid’s premises. However, I show that there is one premise that they
would probably not accept. The second argument I examine in this chapter is one
in which Reid argues that the necessitarian is wrong to think that the strongest
motive always determines the will. Reid argues that there are two tests for the
evaluation of the strength of motives, the animal and the rational test. And he
argues that it is not always the strongest motive that prevails, according to either
one of these tests. I believe this argument is more successful then the previous one
against the necessitarian position.
Reid therefore holds that motives do not causally necessitate the will. The
problem that arises is to explain how the agent decides to act according to one
9
motive and not the other. In light of some objections brought up by Leibniz, and
Edwards but also by contemporary compatibilists such as Haji and Goetz, I
examine, in chapter five, Reid’s possible answer to this problem. I argue that to
explain our choices Reid would appeal not only to motives and character traits but
also to the amount of effort needed to choose what is best. However, this
explanation will always be probabilistic because of our natural inability to always
act according to our resolutions or best judgments. I also address Reid’s criticism
of the implicit presupposition of the Principle of Sufficient Reason. In this chapter,
therefore, I examine the relation between motives, the agent’s character and his
choices.
In the last two chapters I turn to Reid’s account of the moral sense. Indeed,
our sense of duty is a motive to action and Reid holds that this motive involves not
only our judgment and affections but also our conscience. Reid is not the first to
appeal to a moral sense as the basis of our moral distinctions. Shaftesbury,
Hutcheson, Hume and Butler also seem to be part of what we could call the moral
sense tradition. Some philosophers claim that Hume and Hutcheson are the only
moral sense philosophers. In chapter six, I argue that there is a moral sense
tradition and that Reid is not only part of it but also that he is perhaps the best
representative of this tradition. Indeed two distinctive features of moral sense
views is, on one hand, the rejection of reason as the basis for moral distinctions
and, on the other hand, a refusal to reduce duty to a form of self-love. In this
10
chapter I show that Reid would argue that his predecessors do not succeed in
departing from reason and self-love since they either put too much emphasis on a
process of reasoning or they reduce the notion of duty to a notion of pleasure and
hence of self-love. Also, Reid does not think that moral sense philosophers
adequately understand the role of perception in moral evaluation.
If Reid puts much emphasis on the role of perception by the external senses
in our understanding of moral perception we might wonder why one need to
appeal to a distinctive moral sense. Hence, in the last chapter I try to understand
the relation between external perception and moral perception. I start by trying to
understand the distinction between Reid’s three categories of natural signs. I then
examine briefly Reid’s account of the internal sense of taste and I show that the
sense of taste requires external perception as it involves all three categories of
natural signs. In the same way, although some have argued that moral perception
involves only signs of the second class, I believe moral perception, like aesthetic
perception, is based on perceptions by the external senses as it involves the three
categories of natural signs. However, perception by the internal senses cannot be
reduced to perception by the external senses. What we perceive by the external
senses, I suggest, functions as signs of moral qualities which, themselves, cannot
be perceived by our external senses but by our internal senses. Therefore,
perception by the external senses is necessary to perceive moral qualities but it is
11
not sufficient. Moral agents are hence equipped with a sense or faculty that is
intrinsically moral.
The careful study of the human mind, the anatomy of the mind, involves
the study of all the operations and faculties of the mind. I will focus only on those
operations of the mind that are involved in action, and specifically on the
principles of action. Motives are principles that are tied to many different aspects
of the self: the self as a biological object, as an animal, and as specifically human.
By focusing on motives and on their relation with the understanding, the agent’s
character, his active power and his internal moral sense, we will, I hope, dive deep
into what Reid calls the intention of our human nature.
I want to thank the University of Southern California and the school of
philosophy for accepting me, first of all, and also for the financial assistance over
the years. I also wish to thank the different professors of the school of philosophy.
I enjoyed attending their seminars and working with them. I especially wish to
thank my advisor, Gideon Yaffe, for his helpful, pertinent and encouraging
comments and for his patience in reading over each chapter. I am also very
grateful for the understanding and encouragement of the department as I had to
take time away from the department to manage being a mother and a student. I
never felt pressurized to give up one aspect of my life for another. I realize that
this is a privilege which has been shared by few women of my social standing in
the history of humanity.
12
I am also greatly thankful for the help and support of my family. I know
that without the help of my parents this dissertation would never been finished.
They have always been present to help with babysitting, providing a place to work,
proofreading, moving, etc. They have also always been a great source of
encouragement for all of my activities. My parents-in-law have also been of great
support and help throughout the years and for this I am deeply grateful. I thank my
mother-in-law for all the babysitting and my father-in-law for letting me use his
office. Finally, my thanks goes to my husband, Olivier, whose love and friendship
I cherish and who has always insisted on setting my work on my dissertation at the
top of the priority list of all of our many projects.

13
Chapter 1: The distinction between Animal and Rational
Principles of Action
Reid holds that we can be moved to act by different kinds of motives.
These motives, or principles of action, are mechanical, animal or rational. The
mechanical principles of action are those that move us in a way that does not
involve the will. Animal principles do involve the will and what Reid calls
intention, but they do not require judgment. And rational principles, according to
Reid, are those that belong only to rational agents and that require not only will
and intention but also judgment. An important thesis for Reid is that the rational
principles of action are superior to the animal ones. When rational principles are in
opposition with the animal principles, one must exert the power necessary to act in
accordance with the rational principles. In this paper I want to focus on Reid’s
account of motives and I want to examine his claim that animal and rational
motives are different and that we ought to act according to rational motives. Why
are rational motives different from animal motives? And why are rational motives
superior to mechanical and animal motives? Reid holds that it is self-evident that
we ought to act according to reason. But he also offers many observations about
motives, and especially about the animal and rational ones to show that once we
understand their nature we see that the rational motives are superior. For Reid,
14
understanding how rational motives differ from other kinds of motives will make
evident the fact that they are superior.
For Reid, all motives are similar in that they incite us to act. Motives are
not actions because no agent causes them. And they are not causes, since they have
no active power. They are psychological events that move but do not cause the
agent to act. So how are they different from each other? One big difference is that
on one hand mechanical motives move us to act involuntarily and on the other
hand animal and rational motives may move us to act voluntarily. No will or act of
willing is involved when we are moved to act by the mechanical motives: instinct
or habit. For Reid instincts are natural impulses that move us without thought,
without any conception of the action. And habits, which are skills or facilities to
do something because it has been done repeatedly, differ only in that they are
acquired, not natural. But “both operate without will or intention, without
thought…” (EAP 114). They are completely blind impulses. Since the will of the
agent is not involved, actions resulting from such motives do not even have the
possibility of becoming, strictly speaking, genuine actions of the agent. Hence
Reid considers actions done by instinct or habit to be involuntary.
1

Animal and rational principles of action are different from the mechanical
motives because both involve the will. They act upon the agent, influencing him or

1
See, for example, the Essays on the Active Powers (EAP 65) where Reid points out that habit and
instinct come to our aid when “there is no time for voluntary determination.” See also EAP 59
where Reid points out that things done voluntarily are not things done merely from instinct or habit.
15
not to will certain actions. When an agent performs an action because of the
influence of such a motive, it is possible that the action be voluntary. There is a
great difference, therefore, between the mechanical motives, on one hand, and
between the animal and rational motives on the other hand. But Reid also holds
that animal and rational motives are different from each other. However, it is not
easy to establish this difference clearly, as Reid himself recognizes. He states that
“these two principles influence the will in different ways. Their influence differs,
not in degree only, but in kind. This difference we feel, though it may be difficult
to find words to express it” (EAP 74). He also points out that “it requires,
therefore, a very accurate and impartial examination of a man’s own heart, to be
able to form a distinct notion of the various principles which influence his conduct.
That this is a matter of great difficulty, we may judge from the very different and
contradictory systems of philosophers…” (EAP 98).
2
He nonetheless attempts to
offer several related ways in which animal and rational principles of action are
different.
One way Reid often differentiates animal from rational motives is to point
out that the first involve will and intention but not judgment, and the second
involve judgment also. Hence when he introduces the different motives and their
influence upon the will, in chapter II of the second Essay concerning the Active

2
Reid might be saying here that it is difficult for us to tell which principle is operating in any given
situation. However, from the context, I think Reid’s point is that it is difficult to analyze the
principles correctly and that many have in fact drawn incorrect or misleading distinctions between
principles.
16
Powers, he points out that “Appetite, affection, or passion, give an impulse to a
certain action. In this impulse there is no judgment implied” (EAP 66). And in the
third Essay, he also observes that “Animal principles of action require intention
and will in their operation, but not judgment.” Rational principles of action,
however, “can have no existence in beings not endowed with reason, and, in all
their exertions, require, not only intention and will, but judgment and reason”
(EAP 200-201). Hence Reid seems to hold that the difference between these two
kinds of motives is the presence or lack of presence of judgment.
However, when we examine Reid’s list of animal motives it is not exactly
clear how animal motives fail to involve judgment. In the Essays on the
Intellectual Powers of Man, Reid explains what he means by the intellectual
operation of the mind he calls judgment. He writes: “This operation is expressed in
speech by a proposition, in which some relation between the things compared is
affirmed or denied.” He adds: “Truth and falsehood are qualities which belong to
judgment only; or to propositions by which judgment is expressed. Every
judgment, every opinion, and every proposition is either true or false” (EIP67).
3

Judgments imply the simple apprehension or conception of objects, which are then
related to other objects or qualities. Judgments can then be used in reasoning,
when we draw a conclusion from one or more judgments. So when Reid observes

3
See also EAP p. 460: “Every judgment must necessarily be true or false, and the same may be
said of the proposition which expresses it. It is a determination of the understanding with regard to
what is true, or false, or dubious.”
17
that animal motives do not imply any judgment, he means that nothing must be
affirmed or denied for these motives to have any influence. If this is what Reid
means by judgment, then we might object that some animal principles do seem to
require judgment. And hence the difference between the animal principles and the
rational principles becomes blurred.
Indeed, we might wonder first of all whether willing and intending do not
require judgment. When an animal motive influences the will, and when the agent
wills the action which is the object of the desire, appetite or affection, Reid claims
that the agent believes the action to be within his power. Hence, whenever the will
is involved, that is, whenever the action is voluntary, the willing must be
accompanied by a belief. This is one of Reid’s observations concerning the will:
“That the object of our volition must be something which we believe to be in our
power, and to depend upon our will” (EAP 62). Reid gives several examples to
illustrate his point. All his examples point to the fact that if we do not believe some
action to be in our power, for example lifting a weight, or going to the moon, or
even speaking, we cannot will to do it. Willing is therefore the exertion of power,
accompanied by an effort, to do what we believe to be in our power. The belief is
something like: ‘this action is something I have the power to carry out.’ Something
is affirmed of the action; hence this belief seems to fall under Reid’s description of
a judgment. Therefore, if Reid holds that animal motives require will and
intention, and if he also holds that will requires belief, then it seems that he must
18
accept that animal motives require belief. And if judgment is equivalent to belief
(which I think it is for Reid), then animal motives require judgment as well as will
and intention.
One way in which Reid could respond to this observation is by pointing out
that animal motives require will but not willing. And since it is the act of will,
willing, that requires belief, this does not apply to the animal motives. Willing or
the determination of the mind to do something which we believe to be in our
power is an act of the will. It is often called ‘will’, but strictly speaking it is an act
of the will. These motives would not exist, as motives, if there were no will to
impel, but when Reid writes that animal motives require will, what he seems to be
saying is that these motives act on the will, or influence the will, independently of
whether the agent actually wills or not. Indeed, when we look closely at the
examples he gives about willing and believing the action to be within our power,
he seems to hold that desires or other animal motives may happen without the act
of willing. He writes: “A man may desire to make a visit to the moon, or to the
planet Jupiter, but he cannot will or determine to do it; because he knows it is not
in his power” (EAP 62). The desire is an animal motive (it could be the one Reid
calls ‘desire for knowledge’) that influences a man’s will, and might push him to
will something. But this happens independently of whether the man in fact wills or
not. In this example, the man is moved by an animal motive, but he does not hold
the belief that the action is within his power and hence he does not will the action.
19
Most actions are the product of some motive or motives influencing the will, but
this does not mean that every single motive will lead us to will. Therefore, animal
motives are the kind of events that influence the will but do not necessarily require
the act of willing. It is perhaps for this reason that Reid, in his introduction to the
animal principles of action, does not say that these principles ‘require’ will and
intention as he writes in many other passages. Indeed, in this text he writes that
animal principles “are such as operate upon the will and intention, but do not
suppose any exercise of judgment or reason” (EAP 118, my italics). And later,
when he writes about the influence of animal motives, he points out: “Their
influence is immediately upon the will” (EAP 289). These motives operate upon,
or influence, the will, but they do not require any willing. And since it is the
volition, or the act of willing that requires belief, the motives do not imply any
belief.
4

What about intention? Reid writes that animal motives require will and
intention, but what does he mean by intention? There are several possibilities.
Intention might be a more specific form of willing. Indeed, Reid might mean by
this term the determination of the mind to carry out some present action. When we
intend to do something, we will it to happen presently. And as I have just pointed
out this act of will implies the belief that the action is within our power. Hence, if
this is what Reid means by ‘intention,’ then animal motives seem to require belief,

4
Similarly, we might point out that the reason rational motives require belief is not because they
involve an act of the will.
20
or judgment. The problem is that I cannot find any textual evidence to support this
reading of the term intention. Another possibility is that ‘intention’ is synonymous
with ‘fixed purpose’ or ‘resolution,’ that is a determination of the mind to carry out
some future action. And here too, resolution or fixed purpose implies the belief
that the future action is within our power. Reid writes: “A fixed purpose to do,
some time hence, something which we believe to be in our power, is strictly and
properly a determination of will, no less than a determination to do it instantly”
(EAP 84). Reid, I think, would use the term ‘intention’ in the same way he would
use the term ‘decision.’ And this decision or intention might be to do some present
action or to follow a fixed purpose. This determination of the mind is a volition, an
act of the will. And since volition implies belief, intention must also imply belief.
5

Intention is an act of mind that requires a belief that the action is within our
power, and perhaps a judgment about what is intended, what is planned. Our
problem is that Reid holds that animal motives require intention, and hence belief.
However, Reid might still reply to the observation- that since intention requires a
judgment then animal motives seem to require a judgment- in the same way he
might have replied to this observation in the case of willing. That is, he might
point out that animal motives act upon the faculty that intends. Animal principles

5
The passage in which Reid describes deliberation and resolution (or fixed purpose) as voluntary
acts of the mind might be problematic. If deliberation and resolution are determinations of the
mind, are volitions, then they cannot be motives. However, the result of deliberation can clearly be
a rational motive for Reid. What about resolution? If resolution is a judgment, couldn’t it act as a
motive also? What is the relation between motives and fixed purposes? It seems that intentions
(resolutions) can function as motives, but the act of intending is not a motive but a determination of
the will.
21
of action presuppose such a faculty otherwise there would be nothing to influence,
nothing to incite. But this does not imply that the agent in fact actively intends the
action, or even intends not to perform the action. Indeed, several conflicting
desires might influence my will or my faculty of intention, but I may not will or
intend any action. Therefore, even if willing and intending require belief, I think
Reid still holds that the animal motives do not require belief because they do not
require these acts of willing or intending. When he writes that animal motives
require will and intention, he thus seems to be saying only that these motives act
upon the active faculty or power of the mind.
Independently of his views about will and intention, Reid also holds that
the animal motive itself, to exist, is not grounded on any judgment. It moves us
without regard to any belief or judgment. If this is his view, it still seems
problematic. Even if animal motives do not require the acts of willing or intending,
some of them still appear to require judgment to exist as motives. It is now time to
look more closely at the different animal motives and to consider whether or not
they are in fact grounded upon any judgment. The first kind of animal motives are
appetites, which are periodical desires accompanied with an uneasy sensation.
Examples of such desires are hunger, thirst, and lust. When we attend to our own
appetites, it is clear that they are not the result of any belief. We need not judge
anything about any liquid before having the desire to drink. And the same could be
said for the second class of animal motives, which Reid calls desires. These desires
22
differ from the first in that they are not accompanied by any uneasy sensation, and
they are constant since they are never completely satisfied. The examples he gives
are the desire of power, of esteem and of knowledge. Hence we desire the
approbation of others whatever our beliefs about others or about the concept of
approbation may be. In the same way, the desire for knowledge can be seen in
small children who have not yet formed judgments and are curious about
everything. Therefore, these animal principles of action are not the consequence of
our regard to any judgment. They do not exist as a result of our conceiving of a
judgment.
Let us now consider affections, which are animal principles of action that
have persons as their objects. For Reid, affections are of two kinds: “benevolent
and malevolent, according as they imply our being well or ill affected toward their
object” (EAP 141). The principle ingredients of benevolent affections are
agreeable feelings and an ultimate desire for the good and happiness of the object
of the affection (EAP 143). According to Reid, the particular benevolent
affections are the affections of parents and children, gratitude to benefactors, pity
and compassion, esteem of the wise and the good, friendship, love between the
sexes, and public spirit. The first affection of this list (which Reid recognizes
might be incomplete) does not seem to rest on any judgment. Parents or children
are moved by a certain affection for each other, independently of any opinion or
judgment they might form about the other. The second affection is gratitude, but I
23
will look at this affection a little later since Reid acknowledges some difficulties in
classifying it as an animal or as a rational principle.
Now, pity and compassion toward the distressed seem to require judgment.
Indeed, it seems we must believe something like: “this person is suffering,” or,
“this person is being punished for something he has not done,” etc. However, Reid
points out that this affection of pity is not based on our judgment of the state of
some person. Our affection of pity is the direct consequence of the countenance or
appearance of the other person. It is not mediated by any judgment about the
person. Reid writes: “In man, and in some other animals, there are signs of
distress, which nature has both taught them to use, and taught all men to
understand without any interpreter. These natural signs are more eloquent than
language; they move our hearts, and produce a sympathy, and a desire to give
relief” (EAP 151).
6
Hence the appearance of the person in distress directly affects
our heart to produce pity, compassion or sympathy. Reid supports this claim by
pointing out that we may feel pity even if we judge that the person should not be
pitied. For example, we might feel pity for a criminal or even for a traitor if we see
them suffering, even if we judge them to be worthy of their punishment. Hence the
animal motive exists and influences us regardless of our judgments.

6
For Reid, our perception of the person implies the belief that the person exists. One might think
then that since perceiving implies believing, the affection that is the result of the perception must
also imply belief. However, Reid would still hold that no belief necessarily arouses the affection of
compassion. Perhaps conception alone (without belief) is enough for us to have the feelings of
sympathy.
24
Reid, nevertheless, does recognize that opinions, judgments or beliefs
might influence our affections. The opinions we have of others, for example, might
have an influence on our affections. Still, Reid holds that the affections are not
grounded on such opinions, that they would exist without any belief. They are only
increased or weakened by our judgments. He does write that “Gratitude supposes
the opinion of a favour done or intended; resentment the opinion of an injury;
esteem the opinion of merit; the passion of love supposes the opinion of
uncommon merit and perfection in its object” (EAP 193). Hence it might seem that
he holds that these affections are the consequence of our judgments. However, he
directly adds that “Although natural affection to parent, children, and near
relations, is not grounded on the opinion of their merit, it is much increased by that
consideration. So is every benevolent affection” (ibid.). Benevolent affections
hence do not require judgment to exist but they are either increased or diminished
as the result of opinion. Now, perhaps Reid’s point in the passage just cited is that
these benevolent affections are always accompanied with the having of a certain
opinion. Hence, it is not that the opinion is required as a condition for the existence
of the affection, but that there is always an opinion present at the same time as the
affection. However, I think that, in general, this is not Reid’s view concerning
affections. We will look more carefully at the affections of gratitude, esteem for
the wise and resentment. But in general, we can summarize Reid’s position by
stating that benevolent affections are pre-cognitive motives that move us without
25
requiring any judgment for their existence and that are not necessarily
accompanied with a judgment, but that can nevertheless be greatly influenced by
our judgments. And this is Reid’s position concerning the other benevolent
affections also. These affections are friendship, love between the sexes, and public
spirit. Each of these could be the result of some belief or judgment, and they are
certainly greatly increased or weakened by our judgments. Nevertheless, Reid
holds that they happen to us, in a small degree, before we are even able to form
judgments. Small children gather together, make friends, have a sense of
community and may even have a small degree of love for the other sex before
holding any belief about other persons. The impulse is there, acting on our will,
whether we believe something about it and the object of the desire or not.
This is Reid’s view, but there are still two benevolent affections he is not
sure about. He admits that the esteem for the wise and the good and the affection
of gratitude might not be animal principles. Indeed, when we feel gratitude, it is
often because we judge that the person did us a favor or acted in a way that was
pleasing to us. Reid points out that to be moved by gratitude implies a judgment
that the action done by the object of our affection was something that exceeded the
requirements of justice (EAP 173). However, even if this feeling seems to be the
consequence of a judgment, Reid would still defend the view that gratitude is an
animal principle by bringing to our attention, as he so often does, the reactions of
children. Reid holds that it is a natural reaction in children to be drawn to those
26
who act kindly to them.
7
Children will feel some kind of gratitude for the person
who smiles to them or who plays with them. In some passages (like EAP 150),
Reid points out that even brute animals might be kindly affected towards the
person who cares for them. Reid’s point is that the feeling of gratitude and desire
for good of the object of our affection is natural and basic. It is a response to the
other person that comes before our judgment of the person. The attitude of the
other elicits a natural response in us, whether or not we believe something about
the other. Hence, it does seem like gratitude is indeed an animal principle.
However, Reid also often says that the motive of gratitude is based on
judgment. It requires judgment to exist. And he does point out that this motive
seems to be closer to being a rational motive than to an animal motive (EAP 173).
In the case of resentment, as we shall see, Reid distinguishes between sudden
(animal) resentment and rational resentment. I think that this is what Reid had in
mind for gratitude also. Indeed, in Essay V, chapter V, towards the end of his
book, he explains that before the use of reason, every agreeable office produces
love and good will towards the agent. This, it seems to me, might be the kind of
gratitude we share with brutes; gratitude that implies no conception of justice. But
then he adds that once we grow up to the use of reason, in order to feel gratitude,
the action done to us must not be merely a good office but must be a favor (EAP

7
See for example Reid’s Inquiry p.60, and EAP 185. Facial expressions, attitudes, the tone of voice
are all examples of natural signs. We need no experience or language to understand them and to
react to them.
27
411). That is, we must be able to judge that the action exceeds the requirements of
justice in order to have and feel the motive of gratitude. Therefore, I think Reid
would accept the idea that brute animals and small children feel a kind of animal
gratitude, we might call sudden gratitude, but there is also a more rational kind of
gratitude that relies on and supposes some judgment.
Esteem for the wise and the good also seem to imply a belief or judgment,
in the case where somebody is wise or good. Hence it seems hard to me to argue
that this animal principle requires no judgment. The esteem very small children
might experience (if they in fact experience it) for others would usually be for
family members or for close friends who are funny or who spend time with them.
The affection thus seems to be closer to a parental affection or to an animal feeling
of gratitude, but not of esteem for the wise and the good, which implies an opinion
of what wisdom and goodness are. Reid probably recognizes this difficulty since
he admits that both gratitude and esteem for the wise and the good may be rational
principles of action. He writes: “I will not, however, dispute with any man who
thinks that it deserves a more honorable name than that of an animal principle. It is
of small importance what name we give it, if we are satisfied that there is such a
principle in the human constitution” (EAP 153). Hence for Reid, these principles
move us to action but he is unsure about their status as animal or as rational
principles of action.
28
After having described the different benevolent affections, Reid turns to his
account of malevolent affections. The malevolent affections of emulation and
resentment are also motives that Reid classifies as animal. They are also natural,
bodily, responses to attitudes of others. Once again, Reid recognizes that they
might be the result of opinion. However, they are not necessarily grounded on
judgment since in many cases our opinions are in fact formed as a consequence of
our natural affections. This is why “we are apt to be partial to our friends, and still
more to ourselves” (EAP 165). Malevolent affections, like most animal principles
do not require judgment, necessarily. In the case of the malevolent affections,
however, there is one that does require judgment: deliberate resentment. It is a
motive that, like other affections, is accompanied by an uneasy sensation.
However, “in deliberate resentment, there must be an opinion of an injury done or
intended. And an opinion of injury implies an idea of justice, and consequently a
moral faculty” (EAP 173). He points out that ‘injury’ and ‘favour’ are notions that
imply, necessarily, the opinion that something either fails to meet the standard of
justice or exceeds what is just. Deliberate resentment therefore necessarily requires
some opinion or judgment. Indeed, when there is no judgment implied, then Reid
calls the motive ‘sudden resentment’, as opposed to ‘deliberated resentment.’
Hence, Reid writes that “deliberate resentment does not properly belong to the
class of animal principles” (EAP 172).
29
Therefore, the motives of gratitude, of esteem for the wise and the good
and of deliberate resentment seem to be motives that imply a judgment. Animal
gratitude, I think, might be a more basic, judgment free, response to somebody’s
attitude. This motive might move us before we judge that the person is worthy of
our gratitude or before we judge that what he has done exceeds justice. But
rational gratitude, deliberate resentment and esteem for the wise and the good are
motives that more clearly require some opinion and yet Reid does not wish to
classify them alongside the two rational principles (a regard to our good on the
whole and to duty). Hence, even if Reid seems nonchalant about the fact that they
may be more than animal motives, he still would be very reluctant to place them
on the same footing as the two rational principles of action. Therefore, there still
seems to be a difference between those more or less animal motives that imply
judgment and the two superior rational motives (self-interest and duty) that also
imply judgment.
Let us look more closely at these two rational motives. The first one, the
desire for our overall good, cannot move us to action if we have not formed the
judgment about our overall good. We are moved only after having thought about
present and future pains and pleasures, and after having reflected on our
experiences and the happiness or pain they have given us and reasoned that a
certain action or course of actions will give us the most happiness. Hence, by
reasoning, we come to form a judgment about our own overall good. Once we
30
form this judgment, we are led by our constitution to seek the good and avoid the
ill (EAP 206). Reid therefore writes: “It appears that it is not without just cause,
that this principle of action has in all ages been called reason, in opposition to our
animal principles, which in common language are called by the general name of
the passions. The first not only operates in a calm and cool manner, like reason,
but implies real judgment in all its operations” (EAP 207). This kind of motive
cannot operate without judgment.
The same can be said for the second rational principle of action, duty. It
cannot move us to act without judgment. According to Reid, we must first form a
judgment of what is right or wrong, virtuous or vicious, before we can be moved to
act. Much can be said about the moral sense, but, at this point, it will be sufficient
to notice that for Reid it is by the moral sense that we form judgments concerning
actions or types of action. We evaluate or judge actions to be right or wrong, and
this judgment is accompanied by feelings of approbation or disapprobation. This
faculty does not only allow us to perceive the moral quality of actions, it also
allows us to form first principles of morals, from which we can reason about what
is right or wrong. These first principles and any judgment that is deduced from
them are judgments. Once we perceive these truths, they become principles of
action.
For Reid, these are the two sovereign rational principles of action because
they always require not only will and intention but also reason or judgment. As we
31
have seen, however, other principles of action also seem to require judgment. I
have brought up the motives of esteem for the wise and the good, gratitude, and
the motive of deliberate resentment, which Reid himself recognizes as being
grounded on judgment. Hence, the criterion for differentiating between the animal
and the rational motives must not be that the latter only require judgment. William
Rowe makes a similar observation when he points out that if self-love is a rational
motive because it implies a desire for our good on the whole, then surely
benevolence also implies a desire for the overall good of the object of the
affection, and hence it is also a rational motive. We may have a natural affection
for some person, which, for Reid, is an animal principle of action. But Rowe adds
that “it is hardly credible that I should have a desire for the present happiness of
my children and yet not desire their good upon the whole, once my reason has
formed the conception of that good. But the latter would have to be a rational
principle of conduct, given Reid’s distinction between animal and rational
principles.”
8
He therefore writes: “Reid gains the superiority of self-love over
benevolence simply on the grounds that the former is a rational principle of action,
whereas the latter is an animal principle. But surely this is artificial.”
The first part of his objection is that a desire for a person’s overall good is
included in our parental affection for this person. And since the first desire is
grounded on a judgment, then parental affection must be grounded on judgment

8
Rowe, William, Thomas Reid on Freedom and Morality, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press,
1991), p.133
32
also. This, I think, is not true. Reid would reply that our affection for others might
be present before and in spite of our judgments about the other’s overall good. In
fact, our affection of friendship, for example, might move us to act toward our
friend in a way that would be contrary to what we judge to be her overall good.
And the basic affection itself need not require any desire for the person’s overall
good. We might just want our friend to be happy, not knowing what this happiness
would involve. And the same could be said about the affection of parents and
children. Rowe objects that when an adult desires the happiness of his child, he
also has the desire for his overall good. This may often be the case, but we need
not have this rational desire to be moved as a parent. And certainly the affection
of a child for the parent does not necessarily include the desire for the parent’s
overall good. Hence, I do not think Rowe is correct to say that benevolent
affection, in general, necessarily requires judgment. One might still point out,
however, that even if benevolent affection does not require such a judgment, there
might still be a rational principle, rational benevolence, that is based on a judgment
about the other’s overall good. I’m not sure that he would, but perhaps Reid could
still respond to this observation by pointing out that in this case, the motive is a
benevolent affection that is greatly increased or influenced by judgments about the
other’s overall good. The basic affection need not include the judgment, but when
it does, the affection is made stronger.
33
This last reply to Rowe’s objection that affection is based on judgment
would be problematic for Reid. Indeed, this reply is that the basic affection
(parental or other) can exist without judgment, but that it is greatly influenced by
judgment. If this is the case, then we might wonder why the first rational principle
of action could not be characterized in the same way. The desire for our good on
the whole might be a basic animal affection of self-love that happens to be greatly
increased by a judgment about our overall good. Hence, the principle would be an
animal principle of action. For Reid, however, self-love is nothing less than
rational self-interest. He would point out that there is a certain class of motives that
we could call self-preservation (or what somebody could mistakenly call self-
love), but these do not include any judgment or knowledge about what is required
for our preservation. Indeed, for Reid our mechanical motives and many of our
animal motives help us in our preservation and in our relation to others,
unbeknownst to us. These motives do not require any judgment and, in fact, if we
had to wait for our rational faculty to be developed enough to form judgments
about our survival, we would probably all be dead very early if it were not for our
mechanical and animal motives. Hence, there is something that looks like self-love
and which does not require judgment: all the mechanical and animal motives that
serve for our survival.
But when Reid uses the term ‘self-love,’ he means self-interest, and this
motive requires at least the notion of our interest. For this reason he writes that a
34
perverted appetite “may lead a man to what he knows will be to his hurt. To call
this acting from self-love, is to pervert the meaning of the words. It is evident, that,
in every case of this kind, self-love is sacrificed to appetite” (EAP 123). Real self-
love is therefore not an animal motive, but a motive that is grounded on an opinion
of what is in our best interest, or what we think is our best interest. Self-love is
therefore clearly a rational principle of action for Reid. And if we think there are
animal motives which move us blindly (without judgment), then we are thinking
about those animal motives that help our self-preservation, but not about self-love.
Now, what this reveals is that if we can differentiate between the non-
rational motives of self-preservation and the rational principle of self-love, then we
could also differentiate between affections which are animal motives and a rational
motive called a desire for the overall good of the other.
9
And hence Reid must
admit that there is another rational principle of action that he does not account for.
Rowe had objected that parental affection, for example, is an affection that
requires judgment. I think this is not true, but that other affections like esteem for
the wise and the good and deliberate resentment do require judgment. Now, what
Rowe’s objection has lead us to discover, is that there may be other rational
principles of action, like a regard to somebody’s overall good. However, I don’t
think Reid would accept this motive as being a different kind of motive. He would

9
Bishop Butler, for example, holds that benevolence is a rational principle of action. Self-love and
benevolence are for him the two rational motives. See especially Sermon I (Joseph Butler, “Fifteen
Sermons” in British Moralists I, Ed. D.D. Raphael, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969), pp.
325-377.)
35
probably think that in the end, this principle is really reducible to a regard to our
overall good, or it is a judgment of conscience, that we ought to do what promotes
the other’s overall good. Nevertheless, even if a regard to a person’s overall good
is not a different kind of rational principle, we have seen that deliberate
resentment, rational gratitude and esteem might be rational principles. The
question is now: what differentiates these motives from Reid’s two rational
motives of self-interest and duty? And of course, what is it about the two rational
motives that makes them superior to all other motives (whether they include
judgment or not). For, as Rowe correctly points out, if there is no difference in
kind between them, it will then be difficult to understand why self-interest and
duty are superior. Let us therefore examine whether there might be another
criterion for distinguishing the two superior rational motives from all other kinds
of motives.
Until now, I have shown that even if Reid often states that the difference
between an animal and a rational motive is that the latter requires judgment, this
criterion is problematic since there are other motives than self-interest and duty
that require judgment. But another way Reid seems to differentiate between animal
and rational principles of action is that the two rational principles of action are
proper to man as a rational being. Indeed Reid writes that under the name of
passion “we comprehend various principles of action, similar to those we observe
in brute animals, and in men who have not the use of reason” (EAP 70). Hence, the
36
faculty of reason need not be very developed in order to be moved by desires,
appetites and affections. In order to be moved by rational self-interest and duty, on
the other hand, the faculty of reason must be developed enough to be able to form
a judgment concerning ends that are in our interest or are our duty. In the case of
rational self-interest, we must be able to reason about past and future experiences,
and to think about consequences of actions to determine which course of actions
would bring about our greatest good. And in the second case, we must be able to
see the first principles of morals and to reason from them to other duties.
Perhaps Reid is correct in that our esteem for the wise and the good is not
grounded on a judgment that requires a very developed faculty of reason. But
deliberate resentment requires the notions of justice, and since judgments about
justice are judgments about duties and moral obligations, then deliberate
resentment requires as much reason as does duty. In fact, Reid himself writes: “It
is to be observed, however, that, by referring [deliberate resentment] to [the class
of rational principles], I do not mean, that it is always kept within the bounds that
reason prescribes, but only that it is proper to man as a reasonable being, capable
by his rational faculties, of distinguishing between hurt and injury; a distinction
which no brute animal can make” (EAP 167). Hence, it does not seem true to say
that those animal principles which require judgment are not proper to man as a
rational being, since deliberate resentment is clearly proper “to man as a
reasonable being.”
37
The difference between Reid’s two rational principles of action and other
principles of action is neither that they are the only principles that require
judgment nor that they are the only principles that move rational beings, even if
this is Reid’s preferred way of characterizing them. But there is perhaps still a way
in which Reid could set apart his two rational principles of action. And this
difference lies in the kind of judgment that is required. The judgment that is
required for self-interest and duty is not any kind of judgment, it is a judgment
about ends that we value. Reid is not using the term judgment as he did in the
Essays on the Intellectual power. His use is now more specific. Judgments are not
any kind of proposition or belief but they are more specific beliefs about ends or
purposes. Animal motives may include judgments, but these judgments are never
about ends. Most animal motives do not rest on any opinion, but when they do, the
opinion seems to be about the qualities of the present object or action, the
conception of which incites us to act. In the case of deliberate resentment, for
example, our motive is grounded on the opinion that a person has intended to do us
evil. And this motive might lead us to act in self-defense. In the case of esteem for
the wise, we hold that a certain person is indeed wise or that he has a noble
character, etc. This motive will then incite us to act agreeably towards the person.
Hence Reid states: “Every natural appetite, desire, and affection, has its own
present gratification in view. A man, therefore, who has no other leader than these,
would be like a ship in the ocean without hands, which cannot be said to be
38
destined to any port” (EAP 197-198). And: “Every animal desire has some
particular and present object, and looks not beyond to its consequences, or to the
connections it may have with other things. The present object, which is most
attractive, or excites the strongest desire, determines the choice, whatever be its
consequences” (EAP 204-205 all italics are mine). Or again, in Essay II, Reid
points out that “… our appetites and passions push us on to the attainment of their
objects, in the shortest road, and without delay” (EAP 81). Also, it is because
animal motives are about the gratification of present desires that Reid calls them
blind. He writes: “Passion is very properly said to be blind. It looks not beyond the
present gratifications. It belongs to reason to attend to the accidental circumstances
which may sometimes make that gratification improper or hurtful” (EAP 183).
Rational principles of action are therefore different from animal principles in that
the first exist because the agent conceives of some end that he desires or values
whereas the latter have present and particular objects in view.
There are many passages in which Reid points out that rational motives
require judgments about ends. He writes for example: “Every man come to years
of understanding, who has given any attention to his own conduct, and to that of
others, has, in his mind, a scale or measure of goods and evils, more or less exact.
He makes an estimate of the value of health, of reputation, of riches, of pleasure,
of virtue, of self-approbation, and of the approbation of his Maker. These things,
and their contraries, have a comparative importance in his cool and deliberate
39
judgment” (EAP 68). He also points out that a man who is led by rational
principles of action “would be capable of considering the distant consequences of
his actions, and of restraining or indulging his appetites, desires, and affections,
from the consideration of distant good or evil. He would be capable of choosing
some main end of his life, and planning such a rule of conduct as appeared most
subservient to it” (EAP 196-197). Rational principles of action exist because we
judge that a certain end is good or worthy of being pursued. The conception of this
judgment then leads us to desire the end and the judgment then becomes a
principle of action.
10

One could point out that moral judgments about present and particular
actions do not seem to be judgments about ends. And Reid holds that judgments of
this sort are rational motives. The judgment would be, for example, “helping this
person now is a good action and worthy of being done,” or, “it is my duty to help
this person now.” It is hard to see how these judgments are about ends. And if they
are not about ends, but yet are rational motives, then the criterion for
distinguishing rational from animal motives cannot be that the first rest on
judgments about ends. I think we must distinguish between ultimate ends and ends
that are really means to the ultimate ends. For Reid, self-interest and duty are
ultimate ends; they are final purposes, which we pursue without appealing to other

10
Of course, many will object that the desire is primary, that we are moved towards a certain end
independently of our judgment about that end. The end is judged to be worthy because we first
have a desire for that end. But Reid would maintain that we cannot be moved or desire the end
without having an opinion about the worthiness of the end. I develop this point in the next chapter.
40
desires or reasons (see EAP 202). Therefore, he uses an example of a character
whose only end is his overall good, and of another character who "is not
indifferent with regard to his own good, but has another ultimate end perfectly
consistent with it, to wit, a disinterested love of virtue, for its own sake, or a regard
to duty as an end" (EAP 219). In this and in other passages, Reid clearly holds that
our overall good and virtue are ultimate ends. This means that the character whose
ultimate end is duty has the desire to do what is virtuous, because it is virtuous.
The love of virtue for its own sake is the desire to do what we judge to be virtuous,
for no other reason. This is a final end. Now, many moral judgments or judgments
about our overall good may be judgments about present and particular actions.
However, these are not final ends. But the reason or end for which we do these
actions or find these actions to be worthy is because of the overall, ultimate ends,
of self-interest and duty. Hence the examples I gave at the beginning of the
paragraph are example of judgments that are not about ultimate ends but that
nonetheless may be based on judgments about ultimate ends.
In the case of the first rational motive, Reid gives as example the cunning
merchant, "who indulges even his social affections only with a view to his own
good" (EAP 218). Each particular action the merchant performs will be based,
perhaps implicitly, on the merchant's judgment that he ought to do what is in his
best interest. Hence the judgment, "I ought to help this person," is not necessarily a
judgment about ultimate ends, but it will be based on his judgment that this action
41
will be to his advantage; that it is a means to his overall interest. His ultimate end
here is his own good. In the case of duty, the judgment "I ought to help this
person" is not a judgment about ends, but in the virtuous person the reason he
forms this judgment is because he is also motivated by a regard to duty as an end.
On the other hand, in the case of an animal motive like rational gratitude, the
judgment is something like, "he has done me this favor." And I then feel agreeably
towards him and I am motivated to act agreeably towards him. There is here no
implicit judgment about my overall interest or my duty. Nevertheless, my action
may well be motivated by the judgment that it is also either in my overall interest
to act agreeably towards him or that it is my duty to act agreeably towards him.
Here the motive becomes a rational principle of action.
It is because rational motives include judgments about ends that they move
us to act in a different way than animal motives. Animal motives push us in the
same way that a physical force applied to our body may push us. Their influence is
thus often felt more violently than the influence of rational motives. Reid writes:
“This, however, is common [to all animal motives], that they draw a man toward a
certain object, without any further view, by a kind of violence; a violence which
indeed may be resisted if the man is master of himself, but cannot be resisted
without a struggle.” (EAP 70) The influence of animal motives has an “impulsive
force,” as opposed to rational motives whose influence is “cool” (EAP126). Even
42
if the animal motive is very weak and the rational motive is a very important and
worthy end, the animal motive will still move us more violently.
11

Therefore, Reid holds that the difference between animal and rational
motives is that the latter require judgments about the value of ends, and since the
latter’s object is more distant, they move less strongly than animal motives. This
would indeed place motives like esteem of the wise and the good, and deliberate
resentment in the camp of the animal motives. However, this does not give us the
difference between self-interest and duty and other rational motives that involve
judgments about ends. Even if Reid does not mention other rational motives, there
may be some rational motives that involve judgments about more mundane ends or
purposes that we find valuable but that are not grounded on judgments about final
purposes. Reid writes, for example, that one “may purpose to go to London next
winter” (EAP 84). Or, one may purpose “to follow the profession of law, of
medicine, or of theology” (Ibid.). Or, Reid writes that “we can suppose a man who
eats with a view to enjoy the pleasure of eating” (EAP 83). In all these cases, the
motive is one that involves a judgment about some end we find valuable. But these
are not necessarily judgments about our overall good or about our duty. When we

11
I think that for Reid we feel the force of animal motives more strongly because “Such motives
are not addressed to the rational powers. Their influence is immediately upon the will. We feel their
influence, and judge of their strength, by the conscious effort which is necessary to resist them”
(EAP 289). Hence, animal motives have no intermediary. They do not act like arguments that
convince us of something by acting on our rational faculties. They act directly on the will. Rational
motives, on the other hand “convince, but they do not impel, unless, as may often happen, they
excite some passion of hope, or fear, or desire” (EAP 190). And it takes less effort to resist such a
motive than to resist an animal motive. In chapter III I will try to figure out what Reid means in
these passages. I’m not sure what Reid means when he says that animal motives have a direct
influence on the will whereas rational ones do not.
43
reason, for example, about taste, the conclusions we might draw from this kind of
reasoning might be judgments about ends we want to pursue (the pleasure of
eating), but not necessarily things that are in our best interest or our duty.
12
In this
case, the motive is rational; it involves a normative judgment about what we ought
to do in order to achieve some end that we value even if the end is not our overall
happiness. Reid talks of many such ends. There are many roads, he writes, that
lead to an end, whether this end be “ambition, or avarice, or even pleasure itself”
(EAP 198).
What is the difference between motives based on judgments about these
purposes and motives based on judgments about self-interest and duty? Let us first
consider the first rational motive, a regard for our overall good. When we look first
at self-interest, it seems that the only difference between it and other ‘lesser’
rational motives lies in the degree of value we attach to it. As rational beings, we
usually attach more value to what we consider will bring us more happiness. Of
course, we are often mistaken about what is in our best interest. Still, Reid would
point out that even if we are mistaken about our overall good we still attach more
value to it than to other ends. And the better we use our rational faculties, the
better we will be able to determine what our best interest is. It is therefore better to
use our reason correctly, because having the correct end in view will bring more

12
See EAP 83 again: “But we can suppose a man who eats with a view to enjoy the pleasure of
eating. Such a man reasons and judges. He will take care to use the proper means of procuring an
appetite. He will be a critic in tastes, and make nice discriminations.”
44
happiness. There is therefore no big difference in kind between the motive of self-
interest and other lesser rational motives, apart from the fact that, naturally, we
desire this end more than we desire ends that do not bring about our greatest
happiness. Admittedly, it is also in our nature to seek other ends (ends that do not
concern our overall good), and to pursue those ends. However, what differentiates
them from the regard to our overall good is that it is in our nature to value those
ends less than we value our overall good. It is a fact about us that when we
compare what is in our overall interest to some other end that concerns not our
greatest interest, we will be moved by what brings us more happiness (unless,
according to Reid, we are foolish).
When Reid claims that we ought to follow this principle instead of animal
principles, he just means that it is more in line with our nature to do so. Considered
apart from conscience, the ought here is not one of moral obligation.
13
It is simply
that if we value our greatest happiness, and we all do, then we better act according
to this first rational principle of action. If our distant good is more valuable to us
than actions motivated by contrary animal motives, it is more consistent for us to
resist the pull of animal motives. Since we all naturally value our own interest, this
rational motive “produces a kind of self-approbation, when the passions and
appetites are kept in their due subjection to it; and a kind of remorse and

13
When we consider one of the first principles of morals, that we “ought to prefer a greater good,
though more distant, to a less; and a less evil to a greater” (EAP 362), the ‘ought’ here is one of
moral obligation, because the principle is a dictate of conscience. In the same way, a benevolent
affection may be prescribed by duty, and it then becomes morally obligatory. But, considered apart
from conscience, these motives have no moral force.
45
compunction, when it yields to them” (EAP 210). And when we follow our
passions instead of our overall interest, we feel that we have gone against our
nature. Reid writes that when a man fails to act according to this principle, he is
self-condemned. “When he feels the bad effects of his conduct, he imputes them to
himself, and would be stung with remorse for his folly, though he had no account
to make to a superior Being” (EAP 209). It is not morally wrong to act against this
principle, but it is foolish. Reid therefore gains the superiority of this principle
over other principles by focusing on our nature as rational self-interested beings
who naturally value our overall good.
Let us now finally turn to the last principle of action, a regard to our duty.
This principle is different from all other principles in that only moral agents are
moved by it. Reid points out that the regard to duty is “that principle alone by
which [man] is capable either of virtue or vice” (EAP 223). And this motive is
different from all other motives because a sense of obligation is attached to it. It is
“a moral obligation which obliges a man to do certain things because they are
right, and not to do other things because they are wrong” (EAP 224). It is also
different from other rational motives because even if, in the end, it turns out to lead
us to more overall happiness, it does not move us for selfish reasons. In the case of
the lesser rational motives, we conceive of some end that we value for ourselves,
and the conception of it in turn moves us. We are led by a conception of ends that
are to our advantage, or to ends that will bring us some kind of gratification. In the
46
case of our duty, however, this motive incites us without regard to ourselves. This
principle is self-less, acting according to it is the ultimate act of self-denial.
14
As
with self-interest, we simply value or esteem actions done from duty more than
actions motivated by passions. If passions lead us to perform actions that are
contrary to duty, we naturally value the person and the action done by duty. But
why is it superior to rational self-interest? Is it in our nature to value duty more
than to value rational self-interest?
Reid clearly holds that it is not necessarily in our nature to act according to
duty, even if it is in our nature to feel its force (its obligation). Naturally, we tend
to follow selfish principles. And by our nature we see what is right, but it takes a
great degree of self-command to follow duty instead of what we consider to be our
interest. Also, moral qualities are not defined in terms of our nature. To be virtuous
is to have certain moral qualities, not to act in accordance with our nature.
Nevertheless, Reid would still say that we do value duty more than self-interest.
As I have pointed out, we do not value it for utilitarian reasons. It is not that duty
will bring us more value. But we value it in the sense of having sentiments of
esteem and of approbation for actions and characters of moral worth. Hence Reid
distinguishes the cold calculation of good and ill from the noble and elevated sense

14
As Reid points out, acting according to the principle of self-interest is also selfless if we are
acting against some of our animal desires. In this sense, he says that self-denial is common to all
roads that lead to some end. In EAP 198 he writes: “Mortification and self-denial are found not in
the paths of virtue only; they are common to every road that leads to an end, be it ambition, or
avarice, or even pleasure itself. Every man who maintains an uniform and consistent character,
must sweat and toil, and often struggle with his present inclination.” Hence self-denial here means
inclinations-denial, but not a complete denial of our interests, as is the case with duty.
47
of duty (EAP 217). And though the wise man is the object of our esteem, we do
not value his character as much as we value the “noblest kind of virtue, which
claims our highest love and esteem” (EAP 218). A virtuous character is one we
love and one towards whom we are cordially affected. A wise character, however,
is one towards whom we have a lower degree of approbation. For this reason, Reid
points out that we might be tempted to think that the road to virtue is the only way
to our overall good. This, he thinks is not true. Even if duty will give us more
satisfaction in the end, seeking our rational self-interest is what Reid calls the
‘road to happiness.’ Nevertheless, many have wrongfully concluded, Reid writes,
“that virtue is the only road to happiness.” And this conclusion “is founded chiefly
upon the natural respect men have for virtue, and the good or happiness that is
intrinsic to it and arises from the love of it” (EAP 220, my emphasis).
In what sense, then, are rational motives superior to the animal ones? They
are superior in that, in the case of conflict between them, one ought to act
according to the rational motives. Indeed, we were created to value actions done
according to the rational motives more than actions done from contrary animal
motives. And if we want to be consistent with ourselves, we should act according
to what we esteem the most. It is more in our nature to value these actions, and
hence the two rational principles of action are superior.
In conclusion, therefore, I have shown that the main criterion for
differentiating between animal and rational principles of action is the presence of
48
judgments about ends we value. Although some animal principles might rest on
opinions or judgments, these judgments are never about ends but about the
qualities of particular objects. Rational principles, however, include judgments
about ends we desire to pursue. I have distinguished rational principles of action
that include judgments about ends, in general, from Reid’s two superior rational
principles. Indeed, the latter are superior in that we naturally value their ends (our
overall good and virtuous actions) more than we value other ends. We naturally
value an action that will bring us our overall good more than an action that does
not concern this overall happiness. And in the case of duty, it is not that what is
virtuous is what is in accordance with our nature, but what is the case is that we
naturally esteem and approve of and respect what is virtuous more than what is in
one’s best interest. We might conclude, therefore, that the rational principles of
action, and especially self-interest and duty, are naturally superior to all other
motives.

49
Chapter 2: Reid vs. Hume: On rational motives.
Both Hume and Reid, as philosophers who are deeply interested in human
nature, ethics and the debate over freedom and necessity, recognize the importance
of understanding motives and how they actually function. Reid, however, thinks
that Hume is mistaken in his understanding of mental acts, of human freedom, and
of the role of reason in action. Nevertheless, some philosophers tend to downplay
the opposition between Reid and Hume's views and they claim that Reid often
misunderstands Hume. Other philosophers are in the opposite camp and they tend
to think that the differences between Reid and Hume are so obvious that they
require no argument. In this paper I will show that in the case of Reid and Hume's
views on motives both of these approaches are wrong. According to Reid’s
understanding of Hume the disagreement certainly is real but understanding this
disagreement requires a careful examination of the texts.
Reid holds that rational motives exist and can, of themselves, move one to
act. There are two kinds of rational principles of action, or rational motives,
according to Reid. The first is a sense of interest or a regard to our overall
happiness and the second is a sense of duty. These rational principles of action are
judgments about ends that incite us to meet those ends. And it is because these
judgments are incitements that there might be an opposition between these
50
incitements and what he calls the animal motives.
1
Hume, on the other hand,
seems to hold that the judgments of reason, by themselves, do not move to action.
In the second book of his Treatise of Human Nature, part III, he states that he
wants to “prove first, that reason alone can never be a motive to any action of the
will; and secondly, that it can never oppose passion in the direction of the will."
2

Only passions or emotions move us to action, according to Hume. Reason, alone,
is inert.
Hume and Reid do agree on a number of points, however, and it is easy to
think that what Reid calls rational principles of action are no different from
Hume’s calm passions. And hence it might seem that reason by itself, without
passion, does not move us to action for Reid. This has led some philosophers to
think of their disagreement as merely verbal. Michael S. Pritchard, for example,
states: "The one point that Hume wants to insist upon is that reason without
passion (whether calm or violent) is, practically speaking, inert…. Nothing that
Reid says undermines this."
3
Pritchard thinks that Reid would agree with Hume
that the mere holding of judgments or the mere conception of ends does not move
us to action. Reid would hence agree that what is needed to be moved to action is

1
Reid distinguishes between mechanical principles of action (instinct and habit), animal principles
of action and rational principles of action. The first move us to act involuntarily. The second
motives suppose will and intention but not usually judgment. And when they do rely on some
judgment, it will be a judgment about some present object. The third motives suppose judgments
about ends. In the class of animal motives, Reid mentions appetites, desires and affections. See
Thomas Reid, Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind, Essay III.
2
David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, ed.P.H. Nidditch (Oxford and New York: Clarendon
Press, 1978), 413.
3
Michael S Pritchard, ‘Reason and Passion: Reid's Reply to Hume’, The Monist 61 (1978) No. 2:
283-298, 296.
51
also a desire or passion. Pritchard writes: "… it would seem that forming the
conception of a possible end of action and actually desiring it as an end are two
different things."
4
Hence, according to Pritchard, both philosophers would in fact
agree that reason by itself does not move us to action.
Roger D. Gallie also points out that Reid’s position concerning reason as a
motive does not necessarily contradict Hume’s position. Indeed, Gallie writes that
if reason is to be understood as reasoning, then Reid does not hold that reason by
itself is motivating. He writes: “If Hume’s position that reason is the servant of the
passions merely amounts to the view that reasoning on its own cannot motivate it
is still intact.”
5
Like Pritchard, Gallie holds that the mere conception of some end
like what is good or ill on the whole is indeed the offspring of reason. And because
of this conception we will then be led to have a desire to seek what is good and
avoid what is ill. Gallie seems to think that both philosophers would agree that the
desire is different from the conception itself. Reid, according to Gallie, wants to
understand and explain how moral considerations can move us to act and yet be
the offspring of reason at the same time. He writes that Reid "is attempting to do
this without there being a direct collision with Hume's principle that truths
accepted merely as such cannot by themselves motivate."
6
Hence Gallie clearly
holds that Reid would agree with Hume that reason, by itself, is inert.

4
Ibid., 291.
5
Roger D.Gallie, Thomas Reid: Ethics, Aesthetics and the Anatomy of the Self (Dordrecht, Boston,
London: Kluwer Academic, 1998), 39.
6
Ibid., 40.
52
The question is whether Reid would agree with these statements. I will
show that he would not. I will argue in this paper that Reid and Hume do indeed
hold different positions. I will show that according to Reid Hume held that ideas
or beliefs move us to action only in so far as they prompt or cause certain passions
and these passions are non-intentional mental states. For Reid, however, the mere
conception of some end, without any feelings associated, might move us to action,
whereas for Hume, the mere conception of an end cannot motivate.
However, Reid never straightforwardly states this conclusion. The fact that
some philosophers argue that Reid does not think that reason by itself motivates is
evidence that Reid is not always clear. I will therefore examine, in the first part of
this paper, how Reid understands Hume and how this view is different from Reid’s
own account or motives. In part II, we will turn to a discussion of the status of
desires and I will argue that Reid considered his views concerning the nature of
desires to be different from Hume’s. This difference will be at the core of their
disagreement about the role of reason in action. And understanding this
disagreement will help us see how Reid’s rational principles are different from
Hume’s calm passions. In section III, I argue that Reid would agree with his
contemporary Richard Price, that conceptions of ends, without any feelings
necessarily associated, just are desires. I will conclude, in section IV, by
evaluating Reid’s understanding of Hume and showing that Reid’s understanding
is legitimate.
53
I. Reid and Hume on passion and reason
In the first part of this paper, I would like to expose the different passages
in which Reid mentions Hume’s view on motives and hence to bring to our
attention the differences and similarities between Reid’s own account and his
account of Hume. Although Reid understands the term ‘passion’ differently than
Hume, they do agree on a number of points concerning the meaning of ‘reason.’
This section is rather straightforward and non-controversial. Hence those who are
well acquainted with Hume and Reid’s works might wish to skip ahead to the next
section.
In the Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind, in which Reid puts
forth his philosophy of action, Reid mentions Hume on passions mostly in Essay
III, Of the Principles of Action, and in Essay V, of Morals. In the third Essay, Reid
points out that different philosophers sometimes mean different things by the term
‘passions.’ And, he adds,
The precise meaning of this word seems not to be more clearly ascertained
among modern philosophers.
Mr. Hume gives the name of passion to every principle of action in the
human mind; and, in consequence of this, maintains, that every man is, and
ought to be led by his passions, and that the use of reason is to be
subservient to the passions (EAP 177).

After reminding the reader of his own understanding of this term, Reid points out
that “It is evident, that this meaning of the word passion accords much better with
its common use in language, than that which Mr. Hume gives it” (EAP 178).
54
In Essay V, Reid quotes Hume’s famous passage in which he states that “it
is not contrary to reason, to prefer the destruction of the whole world to the
scratching of my finger” and “reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the
passions, and can never pretend to any other office, than to serve and obey them”
(EAP 468). Here, Reid claims that
If we take the word reason to mean what common use, both of
philosophers, and of the vulgar, has made it to mean, these maxims are not
only false, but licentious. It is only [Hume’s] abuse of the words reason
and passion, that can justify them from this censure (EAP 468).

Reid therefore thinks that it is only because Hume misunderstands the meaning of
the words reason and passion that he can claim that reason is inert or that reason
ought to be the slave of our passions. How, then, does Reid understand Hume’s
notions of passion and reason?
Reid understands Hume to hold that there are no motives that are not
passions. Hence Reid writes: “Mr. Hume gives the name of passion to every
principle of action in the human mind…” (EAP 177). There is therefore no such
thing as reason in the realm of motives. For Hume, what people mistakenly call
‘reason’ and what is properly called ‘passions’ are affections of the same kind. The
only difference between them is their degree of intensity. Hence Reid writes that
Hume calls every principle of action, in every degree, by the name of passion
(EAP 177). Reid probably has in mind a passage like the following in the Treatise
where Hume writes that passion “is a violent and sensible emotion of the mind,
when any good or evil is presented, or any object, which by the original formation
55
of our faculties, is fitted to excite an appetite.” And what is called reason is just the
same kind of affection, but “such as operate more calmly, and cause no disorder in
the temper” (Treatise 437). Therefore, what we are tempted to call reason is just a
passion that operates less intensely than other more violent passions, and Hume
calls these softer passions ‘calm passions.’
7
The fact that these affections are less
violently felt has led us to mistakenly consider them as “conclusions of our
intellectual faculties,” as rational, when in fact they have no such status for Hume.
Reid also writes that passions for Hume are “natural affections… which are
involuntary, a part of the constitution of the man, and common to us with many
brute animals” (EAP 400). He adds that some of these passions are agreeable or
disagreeable and others are useful or not (EAP 401). The agreeable or disagreeable
passions are immediate desires or feelings for certain objects because of our
constitution. Hume calls these simple original instincts and Reid mentions as
examples of these passions “hunger, thirst, and other appetites, resentment, love of
life, attachment to offspring, and other passions…” (EAP 433). He also notices
that benevolent affections are desires of this kind. Reid writes of Hume: “Nature
disposes to them, and from their own nature they are agreeable, both when we
exercise them ourselves, and when we contemplate their exercise in others” (EAP

7
This does not mean, however, that calm passions have less influence. On the contrary, Hume
writes that these calm passions might have more influence than the violent passions (Treatise 418
and 419).
56
403). These moral virtues are therefore agreeable passions or desires that are
aroused by instinct.
8

Reid notes that there are also more artificial passions for Hume; what Reid
calls Hume’s useful passions. The useful passions are also agreeable feelings, but
they arise not directly from a natural instinct. And these passions will be at the
basis of Hume’s artificial virtues, like justice, fidelity, honour, veracity,
perseverance, forethought, etc. These passions are agreeable because they promote
either the good of society or of the possessor of the passion. It is not clear whether
Reid thinks that these passions are motives for Hume. Indeed, he discusses these
passions in relation to Hume’s moral theory but not in relation to action. However,
it is clear that Reid considers Hume’s original passions (and perhaps Reid has in
mind Hume’s direct passions here) as desires or motives.
Ultimate ends, or that for the sake of which we act, is also a point that Reid
mentions in relation to Hume and motives. Reid often points out that for Hume
ultimate ends are the business of affections. Ultimate ends excite our passions and
not our judgment. Reid notices that for Hume, “it is no part of the office of reason
to determine the ends we ought to pursue, or the preference due to one end above
another. This, he thinks, is not the office of reason, but of taste or feeling” (EAP
202). At the end of the Essays, Reid writes again that for Hume “ultimate ends

8
Other examples of original instincts that Reid mentions are “friendship, gratitude, compassion and
humanity.” And, Reid notes that for Hume “when interest, or envy, or revenge, pervert not our
dispositions, we are inclined, from natural philanthropy, to desire, and to be pleased with the
happiness of mankind” (EAP 402).
57
recommend themselves entirely to the sentiments and affections of mankind,
without any dependence on the intellectual faculties” (EAP 478). Reid is now
explicitly referring to Hume’s Second Enquiry, the Enquiry Concerning the
Principles of Morals. In this Second Enquiry, Hume does not give any argument
for the fact that ultimate ends are the business of passions, he simply points out
that it “appears evident, that the ultimate ends of human actions can never, in any
case, be accounted for by reason” (SE 162).
9
And he adds what Reid quotes: “but
[ultimate ends] recommend themselves entirely to the sentiments and affections of
mankind, without any dependence on the intellectual faculties” (Ibid.). Hence,
when it comes to questions of ultimate ends or purposes, we are moved to seek
them or achieve them because these ends move our passions. Therefore, Reid
understands Hume to hold that every kind of motive or desire is a passion, and this
passion will be (or include) an agreeable or disagreeable feeling. Even the
consideration of ends is the business of passions for Hume.
10
And hence Reid
would conclude that for Hume only passions move us.
Let us now turn to Reid’s own understanding of passions. Reid agrees that
passions move us to action but he disagrees with the claim that all motives are
passions. For Reid, only the animal motives, which are different from rational

9
David Hume, An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, ed. Tom L. Beauchamp (Oxford
and New York: Oxford University Press, 1998).
10
In cases where the ends in question are moral actions, it is the passion or the feeling that moves
us to action for Hume. Indeed, Reid often writes that the foundation of morality is feeling for
Hume. He points out that moral approbation and disapprobation are feelings according to Hume,
and these feelings then lead us to recognize the action as morally right or not, and these feelings
also move us to act a certain way. See for example EAP 400 and 464-465.
58
motives, can be called passions. It is true that at first Reid limits the use of the term
‘passion’ to only the stronger animal motives, but most of the time he extends the
use of this term to include all animal principles of action. Reid’s preferred
definition of passion, in his chapter “Of Passion,” is that it is only a degree of
vehemence in the affections or animal principles. At some times, the influence of
affections, desires or appetites happens without violence (like in the case of
resentment). In these cases we remain in control of our emotions. At other times,
the same desires can rise to a greater degree of vehemence and they then become
passions.
11
Passions are therefore animal principles that are inflamed and whose
effect is increased. It is in this context that Reid writes that “it is evident, that this
meaning of the word passion accords much better with its common use in
language, than that which Mr. Hume gives it” (EAP 178). Indeed, when somebody
is passionate about something, we think of him as feeling strongly about that
something.
However, Reid often uses the term 'passion' in a much looser way. There
are many passages in the Essays in which ‘passions’ could refer to animal motives
in general, and not just to the stronger animal motives. In Essay II, for example,
Reid says that "It is evident, that mankind, in all ages, have conceived of two parts
in the human constitution that may have influence upon our voluntary actions.

11
Reid explains of the man who feels this passion in the case of resentment that “His blood boils
within him; his looks, his voice, and his gesture have changed…” (EAP 178). Passions have a
greater effect on the body and on the mind and their influence is stronger than the influence of
normal animal motives.
59
These we call by the general names of passion and reason; and we shall find, in all
languages, names that are equivalent" (EAP 70). Here Reid is clearly calling all
animal motives in general by the name of passion. Reid is probably following the
habit of philosophers. Indeed, he points out that "There is a principle of action in
men that are adult and of a sound mind, which, in all ages, has been called reason,
and set in opposition to the animal principles which we call the passions" (EAP
214). Hence, Reid uses the term ‘passion’ for all those motives which are different
from what has usually been called ‘reason’.
12
Therefore, even if Reid argues that
passions are only vehement animal motives, in most passages in his writings
passions will refer to some or all of the animal motives, whether they act calmly or
strongly. This is not surprising since animal motives, in general, move more
strongly than rational motives. It is true that Reid will later point out that the
strength of animal and rational motives cannot be compared. He will argue that
there are two tests of the strength of motives, the rational test and the animal test,
and that rational motives must be evaluated according to the first test and animal
motives according to the latter.
13
Nevertheless, phenomenologically speaking, we
usually feel more of a push in the case of the animal motives. These motives move

12
There are also passages in which Reid seems to limit the term ‘passion’ to some of the animal
motives, but still not only to the more vehement ones. In Essay III, he writes that “It is true indeed,
that men’s passions and appetites, too often draw them to act contrary to their cool judgment and
opinion of what is best for them.” (EAP 209). Passions here might be just the affections or desires,
or, once again, the animal motives in general. A few other examples can be found on the following
passages: EAP 70, 126 and 245.
13
To evaluate the strength of animal motives we must determine how hard it is to resist the motive.
We yield with ease to strong animal motives and resist them difficultly. In the case of rational
motives, the strongest ones are those “which it is most our duty and our real happiness to follow”
(EAP 290).
60
by “a kind of violence” whereas the rational ones tend to operate in a “calm and
dispassionate manner” (EAP 70-71). Reid writes that “the loud voice of the
passions drowns the calm and still voice of reasoning” (EAP 245). Hence, in
thinking of the opposition between animal and rational motives, in general, it is
easy to think of all animal motives as passions, hence as strong motives.
In any case, Reid does not speak of rational principles of action as
passions. Passions are either strong affections, desires or appetites, or they are just
affections in general, or they are animal motives in general, but they are never
rational motives. One passage seems contradictory to this view, however. In Essay
IV Chapter IV Reid points out that rational motives "convince, but they do not
impel, unless, as may often happen, they excite some passion of hope, or fear, or
desire. Such passions may be excited by conviction, and may operate in its aid as
other animal motives do" (EAP 290). Here, it might seem that the passions he is
speaking about are rational but that they operate more like animal motives. Indeed,
in the chapter "Of Passion," Reid had explained that hope and fear, joy and grief,
are "ingredients or modifications, not of the passions only, but of every principle
of action, animal and rational" (EAP 179). The rational motives, therefore, could
be modified "according as the object is present or absent" into these passions. And
hence it might seem that since hope, etc. are passions and are kinds of rational
motives then certain rational motives are passions. However, in Essay IV, Reid
quickly adds that the rational motive, per se, is not the passion. For, he says, "there
61
may be conviction without passion; and the conviction of what we ought to do, in
order to some end which we have judged fit to be pursued, is what I call a rational
motive" (EAP 290). Hence the passions of hope and fear are more properly animal
motives that may be excited as a consequence of the conviction, that is, of the
rational motive.
Hence, both Hume and Reid agree that passions move us to action.
However, Reid thinks that for Hume all motives are passions. Reid, on the other
hand, claims that passions are only one kind of motives, the animal ones. The
influence of these motives tends to be felt more violently than the influence of
rational motives (even if, strictly speaking, we cannot say that animal motives are
stronger than rational motives). Now, it might seem that Reid’s rational motives
are no different from Hume’s calm or cool passions. Indeed, Hume’s calm
passions, which we mistakenly call ‘reason’ for Hume, move us less violently than
the more vehement passions, as Reid’s rational motives tend to be felt less
violently than his animal motives. And perhaps if we were to understand what
Hume means by ‘reason’, as Gallie points out, then we would realize that Reid
would not disagree with Hume. Let us therefore turn our attention to ‘reason’ for
Hume and Reid and we will see that Hume and Reid do in fact agree on a number
of points.
Even if Reid disagrees with much of what he calls the ‘way of ideas’ as
held by Hume and others, there are still many points of convergence between both
62
accounts (Reid’s own account and Hume’s account as it is understood by Reid).
14

In the Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, Reid agrees with Hume that the
cogitative part of our nature is the power of reasoning (EIP 751).
15
And he also
agrees with Hume that reason is the power of judging, but what he disagrees with
is Hume’s idea that in matters of morals and action, the cogitative part of our
nature does not play a big role. Indeed, Reid writes that for Hume the cogitative
part of our nature is the power of judging in matters merely speculative (EAP 467).
In the realm of action feelings are the important factors. When referring to Hume,
Reid mentions mostly two roles of reason. These elements seem to coincide with
the account that Hume himself gives of reason in Book II, Part III of the Treatise.
First of all, Reid states that, for Hume, reason is concerned with questions
of how means are related to ends. Reid writes, for example, that Hume gives “the
name of reason solely to the power of discerning the fitness of means to ends”
(EAP 179). And later, Reid repeats that Hume limits his understanding of reason to
the determination of the proper means to any end (EAP 202). Indeed, in the third
section of the third part of Book II of the Treatise, Hume writes that reason makes
“us cast our view on every side, comprehends whatever objects are connected with
its original one by the relation of cause and effect.” Reasoning, he claims,
discovers this relation (Treatise 414). Hence, reason might enlighten us as to the

14
One of Reid’s objectives in the ‘Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man’ and in the ‘Inquiry’ is
to refute the thesis that what is immediately before the mind is some idea or impression.
15
Thomas Reid, Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, ed. Baruch Brody (Cambridge,
Massachusetts: M.I.T. Press, 1969).
63
best way to achieve a certain end. Or, it might reach conclusions concerning
causes and effects. So far, Reid would agree that reason is needed to form
judgments about means and ends. For Reid it is the role of reason to form
judgments about which ends are fit to be pursued and about which actions will
lead to that end.
Another aspect of reason that Reid mentions in relation to Hume is that
reason is concerned with objects and their relations. This is not surprising, since
reasoning about causes and effects presupposes making judgments about the
objects themselves. Reid writes the following about Hume’s view of morals: “in
moral deliberation, we must be acquainted before hand with all the objects and
their relations. After these things are known, the understanding has no further
room to operate” (EAP 474). What this shows it that the judgments of reason have
a truth-value for Hume. Reason is that power by which we state facts about
objects, their qualities and their relations. Hence Reid writes that for Hume, “all
acts of judgment must be true or false” (EAP 400). Reid would no doubt agree
whole-heartedly with these statements. Indeed, Reid himself writes that judgment
is an intellectual operation of the mind by which we form true or false propositions
(EIP 67). However, Reid disagrees with Hume’s view that in morals and action,
after the intellect is acquainted with objects and their relations, “Nothing remains
but to feel, on our part, some sentiment of blame or approbation” (EAP 474). In
other words, according to Reid’s understanding of Hume, it is not the business of
64
reason to approve of certain actions and to be moved to produce them or not.
Nevertheless, Reid would agree that forming judgments about objects is the role of
reason.
The two elements that Reid mentions in relation to Hume and reason is that
for Hume, in matters merely speculative, we reason about the existence of certain
objects and about their qualities and relations and we reason about which means
will lead to which ends. What Reid does not mention is that Hume’s point in the
beginning of section III Book II is that the understanding is concerned with
forming judgments not only from probability but also from demonstration. That is,
first, with the relation of objects and which means will lead to which ends, and
second, with abstract, demonstrative or mathematical reasoning. Reid mentions
that reason is concerned with the relation of objects. But he does not mention
Hume’s point that mathematical demonstrations, for example, do not seem to have
any effect on our actions. Hume writes that the judgments of mathematics are very
useful, but “’tis not of themselves they have any influence” (Treatise 413). We
might want to point out that Reid would agree with this point also. There are many
judgments in mathematics and in abstract thinking that have no effect on our
actions. Therefore, Reid would agree with Hume that reason understood as certain
propositions of mathematics or other abstract demonstrations does not necessarily
have an effect on our actions, of themselves. However, we will see that for Reid
reason is not limited to judgments about abstract objects and their relations.
65
Reason also involves forming judgments about ends, and these judgments about
ends will be directly linked to action. What is more, when it comes to judgments
about ends that concern our ultimate good (first rational motives), these might be
the result of a process of reasoning for Reid.
As we have already noticed, Reid writes that Hume does not think of
reason as being concerned with ends. He writes:
That it is a part of the office of reason to determine, what are the proper
means to any end which we desire, no man ever denied. But some
philosophers, particularly Mr. Hume, think that it is no part of the office of
reason to determine the ends we ought to pursue, or the preference due to
one end above another. This, he thinks, is not the office of reason, but of
taste or feeling (EAP 202).

Nevertheless, Hume does think that reason plays some role in our judgments about
ends. And here too there is a point of agreement between the two philosophers. For
Reid, rational motives are motives that require a judgment about ends. Animals
and very small children are not able to form these kinds of judgments and hence
are not moved by them. Reason is therefore needed to conceive of our overall good
or of our duty (that is, to reason and to form beliefs about these ends), and hence
these motives are rational for Reid. But Hume would not disagree here. Indeed,
Hume writes that even though motives are passions, we often need to reason about
objects and their relations. He writes:
But in order to pave the way for such a sentiment, and give a proper
discernment of its object, it is often necessary, we find, that much
reasoning should precede, that nice distinctions be made, just conclusions
drawn, distant comparisons formed, complicated relations examined, and
general facts fixed and ascertained… in many orders of beauty, particularly
66
those of finer arts, it is requisite to employ much reasoning, in order to feel
the proper sentiment; and a false relish may frequently be corrected by
argument and reflection. There are just grounds to conclude, that moral
beauty partakes much of this latter species, and demands the assistance of
our intellectual faculties, in order to give it a suitable influence on the
human mind (SE, 76).

Therefore, Hume might agree with Reid that we need reason to determine which
action is in our overall best interest or which action is our duty.
When Reid speaks of Hume’s ‘reason’, he therefore seems to be focusing
on the account offered in Book II, part III of the Treatise where Hume speaks of
the direct passions. Reason here seems to be mostly that faculty by which we form
judgments, either about abstract objects or about real objects and about their
relations of cause and effect. But when Reid says that reason alone is inert for
Hume, he understands reason to be a general term, designating both the faculty by
which we form judgments and the judgments themselves. Indeed, Reid uses the
term ‘reason’ when speaking of the speculative faculty, but also when speaking of
the deliverances of reason. He therefore understands Hume to hold the view that
neither reason as a faculty nor the judgments of reason themselves move us to
action. Although judgment does play a role, something more is needed.
There is another point of agreement between Hume and Reid. For both of
them, to be moved to action there must be a desire present. In the next section we
will consider each philosopher’s account of desires. For the moment, let us notice
that both agree that the incitement to act is a desire. For Hume passions are desires.
For Reid, both animal and rational motives are desires. Indeed, in the case of the
67
animal motives, the principle of action is a desire for some present object. In the
case of the rational motives, the principle of action is a desire for some end,
whether it is our happiness or our duty. For Reid, we use reason to form the
conception of some such end and the judgment that such end is good or our duty.
And as soon as we conceive of the end, we are then moved to pursue it.
Therefore, Reid disagrees with Hume that all motives are of an animal
nature (that is, that we have them in common with brutes) and that all motives are
passions. Nevertheless, there are some points of agreement between Hume and
Reid. They both agree that passions are motives. They also agree that all motives
are desires. Hence, reason without desire does not move us to action. In the cases
of mathematical reasoning, which Reid never addresses in relation to Hume and
action, he would nonetheless agree with Hume that there is no desire present and
hence the judgments of mathematics, for example, do not lead us to action. In the
case of reasoning about ends both hold that reason plays a role in the formation of
the judgment about the end and in the conception (of the judgment) of the best
means to attain that end. It is probably for these reasons that philosophers tend to
think that there is no real disagreement between Reid and Hume. Since motives are
desires and since there must be a desire present in the case of Reid’s rational
principles of action, they assume that reason without passion is inert for Reid.
However, I will now show that Reid’s desires are not the same thing as Hume’s
desires/passions.
68
II. Hume and Reid on the nature of desires
At the core of Reid’s disagreement with Hume lies a difference in their
respective understanding of the nature of desire. Indeed, although they agree on a
number of points, I believe Reid thinks of himself as revising Hume’s account of
that mental state, desire, which moves us to action. Now, the term ‘desire’ is one
that Hume and Reid use rather seldom. And neither one actually gives a separate
account of desire. Their views on this topic must therefore be collected and
gathered from their more general account of the passions and motives. I believe,
however, that desire is a central issue in this discussion. Indeed, Reid writes:
The common division of the passions into desire and aversion, hope and
fear, joy and grief, has been mentioned almost by every author who has
treated of them, and needs no explication. But we may observe, that these
are ingredients or modifications, not of the passions only, but of every
principle of action, animal and rational.
All of them imply the desire of some object; and the desire of an object
cannot be without aversion to its contrary; and, according as the object is
present or absent, desire and aversion, will be variously modified into joy
or grief, hope or fear (EAP 179- emphasis is mine).

As this passage confirms, Reid seems to think both of animal and rational
principles of action as desires. Indeed, he writes that all the principles of action
imply the desire or aversion of an object. This passage in Reid’s Essays reminds us
of a similar passage in Hume’s Treatise, where Hume writes:
The impressions, which arise from good and evil most naturally, and with
the least preparation are the direct passions of desire and aversion, grief
and joy, hope and fear, along with volition. The mind by an original
instinct tends to unite itself with the good, and to avoid the evil, tho’ they
69
be conceiv’d merely in idea, and be consider’d as to exist in any future
period of time (Treatise 438).
When good is certain or probable, it produces JOY. When evil is in the
same situation there arises GRIEF or SORROW.
When either good or evil is uncertain, it gives rise to FEAR or HOPE,
according to the degrees of uncertainty on the one side or the other.
DESIRE arises from good consider’d simply, and AVERSION is deriv’d
from evil (Treatise 439).

This passage is evidence of the centrality of desire in Hume’s account of
motivation. Indeed, at least as far as direct passions are concerned, passions arise
from “good and evil most naturally.” And these passions can then be modified into
joy, grief, sorrow, fear or hope. And since desires and aversions arise from “good
consider’d simply” and from evil, these passions seem to all be desires or
aversions. Joy, grief, fear or hope are therefore all different modifications of
desires.
16

Since desires are central to Reid and Hume’s implicit accounts of
motivation, let us now examine why Reid thinks of his own account as different
from Hume’s. It is in Essay V (of the Essays on the Active Powers) that Reid’s
understanding of Hume is revealed most clearly. Indeed, the last four chapters of
this Essay are a direct response to Hume’s views.
17
One objective in these chapters
is to argue that the moral sense is not a faculty of sensing only but also of judging.
In this context, Reid discusses Hume’s views about reason and motivation. Here
he writes that when Hume

16
I thank Michael Karlsson who has brought these passages to my attention.
17
Reid writes just before these four chapters: “The substance of the four following chapters, was
wrote long ago, and read in a literary society, with a view to justify some points of morals from
metaphysical objections urged against them in the writings of David Hume, Esq.” (EAP 385).
70
is not, by custom, led unawares to speak of reason like other men, he limits
that word to signify only the power of judging in matters merely
speculative. Hence he concludes, ‘That reason of itself is inactive and
perfectly inert’ (EAP 467).

He adds a few paragraphs later:
When Mr. Hume derives moral distinctions from a moral sense, I agree
with him in words, but we differ about the meaning of the word sense.
Every power to which the name of a sense has been given, is a power of
judging of the objects of that sense, and has been accounted such in all
ages; the moral sense therefore is the power of judging in morals. But Mr.
Hume will have the moral sense to be only a power of feeling, without
judging: this I take to be an abuse of a word (EAP 468).

Reid disagrees with Hume’s claim that reason alone is inert and that reason ought
to be the slave to the passions and in defense of his view he claims that Hume
misunderstands the nature of moral principles of action. The problem, it seems, is
that Hume puts too much emphasis on feelings. According to Reid, however, when
we make moral distinctions, or when we perceive certain actions to be right and
others wrong, we make a judgment about the action or the person. Indeed, Reid
argues throughout his works that perception, in general, is an act of mind by which
we judge as well as feel. When we perceive, we judge of the existence of the
object and of its qualities. And hence Reid writes in Essays III and V that we also
make judgments about ends like our overall happiness and duty, which are
objective qualities. Hence, Hume is mistaken to think that ends are not the
business of judgment.
Now, I do not wish to discuss Reid’s account of moral perception here, but
to examine Reid’s understanding of Hume. And what Reid seems to have in mind
71
is that since Hume does not think of some principles of action in terms of
judgments, it is because he mistakenly considers them to be feelings. There are a
few passages in the Essays on the Active Powers in which Reid writes that Hume
considers passions, and hence desires, to be specifically feelings or sensations (and
I believe these two terms are synonymous for Reid). In EAP 400, he writes that for
Hume
moral approbation or disapprobation is not an act of the judgment, which,
like all acts of judgment must be true or false, it is only a certain feeling,
which, from the constitution of human nature, arises upon contemplating
certain characters or qualities of mind coolly and impartially.

Since moral approbation and disapprobation is a moral motive or desire, and since
it is only a certain feeling, then, according to Reid’s understanding of Hume, moral
motives or desires are feelings. Reid continues by pointing out that, contrarily to
the view (which he earlier ascribes to Hume) that moral approbation and
disapprobation includes “no more but some agreeable or uneasy feeling, in the
person who approves or disapproves”, he holds that moral approbation and
disapprobation include judgment (EAP 457). This passage shows that the feeling
that is the moral motive in Hume’s account as it is understood by Reid is an
agreeable or uneasy feeling. Reid adds that for Hume, when I condemn a man for
his action, I mean no more but to express some uneasy feeling in myself (EAP 457
and EAP 458).
18
For Reid, the moderns, and especially Hume, think that the

18
The problem with many modern philosophers, according to Reid, is that they have reduced many
qualities to sensations or feelings in our minds. Hence, secondary qualities were considered to be
72
propositions ‘Such a man did well and worthily; his conduct is highly approvable’
and ‘the man’s conduct gave me a very agreeable feeling’ are propositions which
have the same meaning (EAP 464). Hence, what Reid considers to be a rational
principle of action Hume considers to be a passion and expressive of a certain
feeling. All moral principles of action or motives are feelings, according to Reid’s
understanding of Hume (see also EAP 469-473).
As I have already noticed, Reid writes that ultimate ends for Hume
“recommend themselves entirely to the sentiments and affections of mankind,
without any dependence on the intellectual faculties” (EAP 477). Of course, we
reason about objects and their relations but “after these things are known, the
understanding has no further room to operate. Nothing remains but to feel, on our
part, some sentiment of blame or approbation” (EAP 474). Why, Reid then asks,
do we not call judges ‘feelers’? Earlier in the Essays, Reid writes that some
philosophers, particularly Mr. Hume “think that it is no part of the office of reason
to determine the ends we ought to pursue, or the preference due to one end above
another. This, he thinks, is not the office of reason, but of taste or feeling” (EAP
202). He also points out that the only end, the only thing that moves our passions,
desires or feelings for Hume, is pleasure. Even the artificial virtues derive their

only feelings in our minds (by Descartes and Locke, for example). Then, for some like Berkeley,
even primary qualities were only certain feelings in the mind of the spectator (EAP 458). The next
step was to consider moral approbation and disapprobation as agreeable and uneasy feelings. And
“Mr. Hume made the last step in this progress, and crowned the system by what he calls his
hypothesis; to wit, that belief is more properly an act of the sensitive, than of the cogitative part of
our nature. Beyond this, I think no man can go in this track; sensation or feeling is all, and what is
left to the cogitative part of our nature, I am not able to comprehend (EAP 458).
73
merit from the end for which they are useful. And this “end, in this system, is
agreeableness or pleasure” (EAP 401). Hence, Reid concludes the Essays on the
Active Powers with a last statement about Hume’s claim in the Second Enquiry
that ultimate ends “recommend themselves entirely to the sentiments and
affections of mankind, without any dependence on the intellectual faculties” (SE
162). Reid writes: “By sentiment, he must here mean feelings without judgment,
and by affections, such affections as imply no judgment. For surely any operation
that implies judgment, cannot be independent of the intellectual faculties” (EAP
478).
Hence, Reid clearly thinks of Hume’s principles of action as including
affective states or feelings. Now, principles of action are desires, for both Hume
and Reid. Reid thinks that desires are feelings for Hume, but what exactly are
these feelings according to Reid? Feelings are the lowest degree of animation we
can conceive and it is what differentiates the animate form the inanimate nature.
Feelings, for Reid, require even less reasoning capacities than animal motives. “A
feeling”, he writes, “must be agreeable, or uneasy, or indifferent. It may be weak
or strong. It is expressed in language either by a single word, or by such a
contexture of words as may be the subject or predicate of a proposition, but such
as cannot by themselves make a proposition” (EAP 459). Indeed, most of the time,
Reid differentiates feelings from judgments. Hence, judgments can be true or false
but feelings cannot. However, Reid would also say that feelings do not involve any
74
conception of an object. I believe that Reid held feelings or sensations to be non-
intentional. Affections or animal motives involve conception of some object, but
feelings are only ways of being affected. He writes for example:
Let me now consider how I am affected when I see a man exerting himself
nobly in a good cause. I am conscious that the effect of his conduct on my
mind is complex, though it may be called by one name. I look up to his
virtue, I approve, I admire it. In doing so, I have pleasure indeed, or an
agreeable feeling; this is granted. But I find myself interested in his success
and in his fame. This is affection; it is love and esteem, which is more than
mere feeling. The man is the object of this esteem; but in mere feeling there
is no object” (EAP 463).

Hence, feelings are different from judgments but also from affections or animal
motives which include conception for Reid. Feelings, on the other hand, have no
object.
I believe, therefore, that when Reid says that all motives are passions for
Hume and that reason is inert and that the moral motive is essentially a feeling, he
means that desires, for Hume, are non-intentional feelings. He actually never
mentions that feelings have no objects for Hume. However, the reason he never
mentions this is probably because he thought it was quite evident that feelings
have no objects. In fact, Reid himself equates feelings with sensations, and he
claims that sensations are non-intentional. He also clearly believed that for Hume
feelings and sensations were the same thing. Reid points out that for Hume,
“sensation or feeling is all” (EAP 458). Sensations are synonymous with feelings,
and they are the important fact in action and in morals. Reid does not bother to
explain what sensation or feelings mean for Hume, because he probably does not
75
wish to repeat himself too much. Indeed, already in the Essays on the Intellectual
Powers, Reid had explained that sensations do not have objects distinct from
themselves.
19
They are simple acts of mind, for Reid, which only exist when they
are felt (EIP 27). He adds that ‘feelings’ may mean several things, but one of its
significations is that it is not different from sensation. Hence when Reid speaks of
Hume’s sensations, he understands Hume to mean simple acts of mind which have
no object and which, for Hume, are also called feelings or emotions.
Unfortunately, Reid does not cite passages from Hume’s works that would
support such an understanding. He could have mentioned the following ones,
however, and they would have been in line with his train of thinking:
Reason is the discovery of truth or falsehood. Truth or falsehood consist in
an agreement or disagreement either to the real relations of ideas, or to real
existence and matter of fact. Whatever, therefore, is not susceptible of this
agreement or disagreement, is incapable of being true or false, and can

19
When Reid writes that sensations have no objects distinct from themselves, I believe that he
meant that sensations have no objects whatsoever. Some have argued that sensations have
themselves as objects, but I see no evidence of this in Reid. Vere Chappell (‘The theory of
Sensations’, The Philosophy of Thomas Reid, eds. M. Dalgarno and E. Matthews (Dordrecht,
Boston, London, 1989) 49-63), for example, holds that sensations have themselves as object.
Indeed, sensations, he points out, must have content or characteristics or natures, and hence must be
intentional. Todd Buras (‘The Problem with Reid’s Direct Realism’, The Philosophy of Thomas
Reid, eds. John Haldane and Stephen Read (United Kingdom, 2003) 44-64) also argues that
sensations are modes of thought that are not referentially empty but are about themselves. He
claims that there is no textual evidence to support the view that sensations are referentially empty
for Reid. I believe the contrary is true (see for example Reid’s Inquiry into the Human Mind, chap.
VI, sect. xx, 167-168, or EAP 271. See also EAP 463: "…in mere feeling there is no object"). Most
commentators think that Reid held sensations to be non-intentional (see for example Alex Byrne,
‘Intentionalism Defended’, The Philosophical Review, 110 (April 2001) No. 2: 199-240; or
Timothy J. Duggan, ‘Thomas Reid’s Theory of Sensation’, The Philosophical Review, 69 (1960):
90-100. I share William P. Alston (‘Reid on Perception and Conception’, The philosophy of
Thomas Reid, eds. M. Dalgarno and E. Matthews (Dordrecht, Boston, London, 1989): 35-47) and
James Van Cleve’s (‘Reid’s Theory of Perception’, Cambridge Companion to Thomas Reid, ed.
Terence Cuneo (Cambridge, 2004): 101-133) view that, for Reid, to have a sensation is to sense in
a certain way and not to sense something.
76
never be an object of our reason. Now ‘tis evident our passions, volitions,
and actions, are not susceptible of any such agreement or disagreement;
being original facts and realities, compleat in themselves, and implying no
reference to other passions, volitions, and actions. ‘Tis impossible,
therefore, they can be pronounced either true or false, and be either
contrary or conformable to reason (Treatise 458).

This passage supports Reid’s idea that passions or desires are not judgments for
Hume. Also, passions do not seem to be about anything, or at least they are not
about passions, volitions, and actions. The next passage could support what I
believe Reid thought about Hume: that desires are non-intentional feelings.
A passion is an original existence, or if you will, modification of existence,
and contains not any representative quality, which renders it a copy of any
other existence or modification. When I am angry, I am actually possest
with the passion, and in that emotion have no more reference to any other
object, than when I am thirsty, or sick, or more than five foot high (Treatise
415).

Although Reid does not cite these passages, I believe what he says about Hume in
general and about principles of action, judgments and feelings implies that he
interprets Hume as holding that desires are non-intentional feelings of pleasure or
uneasiness that move us to action.
Reid, on the other hand, holds that desires are intentional and are not
necessarily feelings. Let us therefore turn to Reid’s own account of desires. This
section is important, I think, because those who argue that Reid in fact agrees with
Hume tend to think that Reid and Hume both hold that reason plays a role in
forming our conceptions of ends, but to actually be moved to action, a feeling must
also be present. Also, some Reid scholars tend to think (wrongly, as I will show)
77
that feeling is the motivational element in Reid’s action theory. Alexander
Broadie, for example, seems to think that the reason feelings are associated with
moral judgments in Reid’s moral account is to render these judgments
motivational.
20
Terence Cuneo also writes of feelings as motivational states, or as
what accounts for motivation. The idea is that without feelings, Reid’s moral
judgments would not move us to action.
21
In what follows however, I will argue
that the mere conception of some end can move us to action for Reid and hence
that feelings are not necessary for motivation.
Desires are not feelings, for Reid. Indeed, already with the first animal
principle of action, Reid points out that “if we attend to the appetite of hunger, we
shall find in it two ingredients, an uneasy sensation and a desire to eat” (EAP 119).
In the case of some animal motives, like the desire for knowledge or esteem, there
is no feeling or sensation associated. Hence, in the case of these desires, Reid
writes that “there in not an uneasy sensation proper to each, and always
accompanying it” (EAP 128). We could go through the whole list of animal
motives and point out how, in each case, the desire and the feeling are different
ingredients of the motive.
22
Animal and rational principles of action are always

20
Alexander Broadie, ‘Reid Making Sense of Moral Sense’, Reid Studies 1 (1998) No. 2: 5-16.
21
Terence Cuneo, ‘Reidian Moral Perception’, Canadian Journal of Philosophy 33 (2003), No. 2:
229-258, 253. See also Terence Cuneo, ‘Signs of Value’, British Journal for the History of
Philosophy 14 (2006), No. 1: 69-91, where Cuneo clearly claims that for Reid passions or feelings
(I believe he equates both states) “are indispensable for motivating us to action” (see p. 78).
22
Another good example is in the case of the affections. Benevolent affections are all accompanied
with some kind of agreeable feeling, but this feeling is different from the desire for the good of the
object of our affection. See EAP 140-141.
78
desires, but the desires are different from the feelings associated with the motive,
and sometimes there is no feeling present. And this is no surprise, since desires are
always ‘of something’ whereas feelings are just ways of being, as we have already
pointed out. However, it seems that most animal motives are accompanied with
some kind of sensation or feeling. It is therefore easy to be mistaken into thinking
that all passions are feelings.
In the case of the rational principles of action also there is always a desire
present, but not necessarily a feeling. It is true that animal motives, passions, can
help the rational motives by being an additional force or incitement to action.
Indeed, the strong or uneasy feelings might sometimes add additional force to the
desire. And since many animal motives are accompanied with feelings, one might
be tempted to think that the rational motives, to function as motives, must also be
accompanied with feelings. However, Reid argues that even if these passions can
help the rational motives, they are by no means necessary. Reid writes, for
example, that those actions done without passion are the actions that are imputed
solely to their author. These actions are done coolly and deliberately, without the
aid of any animal motive (EAP 71). He also writes that some ends are too distant
to raise any passion. And in a passage I have already mentioned, Reid points out
that the rational motive, per se, is a conviction, and “there may be conviction
without passion…” (EAP 290). Therefore, even if feelings are present when we
are moved by most of our animal motives, this does not entail that feelings are
79
present when we are moved by rational motives since these can incite without the
help of passions.
Indeed, Reid never claims that one must have a certain feeling to be moved
by rational motives. When we are moved by the first rational principle of action,
we might form the conception of some project or end and not feel anything at all.
However, the situation is more difficult with the second rational motive, a regard
to duty. Reid holds that there are always feelings associated with this motive, and
hence some have mistakenly supposed that it is this feeling that moves us. Indeed,
moral judgments are always accompanied with approbation and disapprobation
(which are a mixture of judgment and feeling). The approbation and
disapprobation associated with moral judgments sometimes take the form of
feelings of esteem or guilt. Hence, philosophers tend to think of these feelings as
the motivational element.
Alexander Broadie, as I have briefly noted, in his article Reid Making
Sense of Moral Sense, seems to hold this view. He notices that there is a desire,
separate from the feeling, that is linked to the moral judgment. But he writes: “And
it might therefore be speculated that this feeling with the grain of the judgment
was necessary for the performance of the act required by the judgment.”
23
Broadie
is correct to point out that for Reid there is a feeling associated with moral
judgments. And it is also correct to point out that this feeling works “with and

23
Alexander Broadie, ‘Reid Making Sense of Moral Sense’, 13.
80
never against the moral judgment.” Indeed, when we judge that some action is
right, we also feel approbation, and not disapprobation. However, Broadie must
not conclude that for Reid “nature’s purpose in moving us from judgment to
feeling is precisely to create the possibility of the performance required by the
moral judgment.”
24
Indeed, feelings are sensations that happen to us, but they are
not desires to do something. We have many feelings, like pain and cold that may
have nothing to do with action.
25
And when we are moved by the first rational
motive, we might desire some end without feeling anything at all. Hence, it is not
clear in Reid that feelings like approbation or disapprobation must be the
happenings that push us or incite us to act.
Broadie relies on the following passage in Reid’s Essays on the Active
Powers to back up his conclusions on this point: “I am very apt to think, with Dr
Price, that, in intelligent beings, the desire of what is good, and aversion to what is
ill, is necessarily connected with the intelligent nature; and that it is a contradiction
to suppose such a being to have the notion of good without the desire of it, or the
notion of ill without aversion to it” (EAP 206). We will come back to this passage,
but we might want to notice here that this passage relates to the first rational
principle of action, a regard to our overall good, and not to the sense of duty. Reid
here speaks of a desire for what is good, and not of a feeling. Indeed, this passage

24
Ibid.
25
Of course feelings do play a role in action. They often strengthen or weaken desires. However,
my point is not that feelings have nothing to do with action for Reid but that feelings are not
necessary for action. And feelings themselves might have, in some cases, no relation to desires and
hence to action.
81
is found in Essay III, where Reid is speaking about motives or desires. Although
moral judgments are accompanied with feelings, Reid never writes of the first
rational motive or of judgments about our overall happiness as involving feelings,
and yet these judgments do move us.
26

Reid therefore disagrees with Hume about the nature of desires. According
to Reid, Hume holds that even if beliefs are necessary to form passions, what
actually moves us, the motive or desire itself, is a feeling. Feelings are non-
intentional happenings that move us because of their agreeableness or lack thereof.
For Reid, on the other hand, desires are not feelings. Desires are intentional states
of mind; they are about some object or other. It is true that desires are often
accompanied by feelings, and hence the feeling adds force to the desire. However,
some desires move us without any feelings associated. In the case of the rational
principles of action, the desires themselves are a product of our rational nature.
This might be one of the reasons for which Reid agrees with Richard Price that
“the desire of what is good, and aversion to what is ill, is necessarily connected

26
This point in Broadie is not one of his main points. His main purpose is not to explain how moral
judgments move us to action but rather to show that the order from sensation to conception and
then to judgment is reversed in the case of moral judgments. In this latter case, we form first a
conception of the action and then we judge of the moral worth of the action and then the judgment
gives rise to a feeling that is proper to the judgment. It is true that in Essay V, Reid speaks mostly
of judgments and feelings and he often points out that the feeling is a consequence of the judgment.
Indeed, Reid’ s purpose in Essay V is not to explain how moral judgments motivate but to show
that moral judgments are not, essentially, a matter of feelings, as Hume believes them to be.

Another philosopher who tends to equate desires with feelings and who holds that feelings are the
motivational element in Reid’s principles of action is Sabine Roeser. Throughout her paper, Roeser
assumes that affections, in general, are only feelings. And hence she also seems to conclude that in
the case of moral judgments it is the moral affection or sentiment that has the motivational force
(Sabine Roeser, ‘Reid’s Account of the Moral Emotions’, Reid Studies 4 (2001) No. 2: 19-32).
82
with the intelligent nature” (EAP 206). Rational motives are desires and hence
they move us to action but they are rational desires that do not necessitate feelings
or passions à la Hume.
III. Reid’s Pricean account of desires
But there might be another reason for which Reid agrees with Price.
Indeed, one might be tempted to bring up the objection that even if ‘rational’
desires require reason to form the conception of the end or goal which will guide
our actions, the desire is still something animal that accompanies such a
conception. So, even if our desires are “connected with the intelligent nature,” one
could still hold that the desires are more like Hume’s passions, or some mental
state more associated with our animal nature. The question, therefore, is whether
or not Reid holds that desires just are the conceptions in question, and nothing
more. And then we will need to understand how such a conception could actually
move us to act.
When we examine the account Price offers in his Review of the Principle
Questions in Morals, it is evident that, for Price, to conceive of our overall
happiness and to conceive of our duty just is to desire it.
27
Price also speaks of the

27
I will, from now on, refer to this work as the Review of Morals or simply as Price’s Review. See
Richard Price, A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals, ed. D.D. Raphael (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1974). Price was a contemporary to Reid (1710-1796). He lived from 1723 to
1791 and first published the Review in 1758 and then published a revised second edition in 1769.
Since Reid published the Essays on the Active Powers in 1788, it is very plausible that he was well
acquainted with Price’s work as he was writing the Essays. What is more, Reid, in his
83
desire for happiness and of the desire to do what is right. And he argues that these
desires arise not from instinct (which is a blind, animal, kind of propensity) but
from the understanding or reason (see Chapter III of the Review of Morals). For
Price, if these propensities arise from instinct this means that they arise from “an
original bias given our natures” and as such are arbitrary since a different kind of
nature would give us different propensities (Review of Morals, 70). However, he
argues that happiness and virtue are part of the real natures of actions and events.
And it is our understanding that perceives these natures. Hence, it is necessary for
Price that we desire happiness and virtue. He writes:
No power whatsoever can cause a creature, in the agonies of torture and
misery, to be pleased with his state, to like it for itself, or to wish to remain
so. Nor can any power cause a creature rejoicing in bliss to dislike his state,
or be afraid of its continuance. Then only can this happen, when pain can
be agreeable, and pleasure disagreeable; that is, when pain can be
pleasure; and pleasure pain.
From hence I infer, that it is by no means, in general, an absurd method of
explaining our affections, to derive them from the natures of things and of
beings. For thus without doubt we are to account for one of the most
important and active of all our affections. To the preference and desire of
private happiness by all beings, nothing more is requisite than to know
what it is (Review of Morals, 70).

For Price, therefore, knowing what happiness is and knowing which action or set
of actions lead to happiness is equivalent to desiring it. As soon as we understand
what happiness and misery are, we cannot help but perceive their difference and

correspondence, makes several references and allusions to Price’s book (see Paul Wood, The
Correspondence of Thomas Reid, (Pennsylvania, 2002)).
84
“prefer the one to the other; and chuse the one rather than the other…” (Review of
Morals, 71).
And if one might still object that desires are linked more to our animal
nature, as feelings would be, Price offers an illustration of a being that is purely
reasonable. Price argues that just by understanding what happiness and virtue are,
that is, by perceiving objects that have these qualities, this being would thereby
desire happiness and virtue. One might say that we know what happiness is and
desire it because it first gives us pleasure (a pleasurable feeling). However, Price
replies, something gives us pleasure because we previously desired it. He gives
three examples as illustration. First, he shows that obtaining what we do not desire
is not the cause of pleasure for us. Secondly, we might desire things without
knowing the consequences, without knowing whether they will in fact give us
pleasure. And finally, we would desire exactly the same things even if we thought
they would give us no greater pleasure (Review of Morals, 75).
28
Therefore, Price
argues that knowing what happiness and virtue are is an act of the understanding
and this is sufficient for desiring them. Indeed, to recognize happiness and virtue
just is to desire them.
Would Reid agree with Price that forming the conception of ultimate ends
is thereby to desire them? I believe the answer is ‘yes,’ even if Reid does not

28
See also Price’s Review, p. 224, where he writes that “Pleasure is founded in desire, and not
desire in pleasure; or that, in all cases, enjoyment and happiness are the effects, not the causes and
ends of our affections.” These passages demonstrate that Price also saw a difference between
desires for happiness and feelings of pleasure and happiness.
85
always clearly say so. Indeed, when Reid points out that the conceptions of ends
“give rise” to principles of actions, it may seem that the conception is not the
motive (EAP 205). However, in other passages, Reid seems to be saying that the
conception is the preference, and hence the desire. In the case of the first rational
principle, Reid points out that “whatever makes a man more happy, or more
perfect, is good, and is an object of desire as soon as we are capable of forming the
conception of it” (EAP 204). A little later he writes: “as soon as we have the
conception of this object, we are led, by our constitution, to desire and pursue it. It
justly claims a preference to all objects of pursuit that can come in competition
with it. In preferring it… we act according to reason…” (EAP 214). In a passage
I’ve already referred to, Reid writes that the conviction itself is the principle of
action, that is, the desire (EAP 290). Hence, it seems that the conception itself or
the judgment of what is in our overall interest is the desire or the motive.
It is true that these passages do not present strong evidence for the view
that to conceive of our overall good is thereby to desire it since one could always
point out that the conception could give rise to a desire that is something different
from the conception itself. In fact, a Humean would probably point out that the
kind of judgment we form in this case is one about our overall good. In other
words, we judge what will bring us more pleasure. And then, once the judgment is
formed, our feelings are moved to acquire that pleasure. Reid, however, never
once claims that our feelings might be moved in the case of the first rational
86
principle of action. And his criticism of Hume clearly shows that the cogitative
part of our nature, reason, is sufficient when it comes to acting on rational motives.
He rejects Hume’s idea that something more is needed. What is more, his
reference to Price in the context of this first rational motive also shows that he held
the conviction or judgment itself, without any feeling associated, to be the desire.
The case is clearer, however, when Reid speaks of the second rational
motive. Indeed, both Reid and Price hold that to understand what is right (and, to
some extent also to know what is in our interest) is to be under an obligation, and
it is this obligation that moves us to action. Reid claims that the inducement to
follow the law is a sense of duty or of interest. And to perceive duty or interest is
to perceive the obligation, that is, to ‘feel’ moved or obligated to perform the
action. And since all inducements are desires, the sense of obligation is the kind of
desire at work.
29
To conceive of something as right is to consider oneself
obligated to perform this action. Reid writes, for example, that “the notion of
justice carries inseparably along with it, a perception of its moral obligation. For to
say that such an action is an act of justice, that it is due, that it ought to be done,

29
Keith Lehrer also seems to imply that the obligation is the inducement. He writes the following:
“These feelings of abhorrence and obligation are inducements to act or to refrain from acting. Duty
is not capable of logical definition, but we require no logical definition to understand the
conception of duty. In a being endowed with reason, the contemplation of actions gives rise to the
feelings of obligation or abhorrence because it gives rise to some conception of the actions as
demanded or prohibited by duty” (Keith Lehrer, Thomas Reid (London and New York, 1989.) I
agree with Lehrer that the obligation is the inducement. However, one must be careful in calling
this obligation a feeling. It is true that in most cases we actually feel something when we feel
obliged to do some action, but the feeling need not necessarily be present. Of course, we can call
the obligation a feeling as long as we understand that what actually moves us is not necessarily a
feeling.
87
that we are under a moral obligation to do it, are only different ways of expressing
the same thing” (EAP 413). And the obligation functions as a desire that seeks to
be fulfilled by the action. Hence, to perceive of something as right is to perceive its
obligation, and hence to desire it.
Price also holds that obligation is part of the idea of virtue (Review of
Morals, 110). And he also thinks that the obligation functions as a motive. He
points out: “All motives are not obligations; though the contrary is true, that
wherever there is obligation, there is also a motive to action” (Review of Morals,
114). Another passage that shows that the obligation is part of the conception of
duty and that the obligation is the motive to action is the following: “When we are
conscious that an action is fit to be done, or that it ought to be done, it is not
conceivable that we can remain uninfluenced, or want a motive to action” (Review
of Morals, 186).
Price, therefore, more clearly holds that judging and desiring are
necessarily connected. Indeed, it seems almost certain that for Price desires for
happiness and for what is right are rational because they are acts of the
understanding whereby we recognize happiness and duty. Even though the
situation is less clear for Reid, I believe he held a similar view. Indeed, to
understand Reid in this way is consistent with the Essays as a whole. And what is
more, Reid, in his correspondence with Price, never objects to Price’s
understanding of desires and reason. Indeed, even though Reid would disagree
88
with Price’s more rational understanding of the natures of objects and with the
nature of universals, and also with Price’s axiom that what is conceivable is
possible, nothing in his writings shows that he would disagree with his
understanding of desires. On the contrary, all that Reid says on this point is that
“he is very apt to think, with Dr. Price” that it is a contradiction to suppose
somebody to have the conception of what is his overall good without thereby
desiring it. We can therefore conclude that, for Reid, to conceive of our overall
good and of our duty is thereby to desire them. Therefore, reason, for Reid, is not
inert since reason can form desires and it is desires that move us to action. Hume
seems to hold that reason is connected to beliefs, and to the holding of certain
propositions. Reid agrees, of course, that reason is about forming judgments or
propositions but he would add that reason is not just ‘reasoning.’ Indeed, Gallie
had claimed that if we understand reason to be reasoning, then Reid would agree
that reason does not motivate. However, Reid holds that when we form judgments
about certain ends, we are also forming desires. Reason is therefore an active
faculty and not just a speculative faculty.
Now, we might wonder why, for Reid, the judgments about our overall
happiness and about our duty motivate but other judgments, like those of
mathematics do not. Hume might claim that a feeling or desire must be associated
with the propositions. What is it about Reid’s conceptions of ends, as opposed to
other conceptions, that makes them desires? And hence how is it that a conception
89
or judgment can be, by itself, a desire? I believe the feature that distinguishes a
mathematical proposition from a proposition about ends, for Reid, is the content of
the proposition. To judge that one line is greater than another, for example, is to
state something about the world but not about my relation to the world. However,
to state that it is in my interest to pursue some objective or that it is my duty to
perform some action is to state something about my relation with the world.
Judgments about ends do not only state relations between me and the
world. Indeed, some geometrical propositions might also express this relation.
Judgments that motivate are specifically judgments about our interest or our duty.
There are facts in the world, and some objects in the world will be conducive to
my happiness and others have a moral value. And when we know these facts we
also know that an action is a morally good action for me to perform or that some
actions will be conduce to my happiness. It is perhaps for this reason that Reid
writes:
If we examine the abstract notion of duty, or moral obligation, it appears to
be neither any real quality of the action considered by itself, nor of the
agent considered without respect to the action, but a certain relation
between the one and the other. When we say a man ought to do such a
thing, the ought, which expresses the moral obligation, has a respect, on the
one hand, to the person who ought, and, on the other, to the action which
he ought to do. Those two correlates are essential to every moral
obligation; take away either, and it has no existence (EAP 228-229).

To feel morally obliged to do something, or to desire to do something, is to judge
something about the world and our relation to the world (or about agents and their
actions). But, also, part of our conception of moral value, for Reid, is a conception
90
of our response to an action with such a value. Hence Reid writes: “The notion of
justice carries inseparably along with it, a perception of its moral obligation. For to
say that such an action is an act of justice, that it is due, that it ought to be done,
that we are under a moral obligation to do it, are only different ways of expressing
the same thing” (EAP 413). Reid is a realist and as such would never hold that
something is conducive to my happiness because it first pleases me, nor that
something is my duty because I feel agreeably toward it. On the contrary, when I
know certain objects in the world, I recognize them as being worthy of being
pursued because of the way the world is and because of the way I am. And to
recognize this fact is thereby to desire these objects since I see or judge that the
action not yet performed stands in a certain relation with me. This action, I judge,
is one that would be best or good for me to perform. The desire just is the
judgment. And then I might feel also (but not necessarily) some feeling of pleasure
in thinking about or in doing the action.
In conclusion then, I believe that Pritchard and Gallie are mistaken when
they imply that Reid’s account of motivation is in agreement with Hume’s
account. Indeed, they claim that Hume and Reid would both agree that judgments,
by themselves, would not move us to action. Desires, they assume, always include
feelings or affective states and without them the deliverances of reason could not
move us to action. As I have shown, although Hume, according to Reid, would
91
agree with this view, Reid himself holds that the mere conception of some end can
move us to action.
IV. Evaluation of Reid’s understanding of Hume
Some might object that Reid’s understanding of Hume’s passions is not
correct. First, it might be argued that Hume’s passions are intentional states of
mind and, second, that for Hume feelings of uneasiness or pleasure are not always
necessary to be moved to action. Hence, even if Reid considered his own account
to be different from Hume’s, we might still wonder whether Reid’s own
understanding of Hume is actually correct. If it is not accurate, then perhaps Reid
should have agreed with Hume after all. In this section I will attempt to present the
replies Reid might have made to these two objections.
The first objection, then, is that passions for Hume are intentional and are
directed toward objects since ideas, beliefs, and even judgments are also causes of
action for Hume. Hence, propositions that have a truth value motivate and hence
reason in this sense is motivating.
30
In answer to this point, let us keep in mind that

30
A few years back, George Pitcher wrote that Hume understood passions as non-intentional
feelings. And hence he argued that since passions are obviously directed towards objects and since
we can always give reasons for the holding of certain emotions, Hume was mistaken (George
Pitcher, ‘Emotion’, Mind, 74 (1965): 326-346). Since Pitcher’s paper, Hume scholars have
generally been more nuanced in their interpretation of Hume’s account of desire. In reaction,
perhaps, to Pitcher, it has often been emphasized that reason and beliefs do play an important role
in Hume’s account of motivation, especially to provide reasons for action. When we desire
something, we do form beliefs about objects and their relations and we have opinions about
whether or not they are good for us. Annette Baier, for example, writes that we should not ignore
what Hume says about beliefs and their influence on action in Book I, part II, Section X (see
Annette C Baier, A Progress of Sentiments. Reflections on Hume’s Treatise (Cambridge,
92
Reid would agree that ideas and beliefs about the prospect of pleasure and pain
play a role in Hume’s account of the passions. It would be quite strange for Reid to
think otherwise since Hume is in fact quite clear on this point. Hume writes that:
The mind by an original instinct tends to unite itself with the good, and to
avoid the evil, tho’ they be conceiv’d merely in idea, and be consider’d as
to exist in any future period of time (Treatise 438; emphasis is mine).
DESIRE arises from good consider’d simply, and AVERSION is deriv’d
from evil (Treatise 439).

In these passages, desires seem to be very closely tied to ideas. Actually, when one
desires, one seems to be conceiving of some good or evil. Hume also writes:
An impression first strikes upon the senses, and makes us perceive heat or
cold, thirst or hunger, pleasure or pain of some kind or another. Of this
impression there is a copy taken by the mind, which remains after the
impression ceases; and this we call an idea. The idea of pleasure or pain,
when it returns upon the soul, produces the new impressions of desire and
aversion, hope and fear, which may be properly called impressions of
reflexion... (Treatise 7-8).

Massachusetts and London, England, 1991), 157). In this part of his Treatise, Hume points out that
even if beliefs about good and evil cannot influence us by themselves, they must not be excluded
from the picture. He writes: “Did impressions alone influence the will, we should every moment of
our lives be subject to the greatest calamities; because, tho’ we foresaw their approach, we should
not be provided by nature with any principle of action, which might impel us to avoid them”
(Treatise119). It seems here that if we did not form beliefs about objects, we would not have any
principle of action. Hence, we must form beliefs about objects and their relations in order to be
moved to action. Beliefs are therefore most certainly associated with or part of desires for Hume.
Nevertheless, the common position seems to be that ideas are important but that what
actually moves us is the feeling part of desires. Donald Davidson, for example, would accept this
position. Although reason is necessary in the having of passions, he still seems to think that what
actually moves us is a feeling. He writes that although beliefs have an instrumental role in the
having of passions, beliefs are not what moves us. For Davidson, what Hume calls ‘passions’ have
no representational content, even if the pattern of elements called upon to have a passion do (see
Donald Davidson, ‘Hume’s Cognitive Theory of Pride’, The Journal of Philosophy, 753-754).
Michael Karlsson, however, thinks of Hume’s judgments as motivating even if their causal role is
mediated by sentiments (See, for example, Michael Karlsson, “Reason, Passion and the Influencing
Motives of the Will”, The Blackwell Guide to Hume’s Treatise, ed. Saul Traiger (Oxford:
Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 235-255). In his paper, he seems to think of desires as intentional in
virtue of the ‘cognition’ that causes the desire. However, he has commented to me that he believes
that the desire itself is intentional for Hume.
93

Ideas of pleasure and pain therefore move our passions and hence our actions.
Reid, I believe, could have agreed with these points. Although Hume writes that
our passions have no reference to any object, we cannot imagine not being angry
at or about something.
Reid might therefore agree that Hume is a cognitivist about motivation in
the sense that beliefs (which are propositions with a truth-value) move us to
action.
31
However, Reid might point out, correctly I believe, that Hume thinks that
beliefs and ideas are not intrinsically part of the motive. The passages just quoted
show that ideas or beliefs have an influence on our actions but only insofar as they
give rise to or prompt a certain passion, which, itself, must therefore be something
different from the idea or cognition itself. What this means is that desires are
directed toward objects in virtue of the ideas or beliefs about the objects of desire.
In this sense, we might wish to say that desires are intentional for Hume. However,
Reid’s position is different from Hume’s in the sense that beliefs, for Reid, need
not give rise to anything else in order to move us to action. On this point I believe
his understanding of Hume is correct. Although some passages might be

31
Rachel Cohon argues, correctly I believe, against a non-cognitivist reading of Hume’s account of
motivation. Indeed, ideas and beliefs are motivating. However, she still writes that they are
motivating because they excite or prompt passions by informing us of the existence of something
(see Rachel Cohon, ‘Is Hume a Noncognitivist in the Motivation Argument?’, Philosophical
Studies 85 (1997), 251-266. Her point is that Hume held that judgments are motivating but passions
are not caused from belief via reasoning. She writes: “It is not the reasonableness of a good act that
moves me to do it, since no act is reasonable. It is the goodness of the act, which is something else”
(p. 261). Reid would agree that actions are not good and worthy of being pursued because of their
reasonableness. However, my point here is that Reid would argue, contrarily to Hume, that the
mere judgment that the action is good need not prompt or cause any passion in order to move me to
action.
94
problematic, I believe that it is reasonable to conclude from Hume’s writings, in
general, that ideas or beliefs that do not give rise to passions or to non-cognitive
states, do not move us to action for Hume. Hume’s general position seems to be
that direct passions are impressions that are produced by or derived from ideas of
pleasure and pain but they are not themselves identical to these ideas.
32

Reid might nevertheless still insist that passions are non-intentional for
Hume, but for a different and important reason. This reason is that Reid argues that
one of the consequences of Hume’s theory is that ideas themselves do not
represent anything in the external world. This point is part of Reid’s overall
refutation of what he calls the way of ideas, and more specifically of Hume’s
account of ideas. Indeed, Reid understands Hume to hold that ideas are derived
from corresponding impressions or are composed of simple ideas which are
themselves derived from corresponding impressions. But our first impressions, the
basis of our beliefs and ideas, are themselves sensations caused by objects and as
such do not have any representative content. So where do our ideas and beliefs get
their intentional or representative content from? This objection to Hume is very
well discussed by Ryan Nichols in his book Thomas Reid’s Theory of Perception,

32
Hume usually writes of passions or of impressions as being consequent to or arising from ideas.
Hume writes for example that: “The idea of pleasure or pain, when it returns upon the soul,
produces the new impressions of desire and aversion, hope and fear, which may properly be called
impressions of reflexion, because derived from it” (Treatise 8, my italics). Also: “’Tis from the
prospect of pain or pleasure that the aversion or propensity arises towards any object…” (Treatise
414, italics are mine).
95
to which I refer the reader for a detailed and interesting discussion of this point.
33

Nichols quotes the following passage from Reid’s Philosophical Orations in
which Reid presents Hume’s theory in this way:
There are ideas present in the mind, representations of things that are
external or have passed away; the mind, conscious of these ideas, perceives
things that are external and have passed away with the ideas playing a
middle role. Now, granted that there are ideas of things in the mind of
which the mind is conscious, by what skill or by what indications, I ask,
can the mind either know or even portend that these ideas are
representations of other things?
34

If Hume is correct, Reid argues, then our ideas themselves have no way of getting
at reality, that is, of having intentional content.
In the same way, Reid would respond to the objections I mentioned here
that “granted that there are ideas of things in the mind”, and, I imagine him saying,
‘granted that these ideas influence our passions and are associated with our
passions; how can these ideas, which are derived from or correspond to some
impression, come to represent anything at all?’ Hence, the passions themselves,
intrinsically, are sensations or feelings and hence have no representative quality
but the ideas associated with them or which give rise to them do not have this
quality either. And, therefore, Reid would argue that passions are themselves not
intentional but neither are they intentional in virtue of the ideas which cause them.

33
Nichols, Ryan, Thomas Reid’s Theory of Perception (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2007). See
chapter 2, ‘Intentional Awareness’, 41-71.
34
Reid, Thomas, The Philosophical Orations of Thomas Reid, ed. D. D. Todd, trans. S. D. Sullivan
(Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1989), 61.
96
The second, and more forceful objection, is that Reid’s understanding of
Hume (that beliefs, by themselves, without feelings, do not motivate) is mistaken
because Hume does speak of some passions as lacking any sentimental or affective
element. Indeed, Hume writes:
Hence it proceeds, that every action of the mind, which operates with the
same calmness and tranquillity, is confounded with reason by all those,
who judge of things from the first view and appearance. Now ‘tis certain,
there are certain calm desires and tendencies, which, tho’ they be real
passions, produce little emotion in the mind, and are more known by their
effects than by the immediate feeling or sensation (T. 417).

These calm passions, therefore, seem to depend on very little emotion or feeling.
Hume also writes that by calm passions
...we mean affections of the very same kind with the former; but such as
operate more calmly, and cause no disorder in the temper: Which
tranquility leads us into a mistake concerning them, and causes us to regard
them as conclusions only of our intellectual faculties (T. 437).

It seems, in this passage, that there is no disorder in the mind at all when one is
moved by calm passions.
This is a point that Jacqueline Taylor brings up in her paper Virtue
and the Evaluation of Character. Taylor does not mention Reid at all but she does
seem to think that the moral evaluator, according to Hume, is moved to action by
considerations that do not always involve some affective state. She writes that
when we place ourselves in the general point of view we then form some standard
to which our moral sentiments should conform. However, the moral sentiments
“arise from this process of reflection and correction, making our moral evaluations
97
similar to the unwarranted judgments of the understanding.” What this means is
that the moral sentiments that are the result of this process of evaluation may be
very weak and “we may make a moral judgment about someone’s character
without feeling anything at all.”
35
Hence Taylor holds that the sentiments that are
the result of adopting a general view point and evaluating characters and actions
that are perhaps too distant to raise any passion might not be accompanied with
any feeling. Also, she argues that the moral evaluator, for Hume, as he takes this
general view point several times will develop an “active habit of moral
evaluation”, which means that his moral sentiments and evaluations will become a
settled principle of action, and “the predominant inclination of the soul”, which
“no longer produces sensible agitation.”
36

This aspect of Hume’s theory seems, indeed, to attenuate differences
between Reid and Hume’s account of motivation. And there are passages that are
indeed problematic for Reid’s understanding of Hume on passions. If calm
passions can become, because of custom and use, settled principles of mind and
hence move us to action without any sensation or emotion for Hume, then perhaps
Reid and Hume would agree that some beliefs motivate our actions without
requiring any affective element. This is an issue that is worth pursuing and which I

35
Taylor, Jacqueline, “Virtue and the Evaluation of Character,” The Blackwell Guide to Hume’s
Treatise, ed. Saul Traiger (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 284.
36
See Taylor (2006), p. 291 and 292.
98
cannot adequately address in this paper. I will nevertheless briefly point out the
response that Reid might have given.
It seems to me that Hume speaks of two kinds of calm passions when he
mentions passions that cause no disorder in the temper. The first are beliefs about a
distant or general object or judgments arrived at by adopting a general view point.
For example, a general notion of our advantage might be a principle of action but
the notion would be too general to cause any disorder in the temper (see Treatise
426). Similarly, an impartial judge might evaluate some character but he might not
feel anything at all.
37
And secondly, some passions might become settled
principles of action, that is, habits, customs, or character traits, which move us
without being felt.
38
Hence, it might seem that feelings are not always necessary to
be moved to action according to Hume’s theory, and therefore Reid would be
wrong to understand Hume in this way.

37
See for example Treatise 584, where Hume writes: “We blame equally a bad action, which we
read of in history, with one perform’d in our neighbourhood t’other day: The meaning of which is,
that we know from reflexion, that the former action wou’d excite as strong sentiments of
disapprobation as the latter, were it plac’d in the same position.” See also Treatise 603: “The
intercourse of sentiments, therefore, in society and conversation, makes us form some general
inalterable standard, by which we may approve or disapprove of characters and manners. And tho’
the heart does not always take part with those general notions, or regulate its love and hatred by
them, yet are they sufficient for discourse, and serve all our purposes in company, in the pulpit, on
the theatre, and in the schools.”
38
Hume writes: “’tis evident passions influence not the will in proportion to their violence, or the
disorder they occasion in the temper; but on the contrary, that when a passion has once become a
settled principle of action, and is the predominant inclination of the soul, it commonly produces no
longer any sensible agitation. As repeated custom and its own force have made every thing yield to
it, it directs the actions and conduct without that opposition and emotion, which so naturally attend
every momentary gust of passion (Treatise 418-419).
99
Concerning what I understand to be one type of moral sentiments, those
that arise when considering general, distant, or impartial matters, I believe Reid
would argue that the majority of passages in Hume imply that there is a feeling
aroused by such considerations but that the feeling is very soft. I cannot analyze
every passage mentioning such calm passions here, but I will still mention one of
them. For example, in the following passage, it might seem, at first glance, that
Hume holds that some judgments motivate without emotion:
there are certain desires and inclinations, which go no farther than the
imagination, and are rather the faint shadows and images of passions, than
any real affections (Treatise 450).

Hence it might seem that judgments without passion might indeed move us to
action. However, Hume continues with an illustration of a man who has built a city
and then observes its strength, advantages, disposition, etc. It is plain, he writes,
“that in proportion as all these are fitted to attain their ends, he will receive a
suitable pleasure and satisfaction. This pleasure, as it arises from the utility, not the
form of the objects, can be no other than a sympathy with the inhabitants, for
whose security all this art is employ’d.” Now, this stranger might feel no kindness
for the inhabitants but only feel some very distant form of sympathy. Hume thus
continues: “It may indeed be objected, that such a remote sympathy is a very slight
foundation for a passion…” (Treatise 450). In response, Hume points out that the
activity of the mind in study and in the discovery of truth conveys pleasure. What
is more,
100
beside the action of the mind, which is the principal foundation of the
pleasure, there is likewise requir’d a degree of success in the attainment of
the end, or the discovery of that truth we examine (Treatise 451).

And Hume goes on to speak about the ways in which we develop concern for
certain ends.
Hence, what started out as a passage in which some desires require no
feelings of pleasure for Hume turns out to be a passage about how pleasure and
feelings of pleasure are associated with judgments that are general, made from
utility or from a general point of view. I believe there are a number of passages in
which Hume writes that the passions that arise when we adopt a general point of
view or when we consider distant objects are perhaps not agitations of the soul but
they are still gentle feelings. We do not feel as though we are in a furry or tempest
of passions but we still feel gentle (although sometimes very influential)
sentiments of satisfaction or uneasiness. And hence Hume writes in Book III of the
Treatise that “morality, therefore, is more properly felt than judg’d of, tho’ this
feeling or sentiment is commonly so soft and gentle, that we are apt to confound it
with an idea…” (Treatise 470).
39
It seems to me therefore that Reid would hold
that when Hume writes that “there are certain calm desires and tendencies, which,
tho’ they be real passions, produce little emotion in the mind…” and when he
writes that “when any of these passions are calm, and cause no disorder in the
soul…” Hume means that the passions are not violent and turbulent but neither are

39
See for example Treatise 451; 468-469; 472; 475.
101
they completely unfelt. They produce little emotion, but not no emotion. Also, it is
by adopting the general point of view that we correct our passions and, because of
sympathy, we can now feel the adequate (even if soft) moral sentiment.
40

Hume is clearer, however, when he speaks of what I consider to be another
type of calm passion, the settled principles or habits. Here Hume clearly writes that
“As repeated custom and its own force have made every thing yield to it, it directs
the actions and conduct without that opposition and emotion, which so naturally
attend every momentary gust of passion” (Treatise 419). I believe Reid would
respond by pointing out that although Hume sometimes speaks of custom as a
passion, this is an abuse of words.
41
Custom- and this is in fact what Hume more
often says- is a principle which causes certain passions and also determines which
set of passions will be acted upon. We have the desires or passions we have in part
because of our character, dispositions, habits and customs, but these influence our
passions without themselves being felt, not because they are unfelt desires but
because they are not desires at all. Hume speaks of custom in the same way as he
speaks of the principles of association, by which we pass from an impression of

40
Reid would argue that even the impartial judge has certain feelings of satisfaction or uneasiness
for Hume since Hume concludes: “Thus we are still brought back to our first position, that virtue is
distinguished by the pleasure, and vice by the pain, that any action, sentiment or character gives us
by the mere view and contemplation. This decision is very commodious; because it reduces us to
this simple question, Why any action or sentiment upon the general view or survey, gives a certain
satisfaction or uneasiness, in order to shew the origin of its moral rectitude or depravity, without
looking for any incomprehensible relations and qualities, which never did exist in nature, nor even
in our imagination, by any clear and distinct conception” (T 475-576).
41
Hume, in II.III.4, here speaks of custom as settled principles of action, and as a passion (Treatise
419). However, in the following paragraphs he in fact speaks of custom not as the passion itself but
as the principle which has a great effect both to increase and diminish our passions (See Treatise
421).
102
some object to an idea of another, or by which we pass from one impression to
another (see Treatise 97; 102-103). He also speaks of custom as a principle of our
constitution by which beauty, for example, is “fitted to give a pleasure and
satisfaction to the soul” (Treatise 299). Custom is a kind of principle of
association, a principle of our constitution, but also a facility to perform certain
actions or to conceive of certain objects, and hence it is a tendency to perform
certain actions (Treatise 422). It might also convert pleasure into pain and vice
versa. Custom, habits, character traits are important principles of the human
constitution but they are principles that dispose us to certain motives or passions
but they are not themselves passions. This is also Reid’s position since he holds
that our instincts and habits give us a facility to perform certain actions without
even thinking about them or willing them (EAP 100; 114). They are mechanical
principles of action which are blind propensities and hence not desires per se. Reid
thinks of a disposition as “a state of mind which, while it lasts, gives a tendency, or
proneness, to be moved by certain animal principles, rather than by others” (EAP
187) and as a character trait as a resolution or long term purpose which has an
influence not only on the animal but also the rational motives (see Essay II,
chapter 3) that incite us to act. I believe Hume might actually have agreed with
Reid that habits and character traits are not really desires or passions but are
tendencies to act according to certain desires.
103
Therefore, I believe Reid’s own account contains the resources to answer
such objections. Although there are difficulties with Reid’s way of understanding
Hume, I believe, nonetheless, that his understanding of Hume is legitimate. It
seems that the majority of passages in Hume imply that passions per se often
involve beliefs and ideas but these must give rise to some emotion or feeling in
order to move one to action. Reid’s position, however, and contrarily to what some
seem to think, is that feelings are not necessary for motivation. The mere
conception of some end, sometimes with and sometimes without feelings, can
move us to action.

104
Chapter 3: Active Power, Reason and the Moral Sense
In his introduction to his Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind,
Reid points out that “we are distinguished from the brute animals, not less by our
active than by our speculative powers” (EAP 2). Brutes are necessarily determined
by the strongest motive, Reid writes. Man, however, can contemplate his motives
and he can perceive “a dignity and worth in one course of conduct, a demerit and
turpitude in another, which brutes have not the capacity to discern” (EAP 2). Our
capacity to examine our motives, to perceive the moral worth of actions, and then
to determine our will to act according to certain motives is what Reid calls having
active power, and this active power is the topic of study of these Essays and
deserves “no less to be the subject of philosophical disquisition than [our]
intellectual powers”, which Reid has examined in his previous work on the
Intellectual Powers of Man (EAP 3). Nevertheless, the active powers and the
intellectual powers of man are strongly connected and it is the purpose of this
chapter to better understand this relation.
As one of the best defenders of the doctrine of human liberty, Reid holds
that moral liberty is the power one has to determine one’s will. Adult human
beings not only have the power to control their external actions (in some
situations), they also sometimes have the power to control their decisions and
choices. The determinations of one’s will are not always determined by motives
105
and other causes. And as some philosophers have pointed out, Reid’s insight is not
only that human liberty is the power one has over one’s will but it is that this
power is tied to one’s ability to reason. However, among these philosophers, some,
like Jerome Weinstock, have argued that Reid is inconsistent in his account of this
relation. Others, like Dean Hazelton point out that Reid is not inconsistent but that
it is only in the case of moral beings that there is a relation between active power
and reason. Non-moral beings could have active power but lack reasoning abilities.
In the first part of this paper I will argue that both Weinstock and Hazelton
misunderstand Reid. Reid is not being inconsistent in his account of this relation
even if he is, at times, obscure. And I will show that even if Reid resists talking of
a metaphysical relation, there are no human beings, for Reid, who could lack
reasoning abilities and yet have active power since active power implies reasoning
abilities. However, I will argue in part II that having active power and hence
reasoning abilities does not necessarily imply having a functioning moral sense.
I. Reason and Active Power
A. The debate between Weinstock and Hazelton
According to Weinstock, one of Reid’s most important contributions to the
historical discussion on free will and action theory is his insight that "lies in the
attempt to include in the definition of moral freedom power over one’s will and,
even more importantly, in the attempt to provide some basis for giving a coherent
106
sense to that power.”
1
Reid, he notices, is not the first to link moral freedom to
such power. However, what is interesting about Reid is that this power over one's
will is directly related to one's reasoning capacities. It is for this reason, Weinstock
points out, that Reid's account escapes the famous infinite regress objection to an
indeterminist account of freedom of the will. This objection states that to have
power over one's will, to determine the will, a previous act of the will is required,
and so on ad infinitum. However, Reid himself addresses this objection, and many
have noticed this. He points out that it is not the will that determines the will, but
the person. Agents, not their wills, have power over the will. Hence Weinstock
points out that liberty does not require that the will have power over the will but
"power over the will has to do with the possession of reason and a sound faculty of
judgment which enables us to 'govern ourselves.'"
2
Reid's contribution, therefore,
is not only that freedom of the will has to do with having active power, but also
that active power is related to our reasoning abilities. Moral liberty is the liberty of
an agent to determine his will (his choices, his decisions) and the power of the
agent to so determine the will is linked to his ability to judge or reason about the
outcome of his choices and decisions.
However, Weinstock argues that the exact specification of the relation
between power over the determinations of the will and the ability to reason is

1
Jerome A. Weinstock, 'Reid's Definition of Freedom', Journal of the History of Philosophy 13
(1975) No. 3:335-345, 345.
2
Ibid., p. 343.
107
obscure in Reid. Reid is inconsistent in his account of this relation. He sometimes
writes that power over one's will implies judgment and reason and at other times,
he writes that this power may be possessed by a being who has no reasoning
abilities. Reid writes, for example, that "the liberty of a moral agent implies, not
only a conception of what he wills, but some degree of practical judgment or
reason" (EAP 259). Since having power over the determinations of the will is what
it means to have active power, this passage supports the position that active power
implies our having rational capacities. However, Weinstock notices that Reid adds:
"We may perhaps be able to conceive a being endowed with power over the
determination of his will, without any light in his mind to direct that power to
some end" (EAP 260). Here, it seems that Reid holds that some beings may have
active power but no reasoning abilities. Nevertheless, Reid clearly observes that
brutes, small children, madmen, idiots and people acting under irresistible
impulses lack power over their wills to the extent that they lack the ability to
reason about their actions. There is therefore a strong connection between power
over one's will and one's reasoning abilities. However, Weinstock writes that this
connection is obscure. He writes: "Is then Reid's view that this power implies our
having rational capacities, is simultaneous or coextensive with it, or synonymous
with it?"
3
And this question is not answered in Reid according to Weinstock.
Therefore, Reid's contribution to the free will discussion remains since he relates

3
Ibid., p. 338.
108
active power to reasoning abilities. However, Reid equivocates in his account of
this relation.
In response to Weinstock's paper, Dean Hazelton writes, a few years later,
that Reid is not being inconsistent in his account of the relation between active
power and reasoning abilities.
4
Hazelton's view is that reason, for Reid, is
coextensive with having power over the determinations of one's will, but only in
the case of a moral agent. Reid would indeed be inconsistent if, as Weinstock
argues, he held at the same time that (a) power over one's will implies judgment or
reason and (b) that some beings may have this kind of power but no reasoning
abilities. However, Hazelton points out that Reid never accepts (a). In fact, Reid
writes that we simply do not know whether (a) or not (a) is true: "What connection
there may be, in the nature of things, between reason and active power, we know
not. But we see evidently, that, as reason without active power can do nothing, so
active power without reason has no guide to direct it to any end. These two
conjoined make moral liberty…" (EAP 301). Since power over the determinations
of one's will is a means to having active power, if one has active power one also
has power over one's will. And hence if we do not know the nature of the
connection between active power and one's reasoning abilities, we also do not
know the connection between power over the determinations of one's will and

4
W. Dean Hazelton, 'On an Alleged Inconsistency in Reid's Theory of Moral Liberty', Journal of
the History of Philosophy 16 (1978) No. 4: 453-455.
109
one's capacity to reason.
5
Since Reid does not accept (a), there is therefore no
inconsistency in his account.
Hazelton adds that one could object that Reid must accept (a) because of
other principles he does accept. These are the principles, according to Hazelton,
from which (a) seems to follow:
(c) "By the liberty of a moral agent, I understand a power over the
determinations of his own will" (EAP 259).
(d) "The liberty of a moral agent implies, not only a conception of what he
wills, but some degree of practical judgment or reason" (EAP 259).
Hazelton argues that (a) (having power over one's will implies judgment or
reason) does not follow from (c) and (d) because (c) and (d) concern only moral
agents, whereas (a) concerns any agent, moral or non moral. Hence (a) does not
follow from these other principles. However (a') does follow:
(a') An agent's being a moral agent and having power over the
determinations of his own will implies some degree of practical judgment or
reason.
And Hazelton to conclude that Reid is not inconsistent since he accepts (a') and (a')
follows from (c) and (d) and is not inconsistent with (b). Hence, we may be able to
conceive of some beings who have active power but no reasoning abilities.

5
Ibid., 454.
110
However, in the case of the moral agent, active power is coextensive with reason.
No moral agent who has active power could lack reason, and vice versa.

B. Evaluation of the Weinstock-Hazelton debate
Hazelton is indeed correct to point this out. It is true that for Reid active
power and reason are at least co-extensive in moral beings. In beings who are
capable of forming moral judgments, it is true that wherever there is active power
there is reason and vice versa. However, we will need to understand whether, for
Reid, there could be beings who have one but lack the other. In other words, is the
relation one of mere co-extension or one of metaphysical necessity? And could
there be beings who lack reasoning abilities but still have active power? Reid
often uses the term 'implies' when he speaks of reason and active power. Reid
never states that it is a metaphysical necessity that active power implies reason but,
still, the definition of moral liberty or of active power may logically imply having
reasoning abilities. In any case, there is a connection and if one has reason one has
active power. Hence Hazelton should not say straight out that Reid would not
accept (a). As I will argue, Reid holds that, in the case of all human beings,
whoever has active power has reasoning abilities and hence it seems that there are
no human beings who could lack reason and still have active power.
6

6
For the sake of clarity, we must point out that if Hazelton rejects (a) on the grounds that Reid
would not say that active power implies reason, we must also reject (a’). If we do not know the
111
Hazelton is also correct to point out that in the case of moral agents, one
could not have active power without some degree of reasoning abilities. However,
it still seems difficult to understand how Reid could assert (b) if (c) and (d) are
true. Indeed, Reid says (according to Hazelton) that some beings may have no
reasoning abilities but nevertheless have power over the determinations of their
will (b). However, we learn from (c) that having this kind of power just is what it
means to be a free moral agent. The problem is that in (d) we learn that in moral
agents, being free implies having reasoning capacities. Hence, the being Reid
imagines in (b) must not be a moral agent, and hence not be free. The problem is
that this being could still have power over the determinations of his will for
Hazelton. What kind of power could this be? If this being is not a free moral being,
then how could he determine his will (if by the liberty of a moral agent, Reid
understands a power over the determinations of his own will)? If we follow
Hazelton’s reasoning, the relation between active power and reason is obscure and
puzzling and hence it would seem at first glance that Weinstock is correct in his
evaluation of this relation.
In this paper, however, I want to argue that Reid is not being inconsistent,
even if he might sometimes be obscure. I will show that Reid never held (b) to be
true. For Reid, there are no beings who could lack reasoning abilities and yet have

nature of the relation in non-moral beings, why should we know the nature of the relation in the
case of moral beings? Even if Hazelton is correct to think that all moral beings have active power
and reasoning abilities, he must still hold that the relation cannot be one of implication, if, for Reid,
we do not know the nature of this relation. Hence it seems that Hazelton himself is being
inconsistent.
112
active power. If these beings are not able to form judgments, then they will never
have active power properly speaking. I will first show that Weinstock and
Hazelton are mistaken in their understanding of the passage they use to defend
their view that Reid thought of some beings as having active power but no
reasoning abilities. I will then claim that it is nevertheless understandable to think
that Reid held (b) because of other passages in the Essays. Hence there really
appears to be a problem of inconsistency and I will try to spell out the problem as
clearly as possible. We will then try to understand what Reid meant by 'reason' and
we will observe that reason has different levels or roles. This will help us
understand that some voluntary actions imply a low level of reason and hence the
ability to act. But true active power, power over the determinations of the will, that
is the power by which the agent performs free voluntary actions, implies having a
higher degree of reason, that degree by which we form judgments. Therefore, there
are no beings who have active power, properly speaking, and no reasoning
abilities.
Let us then first make a comment about the passage that both Weinstock
and Hazelton refer to: "We may perhaps be able to conceive a being endowed with
power over the determinations of his will, without any light in his mind to direct
that power to some end" (EAP 260). Weinstock and Hazelton use this passage to
claim that Reid held (b): some beings have power over their wills but no reasoning
abilities. They both understand Reid to be saying that such beings could exist. I
113
think we must be careful, however, in interpreting this passage. Reid does not
think that what is conceivable is therefore possible, and the context of the passage
seems to show that Reid does not believe that such beings could in fact exist, even
if we might never be entirely certain about it. In later paragraphs we will look
more carefully at the meaning of 'conception'. For the moment, let us note that
Reid does not accept the maxim that “whatever we can distinctly conceive is
possible.” In his correspondence with Richard Price and with Dugald Stewart Reid
writes that he sees no evidence that this maxim is true. For Reid conception of an
object is not accompanied with the belief in the existence of an object.
7
In fact, we
conceive many things without believing them to be possible.
In this passage, Reid writes that we can imagine or conceive a being who
has no reasoning abilities but who has active power. However, he adds: “But such
power would be given in vain. No exercise of it could be either blamed or
approved. As nature gives no power in vain, I see no ground to ascribe a power
over the determinations of the will to any being who has no judgment to apply it to
the direction of his conduct, no discernment of what he ought or ought not to do.”
Reid’s argument seems to be that we can conceive of beings with active power but
no reasoning abilities. However, having such a power but no reasoning abilities is
vain or absurd. There is no reason for such a power to exist. Nature does nothing
absurd (God does not create things for no reason); hence such beings do not exist.

7
See Paul Wood, The correspondence of Thomas Reid, letters 47 and 115.
114
Reid is saying that even if we conceive of such beings, they do not exist. It seems,
therefore, that Reid would not accept that beings without the ability to reason
about the outcome of their actions and who nevertheless have active power exist.
Since Reid would not accept (b) there seems therefore to be no inconsistency in
Reid’s view.
However, I think it is understandable to think (as both Weinstock and
Hazelton thought) that Reid held such beings to exist. Indeed, Reid seems to
presuppose (b) in many other passages. Especially in the first three Essays, it
seems that to act voluntarily one must have active power and that many voluntary
actions do not require reasoning abilities. I will analyze these passages when I
expose the problem more clearly. In the passage that Weinstock and Hazelton
mention (EAP 260) Reid seems to say that the reasoning abilities that the
conceivable being lacks are abilities to discern what one ought or ought not to do.
Hence, if we follow my interpretation of the passage, Reid is saying that beings
who have active power but no rational motives are conceivable but do not exist.
However, throughout the Essays, Reid seems to hold that such beings do exist.
Hence the inconsistency in the relation between active power and reasoning
abilities seems to remain. However, as we will see, only a small level of reason is
necessary for the performance of voluntary actions. And voluntary actions are not
always the result of an exertion of the agent’s active power.

115
C. Clarification of terms
Before we lay out the problem more carefully, let us first clarify a few
terms. I will be using the terms ‘power’ and ‘ability’ synonymously. Power is that
faculty by which we do things. Speculative power is the faculty by which we do
things like see, hear, remember, distinguish, judge and reason. And active power is
our faculty or ability to act (EAP 11). Reid himself often uses the terms ‘power’,
‘faculty’, ‘capacity’, interchangeably. Even if there might be a slight difference
between these terms (see EIP 7), these differences are of no consequence to our
discussion. He writes that a faculty is a natural power and that an ability is a part
of the constitution of our mind that enables us to acquire powers.
8
It seems
therefore that active powers are both faculties and abilities (or capacities) since
they are natural powers. However, the difference is not very important and when I
use the term ‘ability’ or ‘capacity’ I will be using it synonymously with ‘power’ or
‘faculty’.
Another point of clarification concerns what Reid calls voluntary actions. It
is not easy to ascertain the exact meaning of ‘voluntary’ actions since Reid never
gives a clear definition of this type of action. Still, as usual, we can gather the

8
Reid writes the following in EIP 7: "I apprehend that the word faculty is most properly applied to
those powers of the mind which are original and natural, and which make a part of the constitution
of the mind. There are other powers which are acquired by use, exercise or study, which are not
called faculties, but habits. There must be something in the constitution of the mind necessary to
our being able to acquire habits, and this is commonly called capacity” (EIP 7). Reid clearly holds
that powers or faculties are original and natural. However, it is not clear whether capacities are
acquired faculties or if they are natural faculties to acquire habits. It seems that Reid holds the latter
view, although he is not clear about it.
116
meaning of the term from some of Reid's observations. Reid distinguishes
voluntary from involuntary actions. And he clearly points out that involuntary
actions involve no will and no conception or understanding. When I act
involuntarily, there is no willing involved, no decision, no choice. In his
correspondence with Lord Kames Reid writes that all involuntary actions happen
without interposition of the will. He adds that some of these actions are within our
power and others are not. Those that are not in our power to perform are the truly
involuntary actions. He writes to Lord Kames: "We commonly call those Actions
involuntary which are neither in our Power nor produced by our Volition. Such is
the shaking of the hand in a paralitick person, or the circulation of the blood."
9
We
can say that these actions are 'ours' but this is just a way of speaking that is not
philosophically correct. The agent is not acting, and his will is not even being
determined by some motive since there is no determination of the will, there is no
willing. Other actions, however, imply no volition and conception but Reid thinks
that they are nonetheless in our power. He seems to thinks that actions that are the
effect of mechanical motives are of this kind, and he calls them 'nonvoluntary'
actions in one of his letters. I believe that in the Essays Reid refers to these actions
as 'mixed actions', although he is not clear at all when he writes about these actions
(see EAP 94). In his letters he writes that actions like catching ourselves when we
are about to fall, or doing things out of habit, are actions that are done without

9
Correspondence, p. 134
117
willing them (they are therefore not voluntary) but they are nevertheless in our
power. I have the power to catch myself. But in this instance, no power is being
exerted over my will. The action happens ‘malgré moi’. I do not exert any power
and I do not will anything. In the Essays he writes that these actions "are under the
command of the will, but are commonly performed without any interposition of
the will" (EAP 94).
10
Involuntary and nonvoluntary actions are therefore actions
that involve no will and no conception of the action even if some of these actions
are actions that the agent could perform if he exerted his power.
From this discussion on involuntary actions we can gather that voluntary
actions are, in general, actions in which the understanding and the will are
involved. These are in fact the conditions that Reid poses when he speaks of
voluntary operations of the mind: attention, deliberation and resolution (Essay II,
chapter 3). They are voluntary because, first of all, it is clear that they refer to the
understanding, but Reid points out that they also involve the will. For example, I
can turn my attention, voluntarily, to some thought or other. Voluntary actions are
therefore those which involve at least some conception of the action and some will
or decision to perform the action. It is interesting to note that Reid always
differentiates voluntary actions from involuntary actions, and not from necessary

10
Hence actions caused by animal motives could also be mixed actions. We might sometimes do
things like eating, drinking, etc. without actually willing the action. In this case we do the action
mechanically, without thinking at all, in the same way as when we act out of instinct.
118
actions. This is a point to remember when we come to understand that some
voluntary actions may not be the result of an exertion of active power.
D. The Problem
Let us now try to spell out the problem more precisely. I said earlier that
throughout the Essays, Reid thinks that some beings perform voluntary actions for
which no reasoning abilities are required. And it is understandable (but wrong) to
think that Reid holds that in these cases, when they are acting voluntarily, they are
exerting their power to act, their active power. However, in Essay IV he writes that
only beings with reasoning abilities have active power. Hence the inconsistency.
Another way of putting the problem is the following: Reid seems to say that all
actions are the result of an exertion of active power. Hence voluntary actions seem
to be the result of an exertion of power. Reid writes that what is necessary for an
action to be voluntary is that the agent conceive the action and will it to happen.
Nothing more. No reasoning abilities seem to be required. Hence, voluntary
actions seem to be the result of an exertion of power and yet no reasoning abilities
in the agent are involved. However, in Essay IV Reid writes that active power
implies not only conception and will but also reasoning abilities. The
inconsistency, therefore, and as Hazelton and Weinstock had noticed, seems to be
between, on the one hand, the view that some beings have active power but no
reasoning abilities and on the other hand the view that it is impossible to have
active power without reasoning abilities.
119
It is especially in the beginning of the Essays on the Active Powers that
Reid writes that every action is the result of an exertion of power. The speculative
powers (seeing, hearing, etc.) are the result of our speculative powers. And “the
power of executing any work of art or labour is active power” (EAP 11, my
italics). Every one of our actions, therefore, must be the result of an exertion of
power. External or physical actions are the result of an exertion of power. But
internal actions, operations of our mind, our volitions, are also linked to an
exertion of active power. Reid also writes: “The exertion of active power we call
action; and as every action produces some change, so every change must be
caused by some exertion, or by the cessation of some exertion of power. That
which produces a change by the exertion of its power, we call the cause of that
change; and the change produced, the effect of that cause” (EAP 11).
11
It seems
here that some beings are able to produce some change. They seem to be therefore
the cause of that change. And yet some of these beings could produce some change
and yet lack reasoning abilities. Hence here again it seems that they would have
active power but no reasoning abilities.
This idea comes up also in Essay III, and especially when Reid speaks of
animal principles of action. Reid writes that animal motives involve understanding

11
See also Essay IV, chapter 2: “the name of a cause and of an agent, is properly given to that
being only, which, by its active power, produces some change in itself, or in some other being”
(EAP 268).
Also, in EAP 38 Reid writes: If the action depended upon his will, and if he intended and willed it,
it is his action in the judgment of all mankind.” It seems that all that is needed for an action to be
mine is intention and will and not necessarily reasoning abilities.
120
and will (EAP 118). When we act according to an animal motive, therefore, and
when no rational motive is present, our understanding and will is involved. The
action is therefore a voluntary one but it requires no reasoning capacities. These
are required when we are moved by the rational principles of action, which involve
judgments about ends. As I have argued elsewhere (see Chapter 1), some animal
motives might involve a judgment about some present object or set of objects.
Hence these motives seem to require a more developed degree of reason.
However, most animal motives move us before our reasoning capacities are
developed at all. Hence, the rational kind of gratitude will involve an ability to
form judgments about justice or have a notion of what justice requires. Here,
reasoning abilities are obviously required. But there is also a more animal kind of
gratitude which we feel before we have specific notions of justice. There seem
therefore to be some voluntary actions motivated by one or more animal motives
that require will and understanding, but that do not require reasoning abilities. And
if all voluntary actions are effects that are the result of an exertion of power, then
active power does not imply reasoning abilities.
Before trying to understand how the understanding involved in these
voluntary actions is different from a higher degree of understanding, I want to
dwell on one more passage that brings out the problem. In Essay III, Part II,
chapter III Reid writes the following:
It might perhaps be thought, that [man’s] deliberate and voluntary actions
are to be guided by his reason.
121
But it ought to be observed, that he is a voluntary agent long before he has
the use of reason. Reason and virtue, the prerogatives of man, are of the
latest growth. They come to maturity by slow degrees, and are too weak, in
the greater part of the species, to secure the preservation of individuals and
of communities, and to produce that varied sense of human life, in which
they are to be exercised and improved.
Therefore the wise Author of our being has implanted in human nature
many inferior principles of action, which, with little or no aid of reason or
virtue, preserve the species, and produce the various exertions, and the
various changes and revolutions which we observe upon the theatre of life
(EAP 138).

In this passage we see clearly that some of our voluntary actions do not
involve any reasoning abilities. Those actions that are motivated by animal
motives, in particular, generally do not require the use of reason. Reid here speaks
of voluntary actions which are useful for our survival and which we can perform
before our reason has grown to maturity. The problem is that if all actions are the
result of an exertion of power, it seems that one must be exerting one’s active
power to perform these kinds of voluntary actions. When we have passages like
these in mind it is therefore very easy to agree with Weinstock and Hazelton and to
think that Reid held some beings to have active power but no reasoning abilities.
However, I will show that in these cases, the agent’s active power is not being
exerted. Voluntary actions may be produced by beings who lack reasoning
abilities, but I will show that in these cases the beings also lack active power. All
actions are the result of an exertion of power, but many of my voluntary actions
are not the result of my exertion of power.
122
E. 'Reason': different levels, different roles
I have often referred, in what precedes, to 'reason', 'understanding’, and
'reasoning abilities'. It is now time to point out that there is a difference according
to Reid between the level of reason needed, in general, to will and the level of
reason needed to have active power. Indeed, there is a difference between reason
that conceives, or what Reid calls 'Conception' and reason that judges, or what
Reid calls 'Judgment'. Conception, Reid writes, may mean different things.
Sometimes people use this term in a way that implies no judgment and at other
times in a way that does imply judgment. Indeed, sometimes conception means
only apprehending an object without making a judgment about the object. For
example, I can conceive of a centaur or of an Egyptian pyramid or of an action. At
other times, conception means thinking something about the object. Hence by
conception we sometimes mean judgment. We conceive, for example “the
Egyptian pyramids to be the most ancient monuments of human art” (EIP 12). In
this case, something is stated about the object, and the proposition has a truth-
value. However, the proper meaning of ‘conception’ for Reid is direct
apprehension (and when we use it to mean judgment what we in fact mean is that
we wish to be humble or that we wish to state a simple opinion which might not be
true). Hence when Reid uses the term ‘conception’ it is in the first sense. To
conceive, imagine or apprehend are terms Reid uses to signify thinking about an
object without making any judgment about it. He writes: “Let it be observed,
123
therefore, that to conceive, to imagine, to apprehend, when taken in their proper
sense, signify an act of the mind which implies no belief or judgment at all. It is an
act of the mind by which nothing is affirmed or denied, and which therefore can
neither be true nor false” (EIP 11). We conceive in this way of many things: of
objects that exist or that do not exist, of actions that are possible or not possible,
and even of judgments. Indeed, we can think of a judgment without thinking about
whether or not it is true or false.
12
There is therefore a difference between merely
conceiving an object and making a judgment about it.
In the section on judgment in the Essays on the Intellectual Powers, the
two roles of reason are also apparent. Reid writes here that every operation of
mind presupposes conception (EIP 384). Conception is the most basic activity of
the understanding. However, "although there can be no judgment without a
conception of the things about which we judge; yet conception may be without
judgment” (EIP 534). All thoughts seem to involve conception, but we need not be
able to form a judgment to conceive. Hence conception and judgment are two
different roles of reason. That is, reason is able to do two different things: it
apprehends objects, propositions, states of affairs, and it makes judgments about
them.

12
For quick and smart thinkers, this might be difficult to do. On my part, however, I often conceive
of a proposition and hold it in my mind’s eye without knowing whether it is true or false. I can
actually hold this conception in suspense for a while before I can form any judgment about it (one
such proposition is, for example, 'active power implies reasoning abilities').
124
Even if all normal adult human beings can form conceptions, it is not
necessary to have a very developed level of understanding to have conceptions.
Reid often writes of the growth of reason. Some beings have no reason at all.
Many brute animals, therefore, act mostly by instinct, by some inward blind
impulse. They need no will and that level of understanding necessary to will in
order to act (EAP 59). Small children also act mostly by instinct.
13
Reid writes
that "we are irrational animals for a considerable time before we can properly be
called rational" (EAP 110). The operations of reason, Reid continues, grow by
imperceptible degrees. Hence after being irrational, human beings develop and
acquire a basic level of reason. Children first acquire what Reid calls instinctive
beliefs, beliefs that do not rest on evidence or some train of reasoning but that are
received by authority and testimony (EAP 111). Here Reid writes that some brute
animals may have these kinds of beliefs. As soon as human beings, and perhaps
some animals, can form these kinds of simple beliefs or judgments and as soon as
they have the kind of reason that is necessary to form conception of objects, they
can be influenced by animal motives. Indeed, to be influenced by most animal
motives, what is needed is a small degree of reason, since for Reid even animals
may have some of these motives. And all animal motives require the ability to
conceive of some object or action. When we act out of hunger, out of curiosity, out
of a benevolent affection towards our child, etc. all that is necessary is to directly

13
And in the case of older children or adults, Reid writes that we may sometimes act by instinct or
habit when there is no time for voluntary determination.
125
apprehend objects and actions. We need not make any judgment about the
consequences of our actions or about the moral worth of actions to act according to
these animal motives.
When we act according to animal motives, all that is needed is the degree
of reason that allows us to form conceptions (reason 1). We need not form any
judgment about more distant objects or ends (reason 2). What is confusing is that
Reid often writes that no ‘reason’ is needed when we act according to animal
motives. What he means, and this comes up very often in Essay III, is that we need
not be moved by the two rational motives: a regard to our overall good and a
regard to duty. Most often in the Essays, when Reid uses the term 'reason' he
means being able to judge and more precisely, to be able to judge what is in our
best interest and to judge what is our duty. Hence, reason, most often, means being
able to make judgments about ends and to consider the relation between actions
and to consider actions in light of the ends we desire to pursue. However, it is also
because of our reason that we can form conceptions. It is for this reason that I call
the ability to conceive ‘reason 1’ and the ability to form judgments ‘reason 2’.
Reason might play yet another role, the role of making judgments of
judgments. Indeed, if, because of some wrong reasoning on our part, one rational
motive is contrary to another rational motive, we must be able to judge which
motive is best. We might also be moved by an animal motive that is based on a
judgment, like resentment, and also by a contrary rational motive. Here too it
126
seems that we must reason about these judgments and form another higher order
judgment. Reid holds that reason is able to do this. However, he never writes that
reason must be more developed to judge of judgments. And also, what reason does
here is still judging, even if the object of the judgment is another judgment. Hence,
all that we can conclude is that Reid does not think of yet another level of reason
even if he might be thinking about another role of reason. There are, in general,
two main levels of reason: to conceive and to judge. All of our mental activity
presupposes conception or direct apprehension. And reason need not be very
developed to form conceptions, even if someone with a more developed faculty
will still form conceptions. Indeed, conceptions are necessary in order to form
judgments. But a higher degree of reason is required to form judgments. And when
Reid speaks of 'reason' or 'judgment', in the case of action, he mostly means being
capable of forming the two rational principles of action. But at this level, reason is
able to not only form rational judgments about ends that are worthy to be pursued,
but also to form judgments about these judgments themselves.
F. The Solution
When action is concerned, Reid means different things when he talks of
'reason'. When Reid speaks of voluntary actions, it seems that a small degree of
reason is all that is needed. As we have already noticed, Reid writes that some may
think that to act deliberately and voluntarily, a person must be guided by reason
(i.e. by at least one rational motive). But, he points out: "it ought to be observed,
127
that he is a voluntary agent long before he has the use of reason" (EAP 138). The
reason that is needed to make judgments about ends and about what is virtuous is
"of the latest growth." Thankfully, God implanted in us principles that require a
lower degree of reason to secure the preservation of our species. The actions
motivated by animal principles are therefore voluntary actions and they are neither
wise nor virtuous in the cases in which reason (2) is not present
Therefore, all voluntary actions whatsoever require will and understanding
in the sense of conception or direct apprehension. When we act voluntarily (as
opposed to acting mechanically, out of instinct or habit) we must conceive of some
state of affairs and will it to happen. He writes:
"Now it is evident, that, to constitute the relation between me and my
action, my conception of the action, and will to do it, are essential. For
what I never conceived, nor willed, I never did" (EAP 40). He writes a little
later: "Every act of will must have an object. He that wills must will
something; and that which he wills is called the object of his volition. As a
man cannot think without thinking of something, nor remember without
remembering something, so neither can he will without willing something.
Every act of will, therefore, must have an object; and the person who wills
must have some conception, more or less distinct, of what he wills" (EAP
59).

To act voluntarily, we must have that level of understanding necessary to form the
conception of the action and we must also will it to happen.
The question is what kind of reason is at work when we exert our active
power. Or, could a voluntary action performed by a being who lacks reasoning
abilities be the result of an exertion of this being's power? I will show that the
answer is 'no'. These voluntary actions are actions that are motivated by animal
128
principles of action. Indeed, in the case of mechanical motives, the action will be
involuntary (or rather, nonvoluntary). In the case of actions motivated by rational
principles of action, the being is clearly capable of judging and he therefore
possesses reasoning abilities. The only actions, therefore, that are both voluntary
but performed by beings who lack reasoning abilities (or who, at the moment of
the action, do not use their reasoning abilities) are those that are motivated by
animal principles of action (or by animal and mechanical principles of action). The
question then is whether these actions involve a power over the determinations of
the will (active power). Reid seems to think that even beings who have developed
reasoning abilities but who act only on animal motives do not exercise their active
power.
There are only two different situations for actions motivated only by animal
motives. Either there is one animal motive or there are several animal motives
present. In the first case, we can imagine, for example, being thirsty. If no rational
motive is present, if there is no 'reason' or rational motive present that endorses or
contradicts the animal motive, Reid, it seems, would claim that we will most
certainly will the action (whether we in fact physically act will depend on other
external circumstances). Reid does not speak much of these cases since what
interests him most are cases in which a rational motive is present. But he does
point out that when only an animal motive moves us to action the action is neither
good nor bad, wise nor foolish. And the action is most often one that will
129
contribute to our preservation as a species. It is more nature that is at work here
than the agent himself. The agent himself is not controlling his will in this case. He
simply acts, blindly. He wills according to the motive and he need not exert any
power or any effort of any kind to act. It seems that Reid would hold that the
animal motive here works as a physical cause. That is, the motive determines the
will and the agent does not determine the will. However, the textual evidence for
this position is not very strong and I will therefore offer another argument for this
account in a few paragraphs.
In the second case, when there are several different animal motives at
work, Reid clearly holds that when there is no time to think, the strongest animal
motive determines the will. It is not the agent who causes his will to choose or who
determines his will, it is the motive. He writes:
Suppose a soldier ordered to mount a breach, and certain of present death if
he retreats, this man needs not courage to go on, fear is sufficient. The
certainty of present death if he retreats, is an overbalance to the probability
of being killed if he goes on. The man is pushed by contrary forces, and it
requires neither judgment nor exertion to yield to the strongest….
Thus we see, that, in many, even of our voluntary actions, we may act from
the impulse of appetite, affection, or passion, without exercise of judgment,
and much in the same manner as brute animals seem to act (EAP 67).

In another passage Reid writes that animal motives “flow spontaneously from the
heart, without requiring any judgment. In such cases we act as brute animals do, or
as children before the use of reason. We feel an impulse in our nature, and we
yield to it.” (EAP 82).
130
Here we see that in the situation where two contrary animal motives are at
work, if there is no rational motive present, it is simply the strongest motive that
prevails. We simply yield to the strongest motive which functions as a physical
cause. If this is the case, then the agent is not determining his will. The agent is not
in control of his decision and it is the strongest animal motive that determines his
will in the sense that the motive functions according to a certain law of nature and
would the agent exercise his active power, the agent himself would then have a
power over the influence of his motives. In Essay IV, it is interesting to note that
Reid calls animal motives ‘necessary motives’ (EAP 289). He writes that it is very
easy to yield to the strongest and it is only when men exercise self-command that
these motives can be resisted. If, for some 'reason' or rational judgment we judge
that we ought not follow one of these motives, then our reasoning faculties are at
work. In this case, we judge that we ought to follow one motive rather than
another, and here it is the agent who determines his will and not the strongest
motive. As soon as there is a judgment involved, we act knowingly and, it seems,
freely.
Gideon Yaffe, however, seems to hold that although animal motives could
function as physical causes in the case of animals, this does not hold true for
human beings. Animal behavior can be naturalized in the sense that what there is
to be known about such behavior is exhausted by an account of the laws governing
such behavior. Human agency, however, cannot be naturalized in this sense for
131
Yaffe.
14
He does recognize that Reid’s view that motives can function as physical
causes in the case of animals, seems to commit him to the view that “if a person
has conflicting animal motives, and no relevant rational motives, he will act on the
motive strongest in the sense of Pain of Resistance.”
15
This would mean that some
of our motives could, in some cases, function as physical causes. However, Yaffe
argues that Reid would not accept this result because if he did then he would be
“committed to denying that human beings are the efficient causes of their behavior
when they have no rational motives. This would further commit him to the claim
that in such cases, people are not responsible for their conduct.”
16

I believe, contrarily to Yaffe, that Reid would accept both claims. If no
rational motive is present, people act according to the strongest animal motive and
in these cases they are not the efficient causes of their actions. Reid writes that to
yield to an animal motive, man must only be passive. Hence, it is possible to yield
without any exertion of active power. Reid writes:
When a man is acted upon by contrary motives of this kind, he finds it easy
to yield to the strongest. They are like two forces pushing him in contrary
directions. To yield to the strongest, he needs only to be passive. By
exerting his own force, he may resist; but this requires an effort of which
he is conscious. The strength of motives of this kind is perceived, not by
our judgment, but by our feeling; and that is the strongest of contrary
motives, to which he can yield with ease, or which it requires an effort of
self-command to resist; and this we may call the animal test of the strength
of motives (EAP 289).

14
Yaffe, Manifest Activity, 115.
15
Yaffe, 126.
16
Yaffe, 126
132
In this passage, we read that it is possible to be led by the strongest animal motive.
One could be completely passive when moved by these motives. To resist them,
however, requires self-command. Under my understanding of Reid, self-command
is only possible when the agent knows what he is doing, when judgments,
thoughts, rational motives, are the agent’s reasons for controlling himself.
Now, Yaffe writes that, although Reid’s position is not very clear on this
point, it seems that one could have only animal motives and hence no rational
motives and yet have self-government. This would mean that even in the absence
of rational motives, animal motives would not function as physical causes. Hence,
the difference between animals and human beings who have only animal motives
is that people can act on the weakest animal motives even in the absence of
rational motives. Hence, Yaffe writes, “Reid would deny that motives are physical
causes of human behavior even when there is no competing rational motive on
which to act.”
17
To defend his reading of Reid, that for Reid self-command is
possible even in the absence of rational motives, Yaffe mentions the following
passage:
To make an end of what I have to say upon the animal principles of action,
we may take a complex view of their effect in life, by supposing a being
actuated by principles of no higher order, to have no conscience or sense of
duty, only let us allow him that superiority of understanding, and that
power of self-government which man actually has (EAP 196).

17
Yaffe, 127.
133
According to Yaffe, for this imaginary being to be possible, he must have self-
government without any rational motives. However, I believe Reid is here
speaking of a being who has animal motives and rational motives, but not the
sense of duty. Indeed, Reid adds in the next paragraph:
It is evident he would be a very different animal from a brute, and perhaps
not very different, in appearance from what a great part of mankind is.
He would be capable of considering the distant consequences of his
actions, and of restraining or indulging his appetites, desires, and
affections, from the consideration of distant good or evil.
He would be capable of choosing some main end of his life, and planning
such a rule of conduct as appeared most subservient to it. Of this we have
reason to think no brute is capable (EAP 197-198).

In this passage, the imaginary being has animal motives but he is also capable of
choosing some end, and of planning a rule of conduct. In order to do this, he must
be able to form resolutions, which are rational ends or desires. Hence, I agree that
self-command is a notion that is not clear in Reid, and it does not seem to be
equivalent to active power (since I can act freely and in a non-governed way).
However, self-command does involve active power and it also seems to involve
having some end, being able to steer the ship of our lives in a certain direction.
Hence, it does seem to require having rational motives. Yaffe, in fact, seems to
anticipate this objection since he concludes:
However, Reid provides us with no satisfactory reason for drawing a
distinction between animals and people in this regard. He doesn’t provide
us with any satisfactory reason for believing that people have the power of
‘self-command’ independently of our capacity for rational motivation.
18

18
Yaffe, 127.
134
I believe, however, that the behavior of human beings can sometimes be explained
only in naturalistic terms (by appealing only to the laws of nature) when they have
no developed reasoning abilities. Hence, madmen, for example, have no reasoning
abilities and hence no rational motives and hence are comparable to brutes. Reid
writes:
Idiots are like men walking in the dark, who cannot be said to have the
power of choosing their way, because they cannot distinguish the good
road from the bad. Having no light in their understanding, they must either
sit still, or be carried on by some blind impulse (EAP 310).

But there is at least one great difference between animals and most human beings
(apart from madmen, or infants, etc.): their reasoning abilities and active power.
Hence, human beings only have the ability to guide their lives according to certain
ends. Indeed, it seems that adult human beings cannot help forming such ends. For
beings who have developed reasoning abilities, it is usually when they do not have
time to think about their actions that they do not form rational motives.
19

Therefore, I believe Reid’s position is that in the absence of rational
motives, one could be determined by the strongest animal motive. However, these
cases are rare in normal adult human beings since it is part of human nature to seek
for ends and to form judgments about actions and rules of conduct (see EAP 2 and
198-199). Indeed, when I say that a rational motive must be present in order to

19
Yaffe’s second worry is that in these cases human beings will not be responsible for their actions.
I believe that Reid would point out that when human beings fail to use their rational abilities (one
might not form any resolution at all simply out of laziness) he is highly culpable because it is a first
principle of morals to use our reasoning abilities in the best possible way in order to do what is
good on the whole and what is our duty.
135
exert one’s active power I am not thinking of a judgment or motive that is present
at the time of the action. A person might have formed a resolution years before the
action that still guides his present actions. It is for this reason, as we will see in
chapter 5, that the agent’s character partially explains what motive he will act
upon. What is more, some animal motives involve judgment and I believe these
judgments are guided by rational motives. Indeed, I can be moved by rational
gratitude for what you are doing for me because I judge that what you do exceeds
the requirements of justice. This is the animal motive at work. This animal motive,
in order to move me to action, is based on judgments I made about the
requirements of justice who knows when. Hence, when I am moved by animal
motives that require judgment (rational gratitude, deliberate resentment, esteem for
the wise) I am also guided by judgments I made about ultimate ends. Finally, I
believe that for Reid there are many purposes or reasons for our actions that are
not ultimate ends. These immediate purposes may fall or not under the umbrella of
some general aim, but they will still be part of our reason for acting or not. Hence,
when Reid would claim that to exert one’s active power one must have rational
motives, these motives must not necessarily be present at the time of action or be
ultimate ends. I believe, indeed, that it is extremely rare to not be moved by some
rational motive. Indeed, Reid thinks that we all think of the value of actions at
some point. Also, the judgments of duty require having reasoning abilities to form
judgments, but they do not require going through a train of reasoning. They are
136
immediate, powerful, accessible to all and authoritative. Hence, all adult human
beings have formed these judgments (even if they are not always correct). Now,
the soldier who is moved by the strongest motive is in a situation where he cannot
think, where his reasoning faculties and his conscience are incapable of
functioning. Even here, we are skeptical about the fact that he can’t have the
slightest seed of judgment. But we can imagine that the animal motives are so
strong that he could not think and hence is moved by the strongest motive. Reid
himself wonders if it is possible to have such strong passions that move us so
strongly that we become like madmen. If it is possible, then we would not be
responsible for our actions in these situations since we would not be able to
exercise our active power. However, he thinks we can hardly imagine this being
possible:
It is an old adage, that violent anger is a short fit of madness. If this be
literally true in any case, a man in such a fit of passion, cannot be said to
have the command of himself. If real madness could be proved, it must
have the effect of madness while it lasts, whether it be for an hour or for
life. But the madness of a short fit of passion, if it be really madness, is
incapable of proof; and therefore is not admitted in human tribunals as an
exculpation. And, I believe, there is no case where a man can satisfy his
own mind that his passion, both in its beginning and in its progress, was
irresistible. The Searcher of hearts alone knows infallibly what allowance is
due in cases of this kind (EAP 311).

If a man is in a situation where the passions are irresistible, then he must not be
guilty. This case might never happen. But what we see from this passage is that
Reid thinks that if this would happen, then the person would be like the madman.
He would be incapable of controlling himself. And we learned from a previous
137
passage that “Idiots are like men walking in the dark, who cannot be said to have
the power of choosing their way, because they cannot distinguish the good road
from the bad” (EAP 310). Hence, madmen cannot control themselves because they
cannot reason, they cannot judge which road should be taken. In conclusion,
therefore, people like madmen or small infants who have no reasoning abilities, do
not have active power because they do not have the power to form judgments
about their actions. Normal adult human beings, however, might be moved by
animal motives only, and here they would be like the madman, but these cases
might not in fact exist.
One might still not be convinced that in all cases in which animal motives
are the only kind of motive at work the action is then not the result of an exertion
of the person's active power. Indeed, we might not be thinking of all the possible
situations or cases of this kind. And hence we might still think that in some
situations of this kind the agent is not being determined by his motives. However,
we still have one very piece of evidence for thinking that, for Reid, it is only when
a rational motive is present that one exerts one's active power. The evidence is that
Reid holds that when one has active power one has power to act or not to act, more
precisely, one has power to will and power not to will. This is what he writes:
By the liberty of a moral agent, I understand, a power over the
determinations of his own will.
If, in any action, he had power to will what he did, or not to will it, in that
action he is free. But if, in every voluntary action, the determination of his
will be the necessary consequence of something involuntary in the state of
his mind, or of something in his external circumstances, he is not free; he
138
has not what I call the liberty of a moral agent, but is subject to necessity
(EAP 259).

Power over the determinations of our will, or active power, is therefore the
power to will or to not will. It seems to me that to refrain from willing is
impossible if only animal motives are present. Indeed, if I have one animal motive
moving me, if I am to refrain from willing to act, it must be for some reason. I
must judge that I ought not to act according to the animal motive. We can imagine
a case where I am thirsty and I will to drink, hence I exert my active power to
drink. If I were to refrain from willing it must be because of some judgment that I
should refrain from willing to drink for some reason or other. Here, according to
Reid, it is the agent who has power over his will. If there are several animal
motives, if I refrain from willing, it is because I judge that there is no good reason
for acting according to one of these motives. In the event that I would be
influenced by only two animal motives, without any judgment, acting according to
one rather than the other would not be an instance of refraining from willing.
Indeed, if I were acting according to a different animal motive (with no rational
motive present) I would not be refraining from willing but I would simply be
willing something else. Refraining from willing implies some reason for not
willing what we are led to will. It presupposes taking a stand, refusing to follow
one of our motives, which means that we not only have a motive to drink but we
also know why we should not and will not drink. If we were not able to offer an
account for not willing it would sound funny to speak about ‘refraining’. And
139
offering an account or an explanation is offering reasons, that is, explaining the
content of the rational motive. Hence, if we exert our active power, we do so
because of some reason or judgment. And if I refrain from exerting my active
power I must have a judgment, a reason, for not willing or not choosing
something. And the judgment cannot be determining my will. Indeed, if this could
happen, I would once again not be in control, hence my will itself would be
determined to will something else but I would not be refraining from willing.
Hence, as soon as I refrain from willing it must be because I judge that I ought not
will something or other. Therefore, when only animal motives are present (be it
one or several), the actions are voluntary but not free. It is not the agent but the
motives that are determining the will. If the agent is determining his will, if he
actively determines his will, then he has the power to will and the power not to
will. And in order to refrain from willing, a rational motive must be present.
20

Therefore, Reid seems to hold that active power implies being able to act
otherwise and to act otherwise one must have rational principles of action which
require reason (2). This means that having active power implies reason (2). This
relation must therefore be a necessary one since according to Reid’s understanding
of moral freedom, one could not have active power and lack rational motives, that

20
As Gideon Yaffe has pointed out to me, one could object that people have active power to do
many things which they are not motivated to do. Hence, one could have the power to do some
action, and hence to do otherwise, and yet have no motive to do that. In response, I believe that in
all deliberate actions, man must knowingly act (EAP 51) and hence exertion of active power in
particular and real cases requires having some reason for action. I do not believe, therefore, that for
Reid, one can exert one’s active power and yet lack any reason at all for acting. It is for this reason
that I point out in the next chapter that Reid’s ‘no-motive argument’ is problematic.
140
is, reason (2). Of course, it might still be the case that one could have reasoning
capacities but lack active power; we have not addressed this concern here. All I
have shown is that it is necessary that active power implies reasoning abilities; I
have not shown that the implication holds in the other directions.
For Reid, it seems impossible to have active power and to lack reasoning
abilities. Reid writes often of brute animals that lack rational motives and are thus
not capable of governing themselves. And in the case of human beings, without
rational principles of action,
“human life would be like a ship at sea without hands, left to be carried by
winds and tides as they happen. It belongs to the rational part of our nature
to intend a certain port, as the end of the voyage of life; to take the
advantage of winds and tides when they are favourable, and to bear up
against them when they are unfavourable” (EAP 222).

The person who is able to control himself has active power. And to direct his
conduct he must be influenced by judgments about the direction of his conduct or
train of conducts. Having active power implies therefore making judgments about
what is morally right or about what is wise.
Therefore, we can now conclude that for Reid no beings who have active
power, power over the determinations of their will could fail to be moved by a
rational principle of action. And being moved or influenced by a rational principle
of action implies being able to form judgments about the outcome of our actions or
about their moral worth. Hence all beings who have active power are able to form
such judgments, that is, they have ‘reasoning abilities’. All the voluntary actions of
141
a being are hence not the result of an exertion of power on the part of the being
himself. Some actions are voluntary in the sense that the will and reason (1) are
involved. But if only mechanical or animal motives are present, the will is in fact
being determined by the motive and not by the agent. It is only when an action is
voluntary and when it involves some rational motive that the agent can exert his
active power. Indeed, it is only when a judgment is present that the agent can
refrain from willing. Hence Reid writes that without reason determinations of the
will “can neither be right nor wrong, wise nor foolish. Whatever the consequences
may be, they cannot be imputed to the agent, who had not the capacity of
foreseeing them, or of perceiving any reason for acting otherwise than he did”
(EAP 260).
Why is it then that Reid writes that we know not the nature of the
connection between reason and active power? It seems that Reid avoids any
pronouncement on the exact metaphysical relation between active power and
reasoning abilities. All he says is: “what connection there may be, in the nature of
things, between reason and active power, we know not. But we see evidently, that,
as reason without active power can do nothing, so active power without reason has
no guide to direct it to any end” (EAP 301). If by the ‘nature of things’ Reid means
the ‘metaphysical reality of things’, then he seems to think that we do not know
enough about all of reality to make any claims about this relation. This might be
because apart from ourselves, the only things we can observe are inorganic and
142
organic beings, and brute animals, and none of these have active power. The only
beings we can observe, in the scientific sense, who seem to have active power are
persons. And persons, as created by God and as dependent on God’s will are
contingent in their nature. Hence, the relation between active power and reason
might be contingent. For all we know, some beings might have active power that is
different from our own. We might not be able to conceive of such beings, but they
remain nonetheless possible.
21
What is more, Reid never speaks of the proposition
that active power implies reason as a first principle, much less as a first principle
of necessary truth. However, it might be true that a proposition is necessary even if
it is not a first principle. Such is the case with propositions that are logically
deduced from other propositions. And in the case of the proposition that active
power implies reason, this proposition seems to be deduced from Reid’s definition
of moral liberty, as it is found in what we can observe. If moral liberty or active
power is the power to will and to refrain from willing it seems, to use Leibniz’s
term, hypothetically necessary that active power implies reasoning abilities.
Therefore, even if Reid seems to resist some strong pronouncement on the
metaphysical relation between active power and reason he does seem to think that
this relation follows, logically, from what we observe. Hence, in the case of human

21
Reid holds that what we can conceive might not exist. Conception or direct apprehension does
not imply existence. He also seems to think that if something is not conceivable it might still be
possible. Indeed, he writes that we cannot conceive how God can foresee future events even if he
does so (EAP 345). What is inconceivable is thus possible.
143
beings, it is at least contingently necessary that if such beings have active power
they also have reasoning abilities.
Nevertheless, even if Reid resists calling this relation necessary, that is,
applicable to all beings at all times, I believe his account entails that the relation be
necessary. Indeed, Reid does not seem to think that there might be beings with a
different kind of liberty. It seems to be Reid’s position that moral liberty, in all
cases, means being able to will and to refrain from willing. If this is true, then it
will also be the case that for all beings whatsoever, being able to will and to refrain
from willing implies forming some judgment that explains why it is one refrains
from following a certain motive. And hence moral liberty always implies having
rational motives and hence reasoning abilities. Therefore, even if Reid himself
does not state that active power necessarily implies reasoning abilities, this claim
is nonetheless entailed by his account of moral liberty.
The implication of this view is that when we do not exert our active power,
our voluntary actions are the result of God’s exertion of power insofar as they
follow the laws of nature that depend on his will. Reid, as I have observed, often
points out in the beginning of the Essays that all actions are the result of active
power (EAP 11). He also writes that every change must be produced by an
exertion of power.
22
However, some of our voluntary actions, I have argued, are

22
Robert Stecker (‘Thomas Reid’s Philosophy of Action’, Philosophical Studies 66:197-
208, p. 198) holds that for Reid active power and moral liberty are not the same thing. According to
Stecker’s reading, active power is the power to act and moral liberty is the power to will. Hence he
would solve our problem by pointing out that in all actions we have power to act and that a
144
not the result of an exertion of power, yet they seem to produce a change. The
answer to this problem is that our voluntary actions that are determined by our
motives do indeed produce a change. Hence there must be an exertion of power
somewhere. But the exertion of power must not be in ourselves. Here we must turn
to Reid’s views about changes in nature. A complete account of his view would
take us away from our topic.
23
However, it will suffice to point out that actions that
are determined for Reid are actions that take place according to laws of nature.
And laws of nature are established by the Author of Nature, God. Indeed, the
teleology of laws and of events points to a mind and to a being who has power to
bring about these events, according to Reid. God is therefore the efficient cause
acting somehow behind the scene. Reid writes the following:
“Upon the theatre of nature we see innumerable effects, which require an
agent endowed with active power; but the agent is behind the scene.
Whether it be the Supreme Cause alone, or a subordinate cause or causes;
and if subordinate causes be employed by the Almighty, what their nature,
their number, and their different offices may be are things hid, for wise
reasons without doubt, from the human eye” (EAP 47).
According to Reid all events are actions of persons, since every event has an
efficient cause and only persons are efficient causes. He writes: “when we say of

nonmoral being who has no moral liberty could still have active power. Hence he would hold that
all actions whatsoever are the effect of the agent’s exertion of power.
I see no evidence for his position in Reid. Indeed, for Reid if we have power over the
action, then we have power over our will. Reid often writes that if the end is in our power, then the
means is also. See EAP 265, 266 and Essay IV, chapter 8. Seed also EAP 280: “To say that man is
a free agent, is no more than to say, that in some instances he is truly an agent and a cause, and is
not merely acted upon as a passive instrument.” Hence to be free means to be active for Reid. An
agent, for Reid, is a being who is the efficient cause of his actions. An agent is a being who has
active power and if he has power over his actions he has power over his will. Hence Stecker is
mistaken to think that power over one’s actions can be separated from power over one’s will.
23
For an excellent account of Reid’s arguments on this point see Yaffe, Manifest Activity,
especially chapters 3 and 4.
145
any thing, that it is the work of nature, this is saying that it is the work of God, and
can have no other meaning” (EAP 299-300). Voluntary actions that are not the
result of an exertion of power of the agent himself are actions that are determined
and that therefore take place according to certain laws of nature. And God is the
efficient cause of the effects we observe in nature even if we do not know exactly
how he operates.
What this implies is that actions that are not the result of our exertion of
power are not really our actions. We might often speak of actions that are the
result of mechanical or animal motives as ‘our’ actions but this is not an accurate
way of speaking for Reid. Our actions are the actions that we have caused, and to
cause an action the agent must exert his active power. In the beginning of the
Essays Reid writes that all actions or all causes must be produced by an exertion of
power. This is indeed Reid’s position even if I am not the efficient cause of all of
my actions. In some cases, when no rational motive is present and hence when I
am determined by some animal motive, God is the efficient cause of my actions.
My actions are the actions that are the result of the exertion of my active power. It
is for this reason that in his Essay “Of Power” Reid writes that the word ‘cause’ is
related to the word ‘power’ and “if we were to give a general definition of it, we
might say that a cause is that which has power to produce the effect.”
24
Actions
that are not the result of an agent’s exertion of power take place according to laws

24
Thomas Reid: ‘Of Power’, The Philosophical Quarterly, 51 (2001) No. 202: 3-12, 6.
146
of nature of which God is the author. Actions that are the result of an agent’s
exertion of power are actions that are caused by the agent and that are therefore
properly the agent’s actions.
Reid’s contribution, therefore, to the historical discussion on free will is
indeed that the power we have over our will is connected to our ability to reason.
Having the power to will and to refrain from willing implies being able to form
judgments about the worth of the action. It is true that Reid is obscure in his
treatment of this question, but this is probably due to the nature of the question
itself and to the complexity of human nature. Indeed, Reid does not seem to wish
to pronounce himself on the exact metaphysical relation between active power and
reason. In reply to Weinstock we can therefore conclude that active power is not
synonymous with reason and it is not simply coextensive with reason. Indeed,
Reid’s definition of moral liberty implies reasoning abilities on the part of the
agent. Hazelton is therefore on the right track when he argues that only in moral
beings is active power coextensive with reasoning abilities. However, I will argue
in the next section that even if reason is implied by active power, there might still
be some beings who are rational and have active power but who are not moral
beings. Hence Hazelton might not be right when he says that active power implies
reason only in moral beings. In addition, Hazelton misleads us into thinking that
for Reid there might be some beings who have active power but no reasoning
abilities whatsoever and this is not the case for Reid, as I have argued. What Reid
147
thinks is therefore that reason (reason 2) is not only co-extensive with active power
but also implied by active power.
II. The Moral Sense and its relation to Reason and Active Power
Reid holds that having active power implies having reasoning abilities. But
what is the relation between active power, reason and the moral sense? Perhaps the
moral sense is no different from one’s reasoning capacities and hence Reid would
be unjustifiably adding on new faculties. If active power implies having reasoning
abilities then why does Reid call active power moral liberty and not just rational
liberty? I will show that the moral sense implies reasoning abilities but having
reasoning abilities does not necessarily imply having a sense of duty. Also, in the
previous section I argued that active power implies reason (2). Here we will see
that active power does not necessarily imply having a sense of duty. This kind of
active power is the quality of an agent that is limited in his freedom. He is unable
to fully live up to his own nature. Only beings who are moved not only by a sense
of interest but also a sense of duty are fully accomplished agents. Hence moral
liberty is the liberty of full-fledged agents who live up to the intention of their own
nature.
Let us first point how Reid understands the moral sense. The moral sense is
a faculty that is able to perform three main operations. The first role of the moral
sense is to make judgments about the moral worth of particular actions. Reid
148
compares the moral sense to the external senses. In the case of the external senses,
when we perceive an object, we have certain sensations and we also have the
belief that the object exists and that it has such and such qualities. In the same
way, the moral sense judges actions and conducts. As Broadie has pointed out, the
order is reversed in the case of the moral sense. We first form the judgment and the
feeling then depends on the judgment. In both cases, however, there is a judgment
implied and not only a sensation or feeling. In several passages, Reid notes that it
is because of our moral sense that we can judge particular actions. He writes that
by conscience or the moral sense “we not only have the notions of right and wrong
in conduct, but we perceive certain things to be right, and others to be wrong”
(EAP 231). A little later he points out that there is an analogy between the moral
sense and the external senses:
as by them we have not only the original conceptions of the various
qualities of bodies, but the original judgment that this body has such a
quality, that such another; so by our moral faculty, we have both the
original conceptions of right and wrong in conduct, of merit and demerit,
and the original judgments that this conduct is right, that is wrong; that this
character has worth, that, demerit (EAP 233).
25

Hence, thanks to our moral sense, we not only have general ideas of right and
wrong but we also judge that this action is right and that action is wrong. Reid
calls these truths perceived by the moral sense first principles. These particular

25
Reid holds that it is when we start thinking about people’s actions that we form the ideas of right
and wrong: “our moral judgment, or conscience, grows to maturity from an imperceptible seed,
planted by our Creator. When we are capable of contemplating the actions of other men, or of
reflecting upon our own calmly and dispassionately, we begin to perceive in them the qualities of
honest and dishonest, of honorable and base of right and wrong, and to feel the sentiments of moral
approbation and disapprobation” (EAP 369).
149
truths perceived by our moral sense, if they are not deduced from other principles,
are the axioms we use in our reasoning about moral judgments.
However, he also calls self-evident and more general principles of morals
‘first principles.’ Therefore, another role of the moral sense is to perceive the truth
of such self-evident propositions. The principles are not particular cases but are
rules that apply to several cases.
26
And Reid holds that first principles “must
appear self-evident to every man who has a conscience, and who has taken pains to
exercise this natural power of his mind” (EAP 362). Because of our moral sense,
we perceive these truths to be self-evident. These principles “are not deductions.
They are self-evident; and their truth, like that of other axioms, is perceived
without reasoning or deduction. And moral truths, that are not self-evident, are
deduced not from relations quite different from them, but from the first principles
of morals” (EAP 471). Hence, when we think of these principles, we simply
perceive them to be true and we need not deduce these principles from other truths.
(One such principle is ‘we ought to act that part toward another, which we would
judge to be right in him to act toward us, if we were in his circumstances and he in
ours’). However, these principles as well as the judgments about the moral worth
of specific actions can be used to reason about moral truths that are not self-
evident.

26
For a list of these principles, see Essay V, chapter 1 (EAP 360-370).
150
In both these cases, when we form first principles of morals that are general
rules and when we perceive the moral value of particular actions, the moral sense
is the faculty by which we perceive these truths. In each case, we judge and we
feel. Reid writes that moral approbation and disapprobation consists of both a
judgment and a feeling. He offers the following example in defense of his claim:
Let me now consider how I am affected when I see a man exerting himself
nobly in a good cause. I am conscious that the effect of his conduct on my
mind is complex, though it may be called by one name. I look up to his
virtue, I approve, I admire it. In doing so, I have pleasure indeed, or an
agreeable feeling; this is granted….
I am likewise conscious, that this agreeable feeling in me, and this esteem
of him, depend entirely upon the judgment I form of his conduct. I judge
that this conduct merits esteem; and, while I thus judge, I cannot but
esteem him, and contemplate his conduct with pleasure….
When I exercise my moral faculty about my own actions or those of other
men, I am conscious that I judge as well as feel (EAP 463-464).

Therefore, by the moral sense we perceive certain actions to be right, others to be
wrong, and others to be indifferent. And we perceive the truth of the first
principles of morals. In both cases, the moral faculty or sense is a faculty by which
we judge and feel.
27

The third role of the moral sense is one which Reid does not mention
explicitly. The moral sense is also that faculty by which we judge motives. Reid
writes the following:
Conscience prescribes measures to every appetite, affection, and passion,
and says to every other principle of action, So far thou mayest go, but no

27
It is probably for this reason that Reid considers the moral sense to be a different faculty than the
rational faculty. Indeed, even if the moral sense is intellectual in part, it is also linked to our
affective faculties. All the judgments of morals for Reid are accompanied with feelings. This is not
the case for the judgments of ‘pure’ reason.
151
further…. Other principles of action may have more strength, but this only
has authority. Its sentence makes us guilty to ourselves, and guilty in the
eyes of our Maker, whatever other principle may be set in opposition to it
(EAP 254).

He also writes that “conscience, in those who have exercised it, is a very
pragmatical faculty, and meddles with every part of our conduct, whether we
desire its counsel or not” (EAP 387-388). Hence conscience or the moral sense is a
higher order faculty, a faculty that weighs and judges all of our motives.
28
One
might object that this leads us to an infinite regress of motives. Indeed, it seems
that the higher order judgment that we ought to act according to one motive rather
than another is but another motive which we must evaluate and so on. I will look
into this problem in the chapter 5.
We might then think that, in some cases, we do not need conscience, that
reason is sufficient to weigh motives. We might object that conscience, in the end,
is just the same faculty as reason and that we need not resort to yet another faculty.
Indeed, if an animal motive is contrary to the first rational motive, all we need is to
reason and judge that it is best for us to do what is in our overall interest, and
hence reason would also be at work when we judge that it is best to do our duty.
What is more, Reid often points out that reason and the moral sense have a parallel
rate of growth. Both the rational and the moral faculty grow by degrees and, it

28
Luigi Turco (‘Moral sense and the foundations of morals ‘, Cambridge Companion to the
Scottish Enlightenment, ed. Alexander Broadie (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press,
2003), 136-156, p.152) also writes that the moral sense orders powers and directs our behavior. He
points out that Reid would agree with Butler about the role of conscience. Indeed, for Butler
conscience is a faculty by which we examine all of our motives and Reid never disagrees with
Butler on this point.
152
seems, at the same rate. The morals sense, Reid writes, “comes to maturity by
insensible degrees, and may be much aided in its strength and vigour by proper
culture” (EAP 246). He continues: “The seeds, as it were, of moral discernment
are planted in the mind by him that made us. They grow up in their proper season,
and are at first ender and delicate, and easily warped… It is so with the power of
reasoning…It springs up, by insensible degrees, as we grow to maturity” (EAP
247). Both reason and the moral sense need to be cultivated and exercised and
improved. In infancy, our intellectual discernments are not strong and our moral
judgments are therefore either inexistent or wrong. Hence, both reason and the
moral sense, by proper exercise and education, grow to maturity by degrees.
What is more, reason is necessarily implied by the moral sense. Reid writes
that active power is implied by the notion of a moral accountable being. “Another
thing implied in the notion of a moral and accountable being, is power to do what
he is accountable for” (EAP 316). “Active power, therefore, is necessarily implied
in the very notion of a moral accountable being. And if man be such a being, he
must have a degree of active power proportioned to the account he is to make”
(EAP 319). And, as we have seen, having active power implies having reasoning
capacities of the kind necessary to make judgments about ends. Hence the moral
sense implies this kind of reasoning ability also. It is no surprise therefore that
Reid writes that if man would loose his rational faculties he would also fail to be a
moral agent. He writes:
153
Suppose a man, by excess and intemperance, has entirely destroyed his
rational faculties, so as to have become perfectly mad or idiotical…will it
be said, that the duty of a man is incumbent upon him now, when he has
not the faculties of a man, or that he incurs new guilt when he is not a
moral agent? Surely we may as well suppose a plant, or a clod of earth, to
be a subject of moral duty (EAP 318).
29

The moral sense, therefore, or being a moral agent who is capable of being moved
by a sense of duty, implies having active power and reason (2).
Even if having a sense of duty implies having reasoning abilities and even
if conscience and reason come to maturity in the same way, reason, however, is
not equivalent to the moral sense. Indeed, having reasoning abilities does not
imply being a moral agent. Reid considers the possibility of agents who have
active power and hence reasoning abilities but whose sense of duty or conscience
is highly damaged or extinguished because of bad habits. Let us now observe
Reid’s views about the different kinds of agents. The most typical agent, according
to Reid, is the agent (that is, the being with active power) who forms judgments
both about his overall interest and about his duty and who is able to order his
animal motives accordingly. According to Reid, the being who is incapable of
forming either kinds of judgment is not an agent. Small infants and madmen fall
into this category. The rational faculties of these beings are such that they simply

29
In the following passages it is also clear that the moral sense implies reasoning abilities (since
without reason man would not be a moral agent): “Two things are implied in the notion of a moral
and accountable being; understanding and active power” (EAP 315). “Man, by his rational nature,
is capable both of understanding that law that is prescribed to him, and of perceiving its obligation.
He knows what it is to be just and honest, to injure no man, and to obey his Maker. From his
constitution, he has an immediate conviction of his obligation to these things…And, without this
knowledge of his duty and his obligation, he would not be a moral and accountable being” (EAP
316).
154
cannot form judgments about ends. And it is because they are incapable of forming
these judgments that they cannot be held responsible for their actions. They lack
reasoning abilities and hence they lack active power or the ability to govern
themselves and to offer an account (to give reasons, hence to be ‘accountable’) for
their actions.
In Essay III, chapter IV (EAP 218-220) Reid considers the possibility of
agents who have active power and reasoning abilities but who are guided mostly
by the first rational motive. This kind of person is able to govern himself to the
extent that he makes judgments about his own happiness and brings his appetites
and passions in line with his judgments. Or, if his animal motives draw him in a
contrary direction than his rational motive, he will exert his power, resist the
animal incitements, and act according to his judgment. Reid points out that even if
this person is able to govern himself, we would not esteem such a person as much
as the virtuous person. Here Reid seems to be describing a being who does
consider the moral value of actions but only as they are of use to his interest. This
person is what Reid calls a selfish person. He does not consider virtue for its own
sake but only as a means to his selfish interest. “Even when he does good to
others”, Reid writes of this agent, “he means only to serve himself; and therefore
has no just claim to their gratitude or affection.” Our esteem, however, goes only
to the man “who loves virtue, not for her dowry only, but for her own sake: whose
benevolence is not selfish, but generous and disinterested,…” (EAP 218).
155
Therefore, some beings control their animal motives and hence have self-
government to follow selfish ends. These beings do consider the moral value of
actions but not as ends but as means to their own interest. It seems that these
beings could, in principle, make judgments about moral ends but that their
character is such that they tend to make judgments only about what is in their
interest. Hence these beings seem to have active power and reasoning abilities and
also a sense of duty, but what exactly happened to their sense of duty is unclear.
The situation seems to be that they are able to consider the moral value of actions
but the voice of conscience is silenced to the extent that the judgments of
conscience are secondary to judgments about their own interest. It might be the
case that some selfish persons have developed such bad habits that the voice of
conscience is totally extinguished. These agents’ rule of conduct is to always do
that which will bring them the most overall happiness. The consequence of their
resolution and the repetition of actions that agree with this resolution is that they
fail to make judgments about moral ends. It seems, however, that they still could
make these judgments, insofar as the, perhaps limited, capacity to make such
judgments is still present.
Reid conceives of yet another kind of agent. He conceives of beings
who have active power and reasoning abilities but no moral sense. Reid enjoins us
to imagine
a being actuated by principles of no higher order, to have no conscience or
sense of duty, only let us allow him that superiority of understanding, and
156
that power of self-government which man actually has. Let us speculate a
little upon this imaginary being, and consider what conduct and tenor of
action might be expected from him.
It is evident he would be a very different animal from a brute, and perhaps
not very different, in appearance, from what a great part of mankind is.
He would be capable of considering the distant consequence of his actions,
and of restraining or indulging his appetites, desires, and affections, from
the consideration of distant good or evil.
He would be capable of choosing some main end of his life, and planning
such a rule of conduct as appeared most subservient to it. Of this we have
reason to think no brute is capable.
We can perhaps conceive such a balance of the animal principles of action,
as, with very little self-government, might make a man to be a good
member of society, a good companion, and to have many amiable qualities
(EAP 196-197).

The kind of being Reid is imagining here has no conscience, yet he is able to
consider the consequences of his actions and of choosing some main end in life.
He is therefore able to make judgments about the relations and consequences of
actions and thus has reason (2).
Now, Reid might just be using this example to bring out the difference
between the two rational motives and he might not think that such a being with
rational powers but no conscience could exist. Nevertheless, nothing in the Essays
lets us think that he doubts the possibility of such a being. In fact, in Essay V, Of
Morals, Reid writes that some beings might have become insensible to conscience.
He writes: “Let a man’s moral judgment be ever so little improved by exercise, or
ever so much corrupted by bad habits, he cannot be indifferent to his own
happiness or misery. When he is become insensible to every nobler motive to right
conduct, he cannot be insensible to this” (EAP 363). Here also we imagine a being
157
who makes judgments about his own interest but not about his duty. However, a
being who over time is always moved by his own interest and never his duty is
almost impossible, as the passage suggests. Indeed, thinking about our own
interest leads us to think about virtue. Reid writes that the first rational motive is
an ally to virtue and that “a man can be induced to do his duty even from a regard
to his own happiness” (EAP 363). Still, Reid seems to think that at times, some
agents have power over themselves and have reasoning abilities but are basically
incapable of being moved by a sense of duty.
Reid never mentions the following case, but if we follow Reid’s train of
reasoning, some beings might have active power and reasoning abilities but never
make judgments about their overall happiness and about their duty. Whatever the
cause, be it bad habits, bad education, lack of exercise of their judging faculties,
the situation might be such that these beings have no wisdom and no virtue. It
might be that what some have called ‘sociopaths’ are an extreme example of such
agents. Some have argued that Reid’s position does not account for such a kind of
person. The sociopath apparently is able to reason very well but does not seem to
be moved by his overall interest and by a sense of duty.
30
What is difficult about
this case is that the sociopath seems to know what is in his interest and to know
what is right and wrong. However, Reid would point out that even if this person is
intelligent and is able to control his animal motives, his character is not formed by

30
See Michael S. Pritchard, ‘Reason and Passion: Reid’s reply to Hume’, Monist 61: 1978, 283-
298.
158
resolutions to do what is wise and right. The consequence of this is that over time
such a character becomes so strong that the moral sense is put out. The “candle of
the Lord” is blown out. The sociopath hence has an extinguished moral sense.
31

What these examples point to is the idea that having active power and reasoning
abilities does not necessarily imply having a functioning moral sense.
Why then should Reid call liberty ‘moral liberty’ and not just ‘rational
liberty’? From the cases just examined, it seems that some beings might be able to
be free since they are able to make judgments about the course of actions and to
refrain from willing but that their conscience does not function correctly. Reid
would point out that we would observe that there is something wrong with these
agents. In fact, they do not seem to be full-fledged agents. Fulfilled and complete
agency, ‘agency at its best’, seems to be the agency intended by our nature. And
the fully developed nature of a human being is to live up to the goal or end of
agency. The goal of agency, or the intention of nature, Reid points out from the
first pages of the Essays on the Active Powers, is “the right employment of our
active power” (EAP 2). Hence the goal of agency is to direct our power accurately.
And directing or using power as we should is to direct it according to what is best
for us and according to what is right. It is for this reason that we should try to be
free. How? By cultivating our sense of duty and by careful reasoning about ends.

31
The sociopath is still morally responsible, however, insofar as he is responsible for performing
those repeated actions that lead to a deafening to the voice of conscience. After all, it is a moral rule
applicable to all that “Men may be highly culpable in omitting what they ought to have done, as
well as in doing what they ought not” (EAP 361).
159
Moral freedom is valuable since it is the freedom by which we direct our power to
what is wise and right and this is the life of an agent at its fullest. Reid writes: “the
life of a moral agent cannot be according to his nature, unless it be virtuous. That
conscience, which is in every man’s breast, is the law of God written in his heart,
which he cannot disobey without acting unnaturally, and being self-condemned”
(EAP 365). Cultivating and exercising our moral sense allows us to be fully-
developed and well-directed agents.
We can now conclude that for Reid active power implies reason (2).
Conscience, however, is not just another name for our rational faculty. Conscience
or the moral sense implies having active power and reasoning abilities according
to Reid, but having reasoning abilities does not seem to imply having a moral
sense. Admittedly, Reid’s account of the relation between active power, reason
and the moral sense is not straightforward and systematically laid out, as
Weinstock has pointed out. And it is true that Reid does not pronounce himself on
the exact metaphysical relation between active power and reason. I have argued,
however, that his account of moral liberty implies that it is a metaphysical
necessity that active power implies possessing reasoning abilities. Hence, this
relation is neither synonymous nor co-extensional. There are therefore no beings
who could have active power and lack reasoning abilities. What is more, Hazelton
is also wrong to think that active power implies reasoning abilities in moral agents
only, since I have pointed out the possibility that some agents be free and rational
160
but incapable of being moved by their distorted or extinguished sense of duty.
Moral liberty, however, is liberty of a full-fledged agent who considers what is
wise and what is virtuous and exerts her active power accordingly and hence lives
up to her nature.
161
Chapter 4: On the Influence of Motives: Two arguments
Central to Reid’s position on motives and liberty is the idea that motives do
not always determine the agent’s choices. Motives, Reid writes, and especially
rational motives, do not function as necessary, physical causes. In this paper I
would like to examine a couple of arguments Reid develops against the defenders
of necessity. These arguments are found in the fourth Essay, chapter 4, of the
Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind. Reid, at the outset, points out
that this chapter is a reply to the “modern advocates for the doctrine of necessity.”
Although Reid does not always name them, it seems that these advocates he has in
mind are mostly Joseph Priestley, David Hume, Anthony Collins, and Lord
Kames. These philosophers, according to Reid, hold that all action is the necessary
effect of some motive or set of motives and motives always function in the same
way physical causes do. Hence, if there is just one motive present, this one must
cause the agent to act. If there are several motives, then, according to Reid, these
philosophers hold that the strongest one must prevail. And it is impossible that
some action be the result of no motive, since then we would be incapable of
explaining or understanding any of our actions. In this chapter Reid wishes to
show that these philosophers are mistaken on all of these points. Motives, for Reid,
do not always function like necessary causes and they leave the agent still at
162
liberty. Although Reid makes several observations, I will only examine two of
them in this paper.
I. The No-Motive Argument
The first observation against the doctrine of liberty I will examine is one in
which Reid points out that some actions are done without a motive. According to
Reid, underlying the necessitarian claim that motives are necessary causes of
actions lies the idea that “every deliberate action must have a motive” (EAP 285).
Since necessity is the conclusion or theory that must be proved or supported by
evidence, the defenders of necessity, according to Reid, consider the impossibility
of actions done without a motive as evidence supporting their conclusion. Reid,
however, argues that some actions are done without a motive, and this fact
therefore goes against the necessitarian position that motives function as causes.
He points out, first, that we experience actions done without a motive. And second,
he offers a reductio ad absurdum to demonstrate the claim that some actions are
done without any motive. And, therefore, if some actions are done without a
motive, then the necessitarian must be wrong to hold that motives are the “sole
causes of human actions” (EAP 286).
Reid starts out by observing that we experience actions done for no reason.
Hence, he appeals to experience to defend the claim that we sometimes act without
a motive. He points out:
163
This must be appealed to every man’s consciousness. I do many trifling
actions every day, in which, upon the most careful reflection, I am
conscious of no motive; and to say that I may be influenced by a motive of
which I am not conscious, is, in the first place, an arbitrary supposition
without any evidence, and then, it is to say, that I may be convinced by an
argument which never entered into my thought (EAP 285).

Reid writes that in many deliberate actions the agent weighs motives, or thinks
about which motives are best or preferable. Hence, in most cases, the agent
obviously has motives and contrary motives and must determine which motive he
should act upon. But, according to Reid, some actions are deliberate and are “done
by a cool and calm determination of the mind, with forethought and will” (EAP
285), and Reid thinks that some such actions are done without a motive.
Reid, in this section, anticipates the objection that even if I seem to
experience actions for which I do not have any reasons, hence even if I think I
have no motive, the motive might still be present. I might not be aware of motives
determining my will. In other words, some motives might not be available to
consciousness and hence Reid’s appeal to consciousness might not be evidence at
all for the view that some actions might be done without a motive. In fact, Reid
himself, in the earlier Essays, seems to hold that we are not always conscious of
the principles of action at work. When speaking of principles like instinct or habit,
Reid writes that they are blind operations. When we swallow, for example, we are
not aware or conscious of all the requisite motions of nerves and muscles. And
Reid calls the principle of action at work when we swallow a mechanical principle
of action. However, Reid, in Essay IV, chapter iv, is not speaking of actions which
164
are the result of some mechanical principle of action. Indeed, he is speaking of
actions done with forethought and will. Since the agent’s thoughts and will are not
involved in actions done out of instinct or habit, according to Reid, the deliberate
actions he mentions here must not be the result of some mechanical principle of
action.
But what about animal motives? Some animal motives involve a feeling of
uneasiness of which I might be conscious. The desires for knowledge, esteem and
power, on the other hand, are not accompanied with a sensation proper to each and
hence I might not be aware of them. However, Reid holds that desires are about
something. Hence, they always involve some (at least low) level of understanding.
It is always possible to conceive of some state (like a successful state, or winning a
competition, or knowing some information, etc.) which we wish to attain. When I
reflect on why I should perform some action or set of actions, I am at least
conscious of actions which I desire even if I have not reflected on the different
kinds of principles of action, and even if I do not feel anything. Hence, even if I
am moved by animal motives only, I can reflect on why I wish to perform the
action and point out that ‘I was curious’ or ‘I wanted to be better’, etc. In one of
his letters to James Gregory, Reid writes: “I understood a motive, when applied to
a human being, to be that for the sake of which he acts, and, therefore, that what he
never was conscious of, can no more be a motive to determine his will, than it can
165
be an argument to convince his judgment.”
1
It seems to me that Reid would point
out that animal and rational motives can be “that for the sake of which he acts” and
since they contain some reference to objects or actions, they are available to
consciousness. Hence, when it comes to animal and rational motives, we can be
conscious of such desires if we turn our attention to them. Therefore, when
speaking of deliberate action, it is not the case according to Reid that such actions
could be the result of some unconscious motive, since deliberate actions done from
animal and rational motives are always available to consciousness.
In his letter to Gregory, Reid writes that this is the kind of objection that
Alexander Crombie brings up in his essay on philosophical necessity.
2
Reid only
briefly refers to this objection in the Essays, but he adds in his letter that this kind
of objection actually works against and not for the determinist’s position. Indeed,
“if motives we are unconscious of be the cause of many actions, it will be
impossible to prove from experience, that they are all caused from motives. For no
experiment can be made upon motives we are unconscious of. If, on the contrary,
all our actions are found by experience to proceed from motives known or felt,

1
Reid (2002), p. 232.
2
Reid does not mention Collins here but Collins also seems to adhere to this kind of argument.
Collins writes that we know by experience that we use “parts of our bodies by habit, or according
to some particular cause determining their use at that time.” However, he adds that “there are in all
trains of causes, that precede their effects, and especially effects which nearly resemble each other,
certain differences undiscernable on account of their minuteness, and also on account of our not
accustoming ourselves to attend to them, which yet in concurrence with other causes as necessarily
produce their effect, as the last feather laid on breaks the horse’s back… “ See Collins,
Philosophical Inquiry, p. 78.
166
there is no work left for the unknown, nor any evidence of their existence.”
3
He
also points out that this kind of objection is not one that Priestley or Hume would
endorse. In fact, they hold that we can learn from experience that men are always
determined by the strongest motive.
Indeed, philosophers like Joseph Priestley and Anthony Collins (on whom
Priestley relies heavily) seem to think that even if we are not conscious of every
single motive, we usually experience and are conscious of some reason for our
actions. Anthony Collins, for example, writes: “It is therefore contrary to
experience, to suppose any choice can be made under an equality of
circumstances. And by consequence it is matter of experience, that man is ever
determin’d in his willing or acts of volition and choice.”
4
Collins clearly holds that
motives act as physical, necessary, causes of an agent’s actions. And trivial
actions, or actions for which we have no preference and whose circumstances are
perfectly equal are impossible. For Collins, willing is preferring and hence it is
impossible to will without some internal or external cause that accounts for our
preference.
5
Joseph Priestley also holds that motives and other dispositions
determine the will and that every action must have such a cause. Indeed, actions,
which are effects, must be the mechanical result of some motive according to
Priestley. He writes: “there is always some reason for any object, or any conduct,

3
Reid (2002), p. 232-233.
4
Ibid., 80.
5
Ibid. 74-75.
167
appearing desirable or preferable; a reason existing either in a man’s own previous
disposition of mind, or in his idea of the things proposed to him. In things of small
consequence, or in a very quick succession of ideas, the reason may be forgotten,
or even not be explicitly attended to, but it did exist, and actually contributed to
make the thing, or the conduct, appear desirable at the time.”
6
Hence, even if it is
sometimes difficult to attend to the reason for which we act, we can still reflect on
why we prefer the action and hence on why we performed it.
Hume does not directly address the question of whether some actions could
be done without a motive. However, the impossibility of such cases is implied
throughout his work. And Hume considers that, from experience, we can observe
that there is a necessary relation between the motives and actions of men. He
writes, for example, in Book II, part III of the Treatise: “…I shall first prove from
experience, that our actions have a constant union with our motives, tempers, and
circumstances, before I consider the inferences we draw from it” (Treatise 401).
Hume holds that by experience we observe a constant conjunction between
motives, dispositions, and circumstances on one hand, and actions on the other.
And from this constant conjunction we then infer that a necessary relation holds
between them (the necessary relation is therefore not in the nature of things, but
something that we tend to infer from the constant conjunction). He also points out
that we always reason from men’s actions to their motives, temper and situation.

6
Priestley, Joseph. The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated. Ed. René Wellek. New
York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1976, p. 48.
168
And if we call one the effect and the others the cause, it is “only from experience
and the observation of their constant union, that we are able to form this inference”
(Treatise 405). Hume, in fact, never brings up the possibility of experiencing
actions done without a motive.
Since Collins, Priestley and Hume seem to think that we experience a
constant union between our motives and our actions, they must think that we are
always conscious of some motive moving us to action. Hence, Reid’s first step is
to point out that, on the contrary, some actions truly are experienced as trivial. He
observes that a man may have a purpose or end which may be attained equally
well by different means. For example, a man may wish to make a purchase and, he
writes, “surely a man who has occasion to lay out a shilling, or a guinea, may have
two hundred that are of equal value, both to the giver and to the receiver, any one
of which will answer his purpose equally well” (EAO 286). If I have several coins
of the same value in my pocket and if I do not need all of them, I am perfectly able
to choose some of these coins rather than the others for no reason at all. I have no
preference for one coin rather than another. As Reid points out, some hold that if
the circumstances and motives are identical then one would not be able to act at
all. But, according to Reid, this contradicts “the experience of mankind” (EAP
285).
Collins, however, would perhaps answer that there are no truly indifferent
actions. Even if we are not conscious of any motive, there are many other factors
169
that might be determining the will. According to Collins, there is never an equality
of circumstances and causes in choosing one of two objects that seem to be
perfectly the same. He writes:
in the case of chusing one out of two or more eggs, between which there is
no perceiveable difference; there is nor can there be a true equality of
circumstances and causes preceding the act of chusing one of the laid eggs.
It is not enough to render things equal to the will, that they are equal or
alike in themselves. All the various modifications of the man, his opinions,
prejudices, temper, habit, and circumstances are to be taken in and
consider’d as causes of election no less than the objects without us among
which we chuse; and these will ever incline or determine our wills, and
make the choice we do make, preferable to us, tho the external objects of
our choice are ever so much alike to each other.
7

Hence, even if the coins are similar and alike in themselves, Collins would point
out that other elements have an effect on how we consider the objects and these
will cause us to prefer one object. We have already seen that Reid, in speaking of
trivial actions, does not consider them as being the result of some mechanical
motives like habit or instinct, since the will is involved in the action. Also, in the
case of the coins, Reid would point out that the man’s opinion, prejudices and
temper have nothing to do with my choice of this coin rather than that one.
However, Collins might be correct to think that even if I do not have any
preference for one coin rather than another, one might be shinier or closer to my
finger, and hence these circumstances might cause me to take one rather than the
other. Still, Reid would point out that it is possible to imagine a situation in which
the circumstances, temper, habit, etc. are perfectly indifferent. Collins might then

7
Collins. Inquiry Concerning Human Liberty, p. 77.
170
argue as the schoolmen, “who determined, that the ass, between two equal bundles
of hay, would stand still till it died of hunger” (EAP 286).
8

Reid, however, thinks that this option is ridiculous. The defenders of
necessity, according to Reid, argue that if we had no motive, we would not be able
to act. And Reid then argues that the contrary is true. If we were not able to act
without a motive, he argues, then nothing would be in our power. He writes: “If a
man could not act without a motive, he would have no power at all; for motives are
not in our power; and he that has not power over a necessary mean, has not power
over the end” (EAP 286). Although Keith Lehrer writes that “This argument is of
central importance. For, if it is conceded that there are actions without motives,
then ‘motives are not the sole causes of human action’ (EAP 286)…” he does not
attempt to explain or evaluate this argument.
9
However, at first glance, the
argument is not straightforward. The conclusion is that if we could not act without
a motive, we would have no power at all. But then why should we think that
motives are not in our power? After all, Reid seems to hold that we do have power
over our motives since we can determine which motive we will act upon. And why
should one accept the principle that if we do not have power over a necessary

8
This is, in fact, exactly what Collins holds. See Collins, Philosophical Inquiry, p. 79: “The case of
equality being thus rightly stated, I say, it is manifest no choice would or could be made; and the
Man is visibly prevented in the beginning from making a choice.” (Hume: says this also – I got to
find the passage again).

9
Keith Leherer, Thomas Reid (London and New York: Routledge, 1989), p. 266. At the end of his
book, Lehrer does address an argument that seems similar to this one but he is not clear as to what
exactly Reid is arguing for. Also, in this section, Lehrer does not tell us what passage in Reid’s
writings he is referring to. See Lehrer 1989, p.285-286.
171
mean, we do not have power over the end? Finally, does the conclusion follow
from these premises?
It seems to me that Reid is offering a reductio ad absurdum in order to
argue that if we assume that every action must have a motive, then no action is in
our power. Hence, the premises are propositions that the necessitarian accepts,
according to my interpretation of Reid’s argument, but the conclusion which
follows is absurd and hence the assumption (that all actions are done for a motive)
is false. Let us examine this argument more closely.
(1) You cannot act without a motive.
(2) If you cannot perform A without motive M , then M is a necessary means
to A.
(3) Hence, a motive is a necessary means to every action.
(4) Motives are not in our power.
(5) So, one of the necessary means to every action is not in your power.
(6) If the necessary means to A is not in your power, then A is not in your
power.
(7) Hence, no action is in your power.
Reid, I believe, thinks that the necessitarian is committed to all of these premises,
and hence must accept the conclusion that no action is in his power. But since the
necessitarian does think that our actions are in our power if we do as we will, then
the assumption that one cannot act without a motive must be false. But would the
172
necessitarian accept these premises, and would he actually care about whether or
not they are true?
As I have pointed out, Collins and Priestley specifically point out the
importance of premise (1). Collins writes: “to will without any reason or cause…
cannot be conceiv’d possible of any being.”
10
We cannot even imagine acting
without a cause and if there is absolutely nothing in our temper, circumstances and
motives that makes an object preferable, he writes: “The case of equality being
thus rightly stated, I say, it is manifest no choice would or could be made; and the
Man is visibly prevented in the beginning from making a choice.”
11
Collins seems
to care about the claim that man could not act without a motive because, according
to him, this claim is evidence for the fact that the will is determined. Priestley also
thinks that it is impossible to act without a motive. This would amount to being
able to act without a cause. If there are no motives, according to Priestley, then
effects do not follow from causes and “A power manifested by no effects, must be
considered as imaginary, it being from effects alone that we arrive at the
knowledge of causes.”
12
Men are always “influenced by motives, and act from
fixed principles, and character…” and if these causes are not present, the man
cannot act.
13
In fact, one of the reasons for which Priestley rejects the doctrine of
liberty is because it supposes that we act without causes, that is, without motives.

10
Philosophical Inquiry, p. 91.
11
Collins, Philosophical Inquiry, p. 79.
12
Priestley, Free Discussion, p. 147.
13
Ibid., p. 149.
173
In Reid’s argument we are discussing here, Reid agrees that every effect has a
cause but he points out that if we can act without a motive, then motives are not
the only options available when it comes to causes.
Hume, however, does not deem it necessary to argue that one could not act
without a motive but he does consider the objection that we do not always observe
a constant union between motives, characters and actions. He writes that “there is
only one way of eluding” the argument that we know human characters because of
the “general course of nature of human actions.” It is “by denying that uniformity
of human actions, on which it is founded” (Treatise 402-403). Hume points out
that although we observe the constant union between the actions and the situation
and temper of the agent,
some may, perhaps, find a pretext to deny this regular union and
connexion. For what is more capricious than human actions? And what
creatures departs more widely, not only from right reason, but from his
own character and disposition?... Necessity is regular and constant. Human
conduct is irregular and uncertain. The one, therefore, proceeds not from
the other (Treatise 403).

Although Hume does not seem to be addressing the ‘no-motive’ cases here, he still
allows that some actions are capricious and hence that we do not always observe a
constant connection between motives and actions. And Reid might add here that
some actions are capricious because they are done without a reason. Hume’s
response is to point out that we observe this constant connection in external
objects. And in judging of the actions of men, we must proceed on the same
principles from which we reason in the case of external objects. And it is true that
174
in some cases we do not observe the causes at work, be they external or internal.
Hence, the experiments might sometimes seem contrary to our maxim. However,
even in the face of these contrary cases,
we remove not the notion of causes and necessity; but supposing that the
usual contrariety proceeds from the operation of contrary and conceal’d
causes, we conclude, that the chance or indifference lies only in our
judgment on account of our imperfect knowledge, not in the things
themselves, which are in every case equally necessary, tho’ to appearance
not equally constant or certain. No union can be more constant and certain,
than that of some actions with some motives and characters… (Treatise
403-404).

Hence, even if we do not always observe the cause or motive (or character), and
hence even if one could argue that there is sometimes no motive, Hume would
respond that when we do not observe the cause, we know that it is because of our
imperfect knowledge. We do not suppose that there is no cause or no motive. In
the external world, when we see some effect, we do not conclude that there was no
cause even if we cannot observe it. So why would we reach a different conclusion
in the case of motives? Hence Hume would also, perhaps indirectly, defend the
idea that one could not act without a motive.
Let us now turn to premise (2): if you cannot perform action A without
motive M then M is a necessary means to A. Let us first precise that this premise
says nothing about having power over actions or motives. Hence, it does not
differentiate between necessary means over which we have some control and those
over which we haven none. Reid probably thinks that this principle follows from
premise (1) and from the mechanical understanding of the mind and the will
175
endorsed by his opponents. A cause, according to his opponents, is that which
constantly precedes the effect. And the relation of the cause to its effect can be
explained or rather described in terms of laws of nature, which state the relation
and conditions pertaining between states of affairs. Priestley writes that causes can
be defined as “such previous circumstances as are constantly followed by a certain
effect; the constancy of the result making us conclude that there must be a
sufficient reason in the nature of the things why it should be produced in those
circumstances.”
14
What is more, since this relation is invariable and constant, the
relation is therefore necessary: “In all these cases the circumstances preceding any
change are called the causes of that change; and since a determinate event, or
effect, constantly follows certain circumstances, or causes, the connection between
the cause and the effect is concluded to be invariable, and therefore necessary.”
15

Now, Priestley clearly holds that motives are related to actions as causes to effects.
In nature, certain effects follow necessarily from certain causes. The effect would
not follow if, in similar circumstances, the cause was not present. Hence, causes
are necessary means to effects. And since motives are causes of actions, certain
motives are necessary means to certain actions. He writes:
In other words, I maintain that there is some fixed laws of nature respecting
the will, as well as the other powers of the mind, and every thing else in the
constitution of nature; and consequently that it is never determined without
some real or apparent cause, foreign to itself, i.e. without some motive of
choice, or that motives influence us in some definite and invariable

14
Priestley. Philosophical Necessity, p. 11.
15
Ibid., p. 10.
176
manner; so that every volition, or choice, is constantly regulated, and
determined, by what precedes it. And this constant determination of the
mind, according to the motives presented to it, is all that I mean by its
necessary determination.
16

To say that each volition and action is regulated and determined, necessarily, by
what precedes it and what precedes it is a certain motive or set of motives or
motives as they rely on character, is to say that motives are necessary means to
actions, hence premise (3). Since every particular action has a motive and since
motives are necessary means to particular actions, it follows that a motive is a
necessary means to every action. This premise is therefore one that the
necessitarian would accept.
In premise (4) Reid points out that the necessitarian would also claim that
motives are not in our power.
17
There are two ways in which we could understand
this premise. Motives are not in our power could mean that we do not control
which motives we actually have. Or, to say that motives are not in our power could
mean that we do not control which motives we actually act upon. In the first sense,
it is not clear whether Reid holds that motives are in our power or not. In the
second sense, however, Reid clearly thinks that the premise is false. The
necessitarian, however, in Reid’s understanding of his view, might also hesitate

16
Ibid., p. 9-10.
17
Admittedly, in EAP 286 Reid does seem to be stating his own views when he writes: “for
motives are not in our power.” However, I cannot see how Reid could consistently hold this view;
unless he means that we do not have power over which motives actually move us to action even if
we do have power over which motive moves us to action. If this is Reid’s view and if he is actually
stating his own position here, then it might be that Reid has a different argument in mind than the
one I am offering.
177
about whether the premise is true under the first meaning but he would certainly
think it is true under the second version. Indeed, for most defenders of necessity,
as Reid calls them, we have power over actions we choose. The power we have
over our actions is a power to do as we choose or will or not to do what we did not
choose or will. However, we do not seem to have this kind of power over our
motives.
18

Premise (5) follows from the preceding premises. Premise (6), however, is
problematic. Although Reid would adhere to such a principle, I believe his
opponents would not accept it. Reid, as I will show, could nevertheless offer some
good reasons for premise (6). Gideon Yaffe calls this principle the Means-End
Power Transference Principle.
19
According to Yaffe, Reid accepts this principle
because he has a strong conception of ‘necessary means’. What I want to argue for
here, simply put, is that the necessitarian does not adhere to such a strong
conception but only to a weak conception of necessary means and under this
conception, the Means-End Transference Principle is false. Let us first determine
the meaning of this principle and why Reid accepts it and defends it.

18
See for instance Collins’s Philosophical Inquiry p. 112: A man has liberty, according to Collins
if he has “a power to do as he wills, or pleases. Thus, if he wills, or pleases to speak or be silent; to
sit or stand; to ride or walk,… or, in fine, if his will changes like a weather-clock, he is able to do
as he wills or pleases: unless prevented by some restraint or compulsion, as by being gagg’d; being
under an acute pain; being forc’d out of his place; being confin’d; having convulsive motions;
having lost the use of his limbs; or such-like causes. He has also the same power in relation to the
actions of his mind, as to those of his body. If he wills or pleases, he can think of this or that
subject; stop short or pursue his thoughts; deliberate or defer deliberation or resume deliberation as
he pleases; resolve or suspend his resolution as he pleases; unless prevented by pain, or a fit of an
apoplexy; or some such intervening restraint and compulsion.”
19
Yaffe (2004), p. 16.
178
As Yaffe points out, Reid appeals to what Yaffe calls the “Means-End
Power Transference Principle” to argue that having power implies not only having
power over our actions but also over our choices. The Principle is the following:
If M is a necessary means to E, and S has the power to E, then S has the
power to M.
Indeed, Reid writes: “to say that what depends upon the will is in a man’s power,
but the will is not in his power, is to say that the end is in his power, but the means
necessary to that end are not in his power, which is a contradiction” (EAP 266).
20

As Yaffe writes, Reid would not accept this principle under a weak conception of
necessary means (‘Event M is a necessary means to event E if and only if E cannot
occur unless M occurs’). Indeed, under this conception, one should have power
over events like the activity of nerves and muscles in order to have power over
actions. Reid, however, does not think we must have power over every single
necessary condition in order to have power over our actions, hence he would not
accept the weak conception of ‘necessary means.’ Indeed, Reid would differentiate
between necessary conditions and necessary means, which, as Yaffe points out, are
conditions “that the agent can’t count on obtaining on their own, and so the agent
must plan to do what is necessary to make sure they obtain.”
21
Reid therefore
accepts a stronger conception of necessary means, which is that “M is agent S’s
necessary means to E if and only if (1) E cannot occur unless M occurs, and (2) M

20
Yaffe (2004), p. 15-16.
21
Yaffe (2004), p. 18.
179
is an action of S’s.”
22
Yaffe argues, correctly I believe, that under this conception
of necessary means, the Means-End Power Transference Principle is true.
Again, Yaffe points out that a determinist or compatibilist, such as Hobbes,
would not accept clause (2) of the strong conception of necessary means. Indeed, I
believe that Reid’s opponents such as Hume and Priestley would not accept this
strong conception of necessary means either. After all, if motives function in the
same way as physical causes function and if the relation of motives to actions fall
under necessary laws of nature, then there is no difference between our volitions
and the motion of our nerves and muscles other than that we are conscious of
volitions in a way that we are not of physical motions in our bodies. Volitions or
determinations of the will (what Reid calls exertions of power) are not actions of
an agent since they are not the product of the agent’s will. Yaffe writes that for a
Hobbesian to accept (2) “is already to accept that an agent who has the power to
act has the power to choose. After all, if choices are actions, then a necessary
condition for the occurrence of a choice is power on the part of the agent whose
choice it is.”
23
Hence, a necessitarian would not accept Reid’s strong conception of
‘necessary means’ and therefore would not accept the Means-End Power
Transference Principle since under the weak conception of ‘necessary means’ this
principle is obviously false. Since the contra-positive of this principle is premise
(6), the necessitarian would not accept this premise for the reasons just mentioned.

22
Yaffe (2004), p.19. I am not at present
23
Yaffe (2004), p. 20.
180
Still, Yaffe argues that Reid can support this principle by appealing to what
nature leads us to believe. Yaffe writes that for Reid “we are supposed to be
conscious of the fact that our exertions of power are events with respect to which
we are active; they wear their activity on their face.”
24
Since exertions are
expressions of our activity, these actions are different from actions like the
motions of our muscles. Indeed, Yaffe points out that we attribute events like
bodily movements to ourselves only in an indirect sense. We think of such events
as ours only because they are produced by or rather are dependent on exertions of
power or volitions. But our volitions themselves are not dependent on other
exertions of power – they are themselves the exertions or expressions of our
activity. Hence we directly, and not indirectly, recognize these exertions to be our
own actions, to be expressive of our activity. Therefore, Yaffe writes that
according to Reid: “events that follow on these efforts are also events with respect
to which we are active, but not by virtue of intrinsic features immediately
accessible to consciousness, but, instead, by virtue of their relationship to exertions
of power.”
25
He adds:
to know if a bodily movement is an action, or merely a reflex, say, we need
to examine the mental states from which it springs; if they are actions , it is
too. However, to know if an exertion of power is an action we need only
examine the exertion of power itself; it wears its activity on its face.
26

24
Ibid.
25
Yaffe (2004), p. 21.
26
Yaffe (2004), p. 21-22.
181
Hence, Reid could try to defend the claim that volitions or determinations of the
will are necessary means to our actions and that they are actions themselves. And
therefore, Reid would claim that if volitions are necessary means to our actions (in
the strong sense of necessary means), if we have the power to act, we also have the
power to will.
I do not think the necessitarian would be convinced to accept these claims
for the strong conception of necessary means and therefore for the means-end
power transference principle (and therefore for premise 6). Indeed, most
necessitarians make a distinction between volitions or determinations of the will
and necessary conditions, like bodily movement, and yet they do not think that
having power over our actions implies having power over our volitions. There is a
distinction between physical, bodily, movements and the weighing of motives or
decisions made according to these motives. Indeed, I think that this is in fact one
of the reasons for which compatibilists or necessitarians in Reid’s days
distinguished physical from moral necessity. Moral reasons and decisions involve
reasons that are tied to our understanding, that are available to consciousness.
These motives and determinations of the will are therefore ours in a way that our
bodily movements are not. It is true that the relation between our moral motives
and our actions is one of constant conjunction in the same way that the relation
between physical events can be one of constant conjunction. However, in the case
of moral necessity, we are dealing with reasons and hence with causes that are
182
available to our consciousness and which might involve some reasoning. Hence,
there is a difference between the physical movements of our muscles, for example,
and the moral reasons we have for acting. This difference, however, is not that the
first is not one of our actions and the other is. Hence, the necessitarian would not
accept that we might not have power over physical conditions for the action and
yet have power over the motives for the action.
I believe another point Reid makes in defense of the principle that if we do
not have power over the means then we do not have power over the ends can be
found in what Reid calls the third argument for moral liberty. Reid’s main purpose
in Essay IV, chapter VIII, is to argue that end-directed actions demonstrate
understanding and power in the cause of those actions. The argument of this
chapter is not a teleological argument for God’s existence and wisdom (although
Reid does reminds us of this argument) but a teleological argument for the
existence of active power in human beings who carry out intelligent plans. In the
same way that purposeful action demonstrates wisdom and understanding in the
cause, it also demonstrates power to bring about the plan in the cause. And in this
context we find the following passage:
Let us apply these principles to the supposition we have made. That a man,
in a long course of conduct, has determined and acted prudently in the
prosecution of a certain end. If the man had both the wisdom to plan this
course of conduct, and that power over his own actions that was necessary
to carry it into execution, he is a free agent, and used his liberty, in this
instance, with understanding.
But if all his particular determinations, which concurred in the execution
of this plan, were produced, not by himself, but by some cause acting
183
necessarily upon him, then there is no evidence left that he contrived this
plan, or that he ever spent a thought about it (EAP 322-323, italics are
mine).

According to Reid, if we plan a certain course of conduct and act so as to execute
our plans, we must have the power over each step or each action that leads to the
end. If I want to finish my dissertation, I must finish each chapter, and hence I
must put aside a certain number of hours each week and do research and write, and
hence I must also go to the library and find someone to get my children at school,
and so on. If we agree that I have the ability to finish my dissertation (or at least to
try to finish it), we must also agree that I have the ability or power to plan a course
of conduct and to do each particular action leading to the goal.
Now, Reid claims that if we agree that purposeful action demonstrates
understanding and power in the cause, we should also agree that it demonstrates
power not only over external actions but also over the particular determinations of
our will. In the introductory paragraph of this chapter, Reid writes:
That man has power over his own actions and volitions appears, because he
is capable of carrying on, wisely and prudently, a system of conduct, which
he has before conceived in his mind, and resolved to prosecute (EAP 321,
my italics).

How does purposeful action demonstrate power over our volitions or particular
determinations? Well, what is involved in each action leading to the end is a
decision or an intention to act in a certain way. Now, if this volition is caused by
motives in a necessary, physical, manner, then the agent himself is not the cause of
his plan and of all the actions leading to the execution of it. Indeed, when we think
184
of some plan and when we intend to carry it out, this implies that our motives must
be ordered accordingly. We have many incitements or motives pushing us to act in
ways that are contrary to our purpose and these motives must be controlled or
brought in line with our long-term resolutions. We cannot just allow the strongest
motive to move us to action since it may well be that the desire for some present
object is much stronger than the desire to finish my dissertation. Since the plan is
my plan, I must be the one weighing motives and resolving to follow some
motives rather than others. And this is exactly what a volition or a particular
determination amounts to: a resolution to act according to one motive rather than
another. Hence, in this chapter, Reid, I believe, is trying to defend his claim that
particular determinations, that is volitions or exertions, are our own actions and
that we must have power over these actions if we are the ones carrying out our
intelligent plans.
For Reid, denying this amounts to thinking either that chance is the cause
of our volitions and plans or that God is the cause of our volitions. The first option
is absurd since we reason from effects to causes and wisdom and power in the
effect must be found in the cause also (see EAP 323). The second option seems
more plausible since wisdom and power in our external actions demonstrate some
mind, somewhere and somehow, causing our particular determinations. However,
Reid thinks that if we believe that
185
the Deity acts freely, every argument brought to prove that freedom of
action is impossible, must fall to the ground.
The First Cause gives us evidence of his power by every effect that gives
us evidence of his wisdom. And, if he is pleased to communicate to the
work of his hands some degree of his wisdom, no reason can be assigned
why he may not communicate some degree of his power, as the talent
which wisdom is to employ (EAP 324).
If we reason from the existence of purposeful, wise and ordered events in the
external world to the existence of an all powerful and wise God who is the cause
and origin of these events, then we must apply this same reasoning to our own
actions. If God is free in this sense, then we have the same reason to believe that
we are free in this sense. Hence our long-term plans and purposes demonstrate
wisdom and power over each step leading to the end, and our particular volitions
or determinations are steps involved in the carrying out of the plan. And hence
these steps must be our actions and we must have power over these steps (if the
plan is ours, and if we have the power to execute it). Hence, this chapter supports
the claim that particular determinations are our actions, they are means to ends,
and we must have power over these particular actions if we have power over the
end. Having power over the determinations of our will implies having power over
those things, like desires, that influence our will and that threaten to determine or
force it.
186
I believe Reid would argue that this supports premise (6): ‘If the necessary
means to A is not in your power, then A is not in your power. And hence, the
necessitarian must accept all the premises of the reductio and admit that they lead
to an absurd proposition, that is, that no action is in our power.
However, the necessitarian might still point out that, indeed, our external
actions and plans which depend upon our will are in our power, however this does
not imply that our volitions are in our power. Indeed, our thoughts about long-term
ends, and Hume and Priestley would add, our feelings of pleasure which move us
to this end, are very powerful motives. In fact, it might be the case that we have
other motives for present purposes, but our desires for the long-term end are also
motives that move us to attain the end. Hence, our intelligent thoughts about our
plans are tied to desires for those ends. And these desires are more powerful (even
if softer) than other motives or incitements. Hence, our volitions are not
themselves our actions but they are caused by motives, and in the case of
purposeful action, the desire for the end is the strongest or most important and it is
the one that determines our will and moves us to carry out each step of the plan.
What is more, we can still consider that we are making the plan and carrying it out
because, as I have mentioned, motives do involve our reasoning and our
consciousness and hence are ours even if they act as physical causes.
In conclusion to this section, then, we might notice that although the
necessitarian would clearly accept the first five premises, it is not clear whether he
187
would accept premise (6). And hence necessitarians would still defend the claim
that no action can be done without a motive. What is more, I find this argument as
a whole problematic for Reid himself. Indeed, I pointed out in the previous chapter
that exerting one’s active power requires reasoning abilities. I believe that Reid’s
position is that when one exerts one’s active power one must know what one is
doing, one must have thought about one’s action or formed some judgment about
it. Hence, how does one actually exert one’s active power when one has no
motive? Reid thinks that such actions take place “by a cool and calm determination
of the mind, with forethought and will...” (EAP 285). It seems to me that if I
perform an action with forethought, I must have some aim or purpose in mind, and
I must have some thought about, at least, an end for which the no-motive action is
a means. It is therefore disappointing that Reid does not enlighten us on this point.
I find the next argument more successful, however.
II. The Strength of Motive Argument
After arguing against the view that we cannot act without a motive, Reid
attacks the view that states that when there are contrary motives, it is the strongest
one that prevails. The advocates for the doctrine of necessity, according to Reid,
hold that motives are like physical forces. In the physical world, when two forces
are applied to an object, the object will move in the direction of the strongest force.
And hence in the case of motives, necessitarians hold that when an agent is acted
188
upon by two contrary motives, the agent will be determined by the strongest one.
The main objection that Reid offers against this view is that necessitarians do not
offer a test or rule according to which one could judge which of several motives is
the strongest. More specifically, they do not offer a test which does not already
presuppose that it is the strongest motive that always wins. Reid thinks that once
we know the standard according to which one could judge of the strength of a
motive, a standard that does not presuppose that motives are the sole causes of
actions, then we will be able to tell whether it is really the strongest one that
prevails. But the necessitarians have not offered such a rule.
One possible test that the necessitarian would offer, according to Reid, is
that we measure the strength of motives merely by their prevalence. This means
that when a person is influenced by two contrary motives, the only way to know
which motive is the strongest one is to look at the action of the agent. And by
examining the action, we will know which motive prevailed and hence that this
was the strongest motive. We do this when we look at the comportment of
animals. We tend to think that in some cases an animal, like a dog, is influenced by
fear of punishment of his owner and also by the desire to eat some food that a
stranger presented to it, for example. And if the dog refrains from eating the food,
we say that the motive of fear prevailed, and we therefore conclude that this was
the strongest motive in the dog. Some necessitarians, according to Reid, apply this
test to persons also, or to most adult human beings.
189
But Reid writes that if we measure the strength of motives
merely by their prevalence, and by the strongest motive mean only the
motive that prevails, it will be true indeed that the strongest motive
prevails; but the proposition will be identical, and mean no more than that
the strongest motive is the strongest motive. From this surely no conclusion
can be drawn (EAP 287-288).

The advocates for the doctrine of necessity, according to Reid, hold that the way to
find out which motive is the strongest is to see which motive prevails. However, it
is always possible that the motive that prevails is not the strongest motive. Hence
those who assume that this is an adequate test must take for granted that the motive
that prevails is the strongest motive. And hence by strength and prevalence they
must mean the same thing. It is for this reason that Reid points out that they cannot
build any kind of argument on this test since all they have shown is that the
strongest motive is the strongest motive and they presuppose what must be proved,
that it is the strongest motive that actually prevails. In other words, the test of
prevalence presupposes what must be proved, that is, that it is the strongest motive
that prevails. What Reid is looking for is a test of strength or of prevalence that can
be used to show whether it is the strongest motive that always wins. Hence the test
or standard itself cannot be that the motive is the strongest or that it prevails.
Reid goes on to point out that another possible test of the strength of
motive is not its prevalence, “but the cause of its prevalence.” He adds, “we
measure the cause by the effect, and from the superiority of the effect conclude the
superiority of the cause, as we conclude that to be the heaviest weight which bears
190
down the scale” (EAP 288). This test is not that the strongest motive is the one that
wins or that prevails. In fact, this test does not hold that prevalence and strength
are identical. Prevalence here is seen as an effect, and the strength of the motive as
the cause of the prevalence. I had pointed out in the last paragraph that it is
possible that the motive that prevails is not the strongest motive. Well, this
standard holds that it is more likely that the motive that prevails is superior, since
it prevails. And since it is superior, it must be caused by something superior. And
hence by strength of motive is meant here what causes the motive to prevail. This
is what Reid seems to have in mind, and yet this point seems rather obscure to me
and it is a pity Reid does not offer some illustration of this position or a text he has
in mind that deals with this point.
Reid argues that this standard cannot be used either to show that it is the
strongest motive that moves us to action since it also presupposes that motives are
the sole causes of actions. He writes:
I answer, that, according to this explication of the axiom, it takes for
granted that motives are the causes, and the sole causes of actions. Nothing
is left to the agent, but to be acted upon by the motives, as the balance is by
the weights. The axiom supposes, that the agent does not act, but is acted
upon; and, from this supposition, it is concluded that he does not act. This
is to reason in a circle, or rather it is not reasoning but begging the question
(EAP 288).

Indeed, the standard assumes that the cause of the prevalence of a motive is
something about the motive, its strength. However, it is possible that what makes
the motive prevail is not something about the motive itself. For Reid, in many
191
cases it is the agent that causes a certain motive to prevail. Hence, this standard
cannot be used to prove that the strongest motive determines us to act since it
presupposes that only motives determine us to act. That is, it presupposes that
motives function as physical causes, and that in the absence of such a cause, the
‘agent’ does not act. What Reid is looking for is a standard or test for the strength
of motive that does not assume either that motives are physical causes or that they
are not. He shows that the tests of prevalence and of the cause of prevalence beg
the question. Now the question is whether the test that he will offer does not also
beg the question that motives do not function as physical causes.
The test that Reid offers comes close to a positive account of the influence
of motives. Indeed, he will show how these motives function and this helps us
understand how they function more like advice than as physical causes. However,
I believe that a better account of the way motives function will take into account
what Reid has to say about rational motives themselves. Reid, in this chapter,
points out that motives are “like advocates pleading the opposite sides of a cause at
the bar… The sentence is in the power of the judge, not of the advocate” (288).
Reid’s main concern in this section is to show that his opponents are mistaken in
thinking that motives always function as necessary causes.
Let us therefore consider here what Reid has to say about the test for
determining the strength of motives. Reid holds that there will be two different
such tests. He can offer these two tests because he has shown that if we examine
192
carefully our different motives, we discover that there are animal motives and
rational motives at work in us. And each kind of motive influences us differently.
This we know simply by introspection. We feel a certain impulse in the case of
animal motives. And if the impulse is strong, we feel that we can yield easily to it.
If we wish to resist such an impulse, we feel we must put forth an effort relative to
the strength of the impulse. And hence this is how we judge of the strength of
animal motives, “by the conscious effort which is necessary to resist them” (EAP
289). The test for the strength of animal motives, or what Reid calls the animal test
of the strength of motives, is therefore that we can yield with ease to the strong
animal motives and it requires an effort of self-command to resist them. The weak
animal motives are those that are easily resisted. So far Reid does not seem to beg
the question that motives do not function as physical causes. Indeed, by
introspection, we can agree with Reid that some animal motives act strongly on us
and others do not. We notice that it is sometimes very difficult to resist some
animal impulses, and hence we often say with Reid that these are strong impulses.
Reid then adds that in brute animals the strongest motive of this kind does
seem to prevail, but not so in men. In brute animals, Reid points out that the
appetite or passion that prevails does seem to be, in all cases, the stronger one. The
reason we know this is because brutes do not have what Reid calls self-command.
Men, however, do have self-command, that is, they can exercise their rational
powers. And hence the strongest animal motive does not always prevail. Here Reid
193
is saying that the test for the strength of animal motives is the degree of resistance
put forth by the agent. And then he adds that the strongest one does not always
prevail since the agent has the power to resist the impulse of the motive. Hence we
could bring up the objection that Reid is assuming that motives do not function as
causes when he says that the strongest animal motive does not always win. And we
could say against Reid that this is just what must be proved. However, the point
Reid is making here can be taken as a side point. For the sake of Reid’s argument,
we can focus on the fact that all we notice when we are influenced by animal
motives is that the stronger ones are those that are harder to resist. And the fact
that we resist them because we are self-commanding beings with the power to act
against our animal motives is a point that Reid can assert because of other
arguments in his Essays (see for example the three arguments for human liberty).
But for the moment, we can leave that point aside and move on to the rational test.
We can all notice that we are moved or influenced by certain motives that
are rational in nature. These motives or desires exist because of the conception of
some judgment about ends we naturally desire to pursue. But these motives do not
influence us in the same way animal motives do. By introspection, we do not
necessarily feel their force. In some cases we might not feel anything. We just
judge that such and such an action is one that must be done. Hence the rational
motive is conceived and evaluated by our rational faculties. We think of some
action and we judge that such an action ought to be done because it is conducive to
194
our overall good or because it is an action that is morally right. Reid therefore
writes: “our duty and our real happiness are ends which are inseparable; and they
are the ends which every man, endowed with reason, is conscious he ought to
pursue in preference to all others. This we may call the rational test of the strength
of motives” (EAP 290). This rational test is very different from the animal test. In
the case of our animal motives, we feel that a motive is strong because it is a
motive to which we yield with ease. In the case of rational motives, the strongest
motive will be the one which, to our judgment, appears to be the best or the most
dutiful. For Reid this is also something we know by reflecting upon our nature and
by thinking about what moves us in different situations. Hence in this case he is
not assuming what he wants to prove: that motives do not function as physical
causes.
27

Once he has brought to our attention the two different tests for the strength
of motives, Reid continues by examining the competition between animal and
rational motives. Indeed, so far we have seen that we can evaluate the strength of
animal motives among themselves on one hand and of contrary rational motives on
the other hand. It now remains to be seen what happens in the case of the “the
grand and important competition of contrary motives” which is “between the

27
A necessitarian like Hume will not agree with the fact that rational motives are different in nature
from passions. For Hume all motives are passions and what seems to be rational motives are no
different from other passions apart from the fact that they are calmer. Reid, however, would
respond by pointing out that what actually moves us for Hume is the feeling part of desires. But
according to Reid, there is no feeling necessarily associated with rational motives, and yet these
desires move us to action. Hence, rational motives are truly different in nature from Hume’s
passions, and even from Hume’s calm passions.
195
animal, on the one hand, and the rational on the other” (EAP 291). In this case
there is no overall test to compare the strength of the contrary motives. What
happens is that when I am moved by a certain animal desire or appetite that is
contrary to my overall best interest or my duty, the animal desire might be strong
or weak according to the animal test. And the rational desire might be strong or
weak according to the rational test. But we cannot compare the strength of an
animal desire with the strength of a rational desire because we are comparing
fundamentally and phenomenologically different things. In one case the evaluation
of strength is a matter of feelings since the animal desires are felt by the animal
part of our nature, our feelings. And in the other case the evaluation is a matter of
judgment since rational desires are perceived by our judgment. Therefore, Reid
can conclude that the motive that actually leads us to action or that prevails is
sometimes the strongest according to the animal test and sometimes the strongest
according to the rational test but it is also therefore either the weakest according to
the animal test or the weakest according to the rational test. Hence the motive that
prevails is not always the strongest motive according to either of the tests. As I
have pointed out, Reid does not beg the question since we can all notice that this is
the way we function whether motives work as physical causes or not. But of
course, the fact that it is not the strongest motive that always prevails is a point
made against those who hold that motives do function as physical causes,
according to Reid.
196
What would the defenders of the doctrine of necessity have to say to Reid’s
point here? Is Reid’s argument that it is not the strongest motive that always
prevails really a good point made against the defenders of necessity? The opponent
of Reid who comes closest to holding the kind of position Reid is describing is
Joseph Priestley. Indeed, Priestley clearly holds that motives work according to
mechanical laws upon the mind. Motives are, according to him, the only and
necessary causes of our actions. He writes, for example: “Let the mind act contrary
to motives, or the stone move contrary to the laws of gravity, and I shall then, but
not before, believe that they are not the only and necessary causes.”
28
Priestley
would therefore fit Reid’s description of the advocates of the doctrines of necessity
in holding that it is the strongest motive that prevails. Indeed, he writes: “Mind is
like a balance, which is inclined this way or that, according to the motives
presented to it.”
29
Reid’s argument is therefore an objection to Priestley’s
necessitarianism. Reid would point out that the problem with Priestley’s position is
that he does not notice that animal and rational motives move us in different ways.
Indeed, Priestley writes: “whether these motives be called the moral or physical
causes of our volitions, is of no sort of signification.”
30
All motives, whether they
be desires of present objects or of absent good are passions for Priestley, and hence
are mechanical things. All motives are physical and necessary causes. And all ends

28
Priestley, Joseph. A Free Discussion of the doctrines of Materialism, and Philosophical
Necessity. New York: Kraus Reprint Co., 1977, p. 146.
29
Priestley, Joseph. The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated. Ed. René Wellek. New
York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1976, p. 55.
30
Priestley, Joseph. A Free Discussion, p.146.
197
and objects of desire are the objects of passion or affections.
31
Therefore, what
Reid does is bring to our attention that all desires do not act upon the passions or
affections. In the case of the rational motives, the motive acts upon our judgment.
And hence the influence of rational motives cannot be compared to the influence
of animal motives. And once we come to realize that there are two different tests
of strength, then we cannot but realize that the strongest motive does not always
prevail.
Is Reid’s argument also an objection to the positions of David Hume and
Anthony Collins? Collins holds that liberty is the power in man to do as he wills,
or as he pleases. The will itself is determined by other factors than the agent
himself. For Collins, man is not subject to physical necessity but to moral
necessity. This means, he writes, “that man, who is an intelligent and sensible
being, is determin’d by his reason and his senses; and I deny man to be subject to
such necessity, as is in clocks, watches, and such other beings, which for want of
sensation and intelligence are subject to an absolute, physical, or mechanical
necessity.”
32
Therefore, we are not determined by the strongest motive, as objects
in nature are moved by the strongest force, but we are determined by what we
consider to be best. We must think and be conscious of what we consider to be
best, and hence moral necessity involves the understanding and hence is different
from the necessity we find in machines, like clocks. However, even if some

31
Priestley, Joseph. The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated, p. 35
32
Collins, Anthony. A Philosophical Inquiry concerning Human Liberty, iii.
198
motives involve the understanding, we are still determined in our choices by what
we consider to be best; this is moral necessity.
To will something, for Collins, is to prefer something. It is therefore
impossible to prefer something for no reason, and it is also impossible to prefer
evil as evil.
33
We are necessary beings. All our actions have a cause and this cause
is necessary, according to Collins. Indeed, if we do some action, it is because of
some reason, or some desire we have to do what we consider to be best. And, with
exactly the same reason, it is impossible for us to do some other action. If we do
some other action, it is because our reasons are different.
34
But our reason is
always that the object or action pleases us. That is, we choose what we consider to
be best. Hence Collins states: “… our passions, appetites, sensations, and reasons,
determine us in our several choices…. we chuse objects because they please
us….”
35
And he thinks that libertarians would all agree with him. “They allow,” he
writes “that the will, follows the judgments of the understanding; and that, when
two objects are presented to a man’s choice, one whereof appears better than the
other, he cannot choose the worst….”
36
We are morally necessitated to act because
of our motives. And motives are always concerned with what pleases us. Hence if
we should be influenced by two contrary motives, we will choose that action that
appears to be best for us.

33
Ibid., p. 75.
34
Ibid., p. 82-83.
35
Ibid., p. 88.
36
Ibid., p. 109.
199
We could say that there is only one test for the strength of motives in
Collins. The strongest motive is the best motive, or that which we prefer or that
pleases us the most. And Reid’s point can be made against Collins because Collins
sees the best motive as always prevailing. Reid would object first that we have no
proof that the best motive always prevails, and secondly that this test presupposes
that agents are determined or necessitated by what is best. And leaving aside the
question of circularity, Reid would ask Collins whether we always act according to
the preferences of our appetites or of our reason. For Reid, our passions may move
us towards something that pleases us or that we prefer, and our reason might push
us to act in a way that does not necessarily please us but that is best for our overall
happiness. For Collins, the choice is always determined by what will bring us more
pleasure, but Reid would argue that we sometimes do things out of duty even if
these actions lead to no pleasure. On the other hand, if Collins would answer that
doing our duty is what is best, then Reid would reply that we do not always act
according to what we think is best. Therefore, even if Collins would not agree
straightforwardly with Reid’s picture of the necessitarian Reid’s points about the
strength of motives do lead us to some interesting objections to Collins’
necessitarianism.
Let us now turn to Hume’s position and whether Reid’s arguments are
effective against it. Hume, I believe, would in fact agree with Reid that the
strongest motive does not always prevail; hence Reid’s argument here is not a
200
direct attack of Hume’s position. Hume does not speak of a test or rule by which
one could recognize which motive is the strongest one but he does realize that it is
not always the strongest motive that wins. Hume calls all motives passions and he
does point out that some passions are calm and others violent. The calm passions
are what are often mistakenly called reason or rational motives, but they are really
no different in nature from the violent passions or desires. Examples of these calm
passions are “benevolence and resentment, love of life, and kindness to children;
or the general appetite to good, and aversion to evil, consider’d merely as such.”
37

And Hume recognizes that when we are moved to act by contrary motives, by
violent passions and by calm passions, it is not always the violent passion that
prevails. He writes: “What we call strength of mind, implies the prevalence of the
calm passions above the violent; tho’ we may easily observe, there is no man so
constantly possess’d of this virtue, as never on any occasion to yield to the
solicitations of passion and desire.”
38
In the following section, he points out that
custom, for example, has a very great influence on the mind even though it is not
felt as a violent passion. He therefore points out that it is

37
Hume, David. Treatise, p. 417.
38
From the context, it is clear that Hume is speaking of the actions of calm and violent passions.
However, after giving examples of calm passions, Hume then says that men sometimes “counter-
act a violent passion in prosecution of their interest and designs” (Treatise 418). And then he adds
that we are not always influenced by passions and desires. Hence it seems almost that he is
recognizing that there are rational judgments about our overall interest that influence us and that
these are not passions. However, he concludes the passage by saying that the conflict here is
between motives or passions. Hence in the end he does hold that the consideration of our interest is
a calm passion or desire and is not some other rational principle of action in Reid’s sense.
201
evident passions influence not the will in proportion to their violence, or
the disorder they occasion in the temper; but on the contrary, that when a
passion has once become a settled principle of action, and is the
predominant inclination of the soul, it commonly produces no longer any
sensible agitation…. We must, therefore, distinguish betwixt a calm and a
weak passion; betwixt a violent and a strong one.
39

Nevertheless, Hume does notice that it is often easier to influence somebody with
violent passions. But this is not always the case. He therefore points out, in section
VIII of Book II of the Treatise that “generally speaking, the violent passions have
a more powerful influence on the will; tho’ ‘tis often found, that the calm ones,
when corroborated by reflection, and seconded by resolution, are able to controul
them in their most furious movements.”
40

The reason we are not always influenced by the strongest passion, for
Hume, is because there are other principles at work. When a person is moved to
act, it is difficult to establish which passions are violent and which are calm. And
what is more, the character and disposition of the person and the circumstances in
which he finds himself are all elements at work in the determination of the will.
Sections IV through X of book II is Hume’s attempt at explaining all the different
factors that make one passion violent and another calm and of the factors other
than motives that must be taken into consideration. He writes that when motives
are contrary, we may observe that “either of them prevails, according to the

39
Ibid., p. 418-419.
40
Ibid., p. 437-438.
202
general character and present disposition of the person.”
41
Hence whether a calm
passion or a strong one wins depends on the person’s character and disposition.
And later he notices that “both the causes and effects of these violent and calm
passions are pretty variable, and depend, in a great measure, on the peculiar temper
and disposition of every individual.”
42
The reason, therefore, that the strongest or
more violent passion does not always prevail is because there are other principles
at work. These principles concern how persons with different dispositions and
characters are influenced and how certain passions can be both calm and violent
depending on the situation of the objects and the character of the person. And
Hume seems to think that it is possible to examine all of these principles at work in
us. Hence, it might be true that the strongest motive does not always prevail.
However, for Hume we can still say that motives are necessary causes of actions.
Indeed, Hume seems to think that if we knew everything about the
individual, we would be able to predict with certainty the individual’s actions. And
even though we do not know everything, we are still able to make predictions
about people’s behaviors. He therefore observes that “our actions have a constant
union with our motives, tempers, and circumstances.”
43
And hence we are able to
make inferences about people’s actions. His view is therefore that motives,
considered with characters and circumstances, move us necessarily. So Hume is

41
Ibid., p. 418.
42
Ibid., p. 437.
43
Ibid., p. 401.
203
clearly a necessitarian and he clearly considers motives to be causes of actions.
But what he means by necessity is simply this constant conjunction or regularity
we all notice between our motives and our actions and the predictions we are then
able to make about actions.
44
Therefore, Reid’s argument that the strongest motive
does not always prevail does not directly attack Hume’s position. Indeed, Hume
agrees with Reid but still holds that we can notice or observe the constant
conjunction between motives and actions. Even if the law is not that the strongest
motive prevails, there are still other laws at work that take into consideration
motives, tempers and situations. And hence if Reid must attack Hume’s position, it
must be on this point.
45
In fact, Reid replies to this point, but not in the chapter we
are studying. He writes the following in a letter to James Gregory:
But is it not self-evident, that the relation between a law of nature and the
event which is produced according to it, is very different from the relation
between a motive and the action to which it is a motive?” He continues: “It
is a question of fact, whether the influence of motives be fixed by laws of
nature, so that they shall always have the same effect in the same
circumstances. Upon this, indeed, the question about liberty and necessity

44
See James A. Harris’s instructive paper on Hume’s notion of necessity. Harris argues that
libertarians would agree with Hume that there is a constant conjunction between motives and
actions. Indeed, many libertarians hold that we are morally necessitated, which means that the
agent has the power of acting against his motives but still acts according to what he thinks is best.
And hence there is a regularity that is predictable in people’s behaviors. However, Harris does not
mention Reid who, I think, would argue that people clearly do not always act according to what is
best. And that even though, in general, men’s actions are predictable, this is by no means a general
rule. See Harris, James, A. “Hume’s reconciling project and ‘the common distinction betwixt moral
and physical necessity.’” British Journal for the History of Philosophy 11 (3) 2003: 451-471.
45
Reid does not think that we can observe a constant conjunction between our motives and actions.
And he would most likely point out that Hume can only speak in general but not universal terms.
Hume himself seems to notice, in Book II of the Treatise, that it is difficult to establish all the
principles at work in the determination of actions. And therefore Reid would claim that there is not
enough regularity here to talk of any kind of constant conjunction, that is, of physical causation as
Reid understands it.
204
hangs. But I have never seen any proof that there are such laws of
nature….
46

However, even though Reid does not directly attack Hume’s position here,
his argument is still instructive in understanding Reid’s overall criticism of Hume.
Indeed, Reid, in this argument, points out how animal and rational motives
influence us in different ways. And he notices that rational motives do not act upon
our feelings. Hume, however, does not recognize the existence of rational
principles of action and he considers all motives to be passions or feelings. He
does not accept that judgments about our overall good and duty are not passions
(see my chapter 2). And hence he does not see that animal and rational motives
move us in different ways. But Reid brings our attention, in this argument, to the
fact that rational motives or judgments do influence us differently. We do not
necessarily ‘feel’ anything when we are moved by them. But we can still see them
to be strong or weak. Therefore, all motives are not passions for Reid and we are
not comparing impulses made upon our feelings only. There are rational motives
also, and these also have a motivational force. The necessitarian, like Hume, if he
is to say that motives function like physical causes, will therefore have a hard time
determining the laws according to which motives are linked to actions. Hume
holds that motives, circumstances, and dispositions all play a role in the
determination or our actions and that there is a law of nature that describes this

46
Wood, Paul. The Correspondence of Thomas Reid, p. 176.
205
relation. However, Reid would point out that he has “never seen any proof that
there are such laws of nature…”
Reid therefore makes some interesting points against the defenders of the
doctrine of necessity. It is not clear, however, that Reid would be convincing. As
far as the no-motive argument is concerned, Reid’s point is certainly a point that
no other libertarians before him make and it is a point that should be taken into
consideration by necessitarians. However, the defender of necessity would still
find it hard to imagine actions for which agents have no preference or motive. The
necessitarian could still answer that having power over our actions does not imply
having power over every step leading to the action, and hence the necessitarian
would not accept Reid’s reductio. The strength-of-motives argument is successful
against a simpler version of necessitarianism, like the one Priestley offers. But it
may still not be very convincing to those necessitarians who admit that we are not
always moved by the strongest or best motive and who are still looking for the
laws of nature that could best describe human action.
206
Chapter 5: Explaining our choices: Reid on Motives,
Character and Effort
To be free, according to Reid, is to have control over our choices or our
decisions. An agent has moral liberty when the agent and not motives or other
circumstances is the cause of the determinations of his own will. When a rational
principle of action is present, animal and rational motives influence the will of the
agent who then decides which motive he will act upon and he then makes his
choice to act one way or another. Hence we find this well-known passage in Reid’s
‘Essays on the Active Powers’: “Contrary motives may very properly be compared
to advocates pleading the opposite sides of a cause at the bar. It would be very
weak reasoning to say, that such an advocate is the most powerful pleader, because
sentence was given on his side. The sentence is in the power of the judge, not of
the advocate” (EAP 288).
1
The problem we must now address is sometimes called
the problem of explanation. Assuming that Reid is correct to say that motives do
not causally necessitate the decision, how do we explain that the agent decides to
act upon one motive and not the other? For what reason is the judge’s sentence in
favor of one advocate rather than the other? If the judge is really free to act upon
one motive and not the other and hence if in acting according to one motive he
could have acted upon the other, it is difficult to understand how he makes his

1
Thomas Reid, Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind, ed. Baruch A. Brody
(Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Press, 1969).
207
choice. We must now understand, therefore, how and why the agent or judge gives
the final sentence in favor of one motive and not the other.
Several philosophers have noticed this problem not only with Reid’s
account of moral liberty but with any libertarian account. In Reid’s own day
Gottfried Leibniz and Jonathan Edwards mention the problem of explaining the
selection between different motives.
2
According to Leibniz the defenders of liberty
imagine the will as a queen who listens to the minister of state who is the
understanding and to her courtiers and favorite ladies who represent the passions
and who gives them audience or not “as seems good to her.”
3
As William Rowe
points out, it is not the will, for Reid, that decides, but the agent using his will.
Still, Reid’s agent can be compared to Leibniz’s queen since the agent is faced
with different motives or desires and he must determine which motive he will act
upon. And the problem is that “in order to choose to act in accordance with one
motive rather than another the queen or judge will need some reason or motive
(second-order) for preferring one first-order motive over another first-order
motive”.
4
As Rowe writes, the problem is “why, on this occasion, did our agent
favor her rational motive for doing A over her animal motive for doing B?”

2
Leibniz lived from 1646 to 1716; Edwards from 1703 to 1758; and Reid from 1710 to 1796.
3
Both William Rowe and Timothy O’Connor mention this objection to agent-causal theories. See
William Rowe, Thomas Reid on Freedom and Morality (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press,
1999), 181 and Timothy O’Connor, Persons and Causes: The Metaphysics of Free Will, (New
York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 89.
4
William Rowe, Thomas Reid on Freedom and Morality, 181.
208
According to Leibniz, either the rational motive causally necessitates the choice or
the agent is faced with the absurd situation of having infinitely many reasons.
Jonathan Edwards also points out that one of the problems of the arminian
doctrine (the doctrine that states that to be free, one’s will and not just one’s
voluntary actions must be free) is that it fails to give an explanation of why the
mind exerts itself in one way rather than another. According to Edwards, it is
always the last deliverance of the understanding that determines the will. And it is
absurd to think that motives do not necessitate the will. James Harris points out
that according to Edwards: “The libertarian who holds that it is up to us whether
we act in accord with the last dictate of the understanding must say that we choose
whether so to act; and then the question must arise as to what motivates the choice
to act in line with what the understanding recommends.”
5
If there is an antecedent
motive, then either that motive is the cause of the determination or there is an
infinite regress of choices.
6
Indeed, for Edwards the libertarian or arminian holds
that the determination of the will is a free action. Hence, it must be the result of a
free choice of the agent. If the determination of the will, or choice, is not the result
of a previous choice, then it is not free. And if the choice is the result of a previous
choice, then we are lead into an infinite regress of choices. The problem of
motives is similar. Either we choose to act according to one motive for a reason, or
we choose for no reason. To provide an explanation, the libertarian must say that

5
James A. Harris, Of Liberty and Necessity (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005), 320.
6
Jonathan Edwards, Freedom of the Will (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1957), 223.
209
we choose for a reason. But then either this previous reason is itself chosen for a
reason, etc. or this previous reason necessitates the will. In any case, it will be
difficult for the libertarian to offer an explanation of the selection of motives
without falling into a regress of previous explanations or without admitting that the
very last dictate of the understanding or reason is what determines the will.
I. Motives: all the reason we need
Before going into more difficult formulations of the problem of
explanation, I want to bring up Reid’s possible reply to these objections. It is not
difficult to be frustrated with Reid’s seemingly lack of response to objections
brought up against the libertarian position concerning the events that take place at
the moment of decision. Reid, at times, seems more interested in the attack of the
necessitarian position than in the positive defense of his own position.
7
Rowe
writes that “As with our earlier problem of what, if anything, causes an exercise of
active power, I cannot find any significant discussion of this problem of
explanation in Reid’s writings.”
8
Harris’s reaction is similar to Rowe’s. He writes:
“It is disappointing that Reid does not see fit to discuss any of the problems
associated with making sense of this approach to the causation of choice and

7
This might, in part, be due to the fact that Reid thinks that the burden of proof is on those who
defend that man’s will is not in his power, since we naturally believe and talk as though we were in
control of our decisions.
8
William Rowe, Thomas Reid on Freedom and Morality, 182.
210
action – problems that Edwards had already identified, and that still, to this day,
beset the ‘agent causal’ theory of action.”
9

Nevertheless, Reid’s account does answer the objection that if the
libertarian is right, then either the agent must have an infinite amount of reasons
for deciding, which is impossible, or he must be causally necessitated to choose
according to the last dictate of the understanding. According to Reid, it is not the
case that if motives do not necessitate the decision the agent is stuck between these
two options. Reid’s account of the principles of action provides all the elements
necessary to make choices or to determine the will, without being causally
necessitated and without reverting to an infinite regress of reasons.
Leibniz has us imagining the agent as a queen who has the power of
listening to different representatives of her kingdom. We imagine the queen or
agent listening to different voices of her being. She listens to the strong voice of
her passions and to the calmer voice of reason.
10
According to Leibniz’s picture of
the libertarian position, the queen must evaluate all of her motives and then decide
which motive she will follow. And hence we imagine that in order to choose
between the opinion of the minister of state and the opinion of her favorite ladies,
the queen must listen to yet another voice. To choose between motives, the queen
must form yet another reason, a higher order one, that furnishes her with the
reason for adopting one motive rather than another. But to answer the question of

9
James A. Harris, Of Liberty and Necessity, 192.
10
Gottfried Leibniz, Theodicy (LaSalle, Il: Open Court, 1985), 421.
211
why she chooses that higher order reason, she must appeal to yet another reason,
and so on ad infinitum. According to this picture of the subject, the motives that
the subject or agent contemplates and deliberates about are not sufficient to
explain why one course of action should be taken instead of another. Indeed, for
Leibniz, only a causal link between the motive and the decision could completely
explain this decision.
The deliberative process does not take place in this way according to
Reid’s account of principles of action. In moments of deliberation, the agent feels
on one hand the influence of animal motives, which means that he conceives of a
present object of desire and on the other hand, the agent thinks of a rational
judgment about what is in his best interest or about what is right. This is what
happens in (most) moments of deliberation about which course of action should be
adopted. The animal push is often contrary to some judgment entertained in the
mind. As the agent thinks about what he should do, he can form another rational
judgment that is an evaluation of the other motives. And as the deliberative
process continues in difficult situations the thought process of the agent and the
evaluation of the different motives and courses of action continue until the agent
reaches some final judgment about what is best or about what is virtuous.
Realistically, agents feel the incitement of several animal motives and in difficult
situations agents form several rational motives. But at the moment of decision, the
deliberation ends. The agent forms one last rational judgment which is a judgment
212
about the course of action it is best to adopt, but he still feels the push of the
animal motive(s). Hence it is not as though the agent, at the moment of decision,
needs to form yet another motive for choosing between that judgment and animal
motives. Indeed, the rational motive is already a final evaluative judgment, a result
of a process of deliberation.
The rational motives themselves can be second-order motives that evaluate
other motives. And the agent needs no further reason to know how he should
decide. Reid writes that by our rational principles of action: “we judge what ends
are most worthy to be pursued, how far every appetite and passion may be
indulged, and when it ought to be resisted” (EAP 72). Reid also points out that
decisions are the final point of deliberation. At this point we need not go on and on
to find reasons for our decisions. “The natural consequence of deliberation on any
part of our conduct”, he writes, “is a determination how we shall act; and if it is
not brought to this issue it is lost labour” (EAP 82). The purpose of deliberation or
of the process of forming rational judgments, of thinking about what we desire as
far as happiness and virtue are concerned, is to determine our will in the best
possible way. The ‘weighing’ of motives, the reasoning about the outcome of our
actions and the perception of the moral value of our actions, are all part of the
deliberative process and of the forming of rational motives that precede the
decision-making moment. It is for this reason also that rational motives are
superior to animal motives. They may contain a reference to other motives. By
213
them the agent judges that one motive is better than the other. Hence Reid writes
of conscience that it “prescribes measures to every appetite, affection, and passion,
and says to every other principle of action, So far thou mayest go, but no further”
(EAP 254). The judgment that we form thanks to our moral sense is often our last
judgment or principle of action. We can reason about the consequences of
following animal motives in light of our own interest, or we can listen to the voice
of conscience that shows us what is morally right or wrong. It is evident, according
to Reid, “that reason and conscience are given us to regulate the inferior principles,
so that they may conspire, in a regular and consistent plan of life, in pursuit of
some worthy end” (EAP 365). When we think about our different motives, we
form a rational judgment or motive about which course of action is best, that is
about which motive should be acted upon. And this judgment is the result of the
process of deliberation.
One might wish to object that the account I am presenting is contrary to
Reid’s account of the moral sense. After all, one might notice, moral judgments
are not the result of some reasoning process for Reid since moral judgments are
self-evident moral perceptions which are not inferred from other propositions. In
the account I present, however, moral judgments or judgments of conscience seem
to be the result of some rational process (a deliberative process) by which different
motives are evaluated and compared.
11
These second-order and evaluative moral

11
I want to thank an anonymous referee of this journal for mentioning this point.
214
judgments, the objection goes, do not seem to be the self-evident and non-inferred
judgments of Reid’s moral sense. Let me first of all point out that the result of
deliberation is not always a moral judgment. One might evaluate different animal
motives and think only about what is in one’s best interest without any
considerations about duty. And in this case, one must reason about the relation and
consequences of actions and one must also evaluate different motives.
12
Hence, the
moral sense is not always the final arbiter in a deliberative process.
However, in most cases of deliberation, and for adult human beings who
have a normally developed moral sense, conscience does play a role in forming
our final evaluative judgments about what ought to be done, according to Reid. My
view is that Reid holds that moral judgments can be judgments about other
motives without being the result of some inferential process. Thanks to our moral
sense, we recognize or perceive certain actions to be morally right, wrong or
indifferent. The judgments we form in this case are first principles of morals; and
from these first principles, which are “moral obligations that are immediately
perceived, all other moral obligations must be deduced by reasoning” (EAP 236).

12
See, for example, EAP 205, where Reid writes: “We learn to observe the connections of things,
and the consequences of our actions; and, taking an extended view of our existence, past, present,
and future, we correct our first notions of good and ill, and form the conception of what is good or
ill upon the whole; which must be estimated, not from the present feeling, or from the present
animal desire or aversion, but from a due consideration of its consequences, certain or probable,
during the whole of our existence. That which, taken with all its discoverable connections and
consequences, brings more good than ill, I call good upon the whole.” Also EAP 206: “...as soon as
we have the conception of what is good or ill for us upon the whole... this becomes, not only a
principle of action, but a leading or governing principle, to which all our animal principles ought to
be subordinate.” He also writes that this first rational principle of action “produces a kind of self-
approbation, when the passions and appetites are kept in their due subjection to it; and a kind of
remorse and compunction, when it yields to them” (EAP 210).
215
Another role for the moral sense is to recognize and perceive as self-evident
certain general axioms, like “we ought not to do to another, what we should think
wrong to be done to us in like circumstances” (EAP 234 and 365). These general
axioms are also first principles of morals. Reid writes both of particular moral
judgments (about certain actions) and of general axioms as “truths immediately
testified by our moral faculty” and as “the first principles of all moral reasoning,
from which all our knowledge of duty must be deduced” (EAP 233). First
principles of morals are therefore non-inferred and are recognized thanks to our
conscience, but other moral judgments might be deduced from these principles.
Now, there are certain general axioms or first principles that nevertheless
include references to other motives or some evaluation of motives. For example,
Reid thinks that it is self-evident that “it ought to be our most serious concern to
do our duty as far as we know it...” (EAP 362). This implies that if we have
competing motives, it seems self-evident to us that we ought to do what our moral
sense prescribes. Also, “we ought to prefer a greater good, though more distant, to
a less; and a less evil to a greater” (EAP 362). Again, if we compare goods, or if
we have animal motives about present goods and perhaps several rational
judgments about distant ends, it is self-evident that we ought to conclude that the
greatest good must be pursued. The truth of these principles is not recognized
through a process of inference. We simply accept them as self-evident.
Nevertheless, they require some evaluation of different motives. As I have already
216
mentioned, Reid writes that conscience “prescribes measures to every appetite,
affection, and passion, and says to every other principle of action, So far thou
mayest go, but no further” (EAP 254). If there is such a moral judgment involved
in our deliberative process, this final moral judgment might be deduced from
axioms or might itself be an axiom. If it is deduced, then it is the result of some
inference (and this is absolutely possible in Reid moral system). But it might also
be an axiom, since it is self-evident for Reid that if our animal motives are
contrary to our duty we ought to follow our duty. This means that we might judge
that the action in question ought to be done, but have at the same time competing
animal motives. The evaluative judgment that we ought to follow duty might be
preceded by a moment in which we think about our different desires and motives,
but this judgment is not something we infer, it is a first principle of our
constitution. Therefore, some moral axioms, for Reid, are evaluative and contain
references to other motives and yet are self-evident.
13

As rational and moral beings, we need no further reason than our final and
evaluative judgments of ultimate ends. Now, motives are not necessary causes
according to Reid, and hence the agent might act according to this final rational
motive or according to another contrary motive. In the next section we will address

13
Indeed, Reid writes that “the man who deliberates, after all the objects and relations mentioned
by Mr. Hume are known to him, has a point to determine; and that is, whether the action under his
deliberation ought to be done, or ought not. In most cases, this point will appear self-evident to a
man who has been accustomed to exercise his moral judgment; in some cases it may require
reasoning. In like manner, the judge, after all the circumstances or the cause are known, has to
judge, whether the plaintiff has a just plea or not” (EAP 475).
217
the problem of why the agent chooses one way or the other. But at this point we
must understand that the explanation of why the agent chooses one motive rather
than another cannot be because of yet another reason per se, that is, because of
another motive. This is why Reid writes: “Ask the man of honor, why he thinks
himself obliged to pay a debt of honor? The very question shocks him. To suppose
that he needs another inducement to do it but the principle of honor, is to suppose
that he has no honor, no worth, and deserves no esteem” (EAP 224). Admittedly,
this passage is more insightful in the context of moral motivation and of a
discussion on character. But it does show us that the man of honor, even if he
might in some cases act against his sense of honor, needs no other reason to know
what he must do. Hence to understand why an agent chooses to act according to
one motive rather than another, we will need to look at facts about the agent or
about the strength of motives, but the reasons for acting are already provided by
the principles of action themselves. At the moment of decision, Leibniz is wrong,
according to Reid’s position, to think that the libertarian must revert to an infinite
series of reasons. The agent knows which motive he should follow. And whether
he follows the one that is best or not will not depend on yet another reason or
motive. Indeed, what other reason could he offer?
Edwards argues that if the libertarian is right, then either the agent is led
into an infinite regress of reasons or he is causally necessitated by the last dictate
of the understanding. I just showed that Reid rejects the first option since at the
218
moment of deliberation, even if the agent is not causally determined by the
strongest motive, the agent, to choose between one motive and another, does not
appeal to yet another motive. In a passage I cited earlier, however, it might seem
that the agent’s decision is always in line with what the agent thinks is best. Hence
it might seem that even if the agent follows an animal motive that is contrary to his
judgment about some long term happiness, the agent will always find a reason or
rational judgment that justifies his animal motive.
14
The passage that might
support this view is the following: “The natural consequence of deliberation on
any part of conduct is a determination how we shall act; and if it is not brought to
this issue it is lost labour” (EAP 82). Hence it seems here, at first glance, that when
our decision is the result of some deliberation, the last step of the deliberative
process, the last judgment, naturally leads to the decision. If this is the case then it
is easy to think that we would always decide to act according to final judgments of
deliberation even if we act according to an animal motive and Edwards would be
correct. If our decision is the result of deliberation and the result of deliberation is
an evaluative judgment, then even in acting according to passions we would form
some judgment that justifies the passion. This judgment must be one that allows
the passion, or that states that the passion, after all, is good for us (or perhaps not

14
Anthony Collins also holds that man always chooses according to what he thinks is best. He
writes that even the libertarians “allow, that the will, follows the judgment of the understanding;
and that, when two objects are presented to a man’s choice, one whereof appears better than the
other, he cannot choose the worst; that is, cannot choose evil as evil.” See Anthony Collins, ‘A
Philosophical Inquiry Concerning Human Liberty’ in Determinism and Freewill, ed. J.O’Higgins
S.J (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1976).
219
so bad). Hence, if this is the case, we would always be acting according to the last
dictate of the understanding.
However, after writing that our choices are the result of deliberation, hence
the result of one final judgment about what is best, Reid adds that “when judgment
is interposed, we may determine and act either according to that judgment or
contrary to it.” And “to act against what one judges to be for his real good upon
the whole, is folly. To act against what he judges to be his duty, is immorality. It
cannot be denied, that there are too many instances of both in human life” (EAP
83). Our decision to act is, unfortunately, often a decision to act against our
judgment of what is reasonable or virtuous. In many cases, we act against what we
think to be best or virtuous. It is for this reason that some actions are foolish and
others are vicious. Reid writes: “For, let us suppose, for a moment, that men have
moral liberty, I would ask, what use they be expected to make of this liberty? It
may surely be expected, that of the various actions within the sphere of their
power, they will choose what pleases them most for the present, or what appears to
be most for their real, though distant good. When there is a competition between
these motives, the foolish will prefer present gratification; the wise, the greater and
more distant good” (EAP 291-292). Therefore, we are not determined to act
according to what we think is best since we often act according to animal motives
that are contrary to judgments about what is best. Therefore, Reid’s account is not
subject to Leibniz’s and Edwards’ dilemma. It is not the case that the agent, to
220
decide, must go through an infinite amount of reasons and it is not the case that the
very last dictate of the understanding is what determines the will.
II. Character: a governed tendency to act
Necessitarians or modern day compatibilists will not be satisfied with
Reid’s account so far. And, indeed, I have not yet shown why it is that we choose
to act according to one motive rather than the other. Even if we do not need to
appeal to infinitely many reasons, and even if we sometimes act against what is
best, Reid is still faced with the problem of explaining why one same agent
chooses out of two possible alternatives. At the moment of decision, why is it that
an agent P chooses to act according to an animal motive A when he could very
well have chosen to act according to a rational motive R? Contemporary
philosophers have also noticed this problem with the libertarian position.
Ishtiyaque Haji, for example, imagines a person (he calls Peg) who deliberates.
She is tempted but at the same time forms the judgment that she ought to keep her
promise. And she decides to keep her promise. If agent-causation views are
correct, then we can imagine that this same person (but call her Peg*) would
deliberate in the same way and form the same judgment and be tempted in the
same way and yet decide not to keep her promise. The question that is not
answered by libertarian positions, according to Haji, is “why then, did Peg* agent-
cause what she did, and in so doing acted akratically, when Peg agent-caused
221
something quite different, and in so doing acted continently?”
15
He writes that the
worry is to explain how the agent exercises her control over alternatives. We need
to understand a further causal role of the agent to explain why one option is chosen
rather than another. Haji poses the question: “Would the agent-causalist not
acquire the burden to specify a way in which the agent could have a further causal
role in determining which of the options non-deterministic agent-causation leaves
open will transpire?”
16
The problem is that if there are genuine alternatives and the
agent has the power to choose either one of these alternatives, that is, if he has a
real control over his decision, then there must be an explanation of why the agent
chooses one alternative rather than another. If there is no explanation for the
decision, then it is hard to imagine that the agent has control over what happens.
Stewart Goetz brings up a similar problem for what he calls the ‘Standard
Libertarian Theory.’
17
According to this theory, which could also be called the
‘agent-causation view’ the explanations for actions are given in terms of reasons.
Also, agents are free in the libertarian sense with respect to their choices. Goetz
also points out that according to standard libertarian views, what closes the gap
between the choice to A for reason R and the performance of A is an intention to A
for R. However, Goetz argues, there remains a gap between the reason R itself and

15
Ishtiyaque Haji (2004) ‘Active Control, Agent-Causation and Free Action’, Philosophical
Explorations, Vol.7, No.2 pp 131-148, 142.
16
Ibid., 144.
17
S. Goetz (1998) ‘Failed solutions to a standard libertarian problem’, Philosophical Studies 90 pp
237-244. Reid’s position would, I believe, fall under the description of a ‘standard libertarian
theory.’
222
the choice made for R. The problem is to explain how a reason (or motive)
teleologically and yet noncausally explains an agent’s uncaused exercise of his
power. Indeed, if reasons do not act as causes, then it is difficult to explain the
notion of choosing because of a reason. The agent would always be choosing with
a reason but not because of it.
18
The problem here is therefore that the libertarian
theory does not explain the choices we make since it seems that any reason could
be followed by any decision.
I believe Reid would appeal to the character of the agent to explain which
option is likely to transpire. Indeed, I believe Reid holds that it is because of the
agent’s character that we can often explain the choice between motives. Rowe has
noticed that, according to Reid, the influence of particular motives is shaped
partially by the character of the person who is influenced by those motives.
19

Although Rowe does not enter into any details, he suggests that the answer to the
problem of explanation will include an understanding of the agent’s character. The
explanation, however, will be probabilistic and not deterministic. I agree with
Rowe that part of the answer has to do with the agent’s character. Indeed, motives
provide all the reasons for deciding but agents will be more or less inclined to

18
Goetz’s point in his paper is that the attempts to forge the link between A and R by appealing to
intentions fail. Indeed, to appeal to intentions is just to push the problem back since a reason will be
needed to explain the intention, and this leads to an infinite regress. He leaves open the possibility
of finding a solution to this problem of explanation, but his point is that attempts that rely on
intentions to explain why decisions are taken do not succeed since these views are subject to the
same objection.
19
William Rowe, Thomas Reid on Freedom and Morality, 184.
223
follow one motive rather than the other because of their character. Let us now
examine what Reid means when he talks of one’s character.
An agent’s character is one’s overall tendency to act; it is a characteristic
way of acting. More specifically, it is a tendency to act according to certain
motives. Hence, the foolish have a tendency to act according to animal motives or
desires for present pleasures and goods or for ends that are not conducive to their
overall happiness. The wise, on the other hand, have a tendency to act in a way
that will further some wise end. Indeed, as we have seen, Reid writes that “When
there is a competition between these motives, the foolish will prefer present
gratification; the wise, the greater and more distant good” (EAP 292). Agents, in
general, can be described by the motives they tend to act upon most often. We
might then wonder why this is the case. Why is it that some agents tend to act
according to some kind of motives and not the others? Reid writes that what
influences most one’s way of acting is one’s purposes or resolutions.
In Essay II, chapter III, Reid points out that one’s character is shaped by
one’s fixed purposes. Fixed purposes or resolutions are decisions to act in a certain
way in the future. There are two kinds of purposes or resolutions according to
Reid. First, I may decide to do some particular action in the future; these are
particular purposes. Secondly, I may decide to follow a train of actions in order to
reach some general end or because of some general rule; these are general
purposes. He writes: “By a particular purpose, I mean that which has for its object
224
an individual action, limited to one time and place; by a general purpose, that of a
course or train of action, intended for some general end, or regulated by some
general rule” (EAP 84). And Reid points out that only general purposes have an
effect on our character: “a general purpose” he claims “may continue for life; and,
after many particular actions have been done in consequence of it, may remain and
regulate future actions” (EAP 84). It is because I decide to reach some future goal
that I will tend to do those actions that are needed to reach the end. Or, it is
because I decide to follow some general rule or principle that I will act in a way
that is regulated by the rule.
20
Therefore, character, as a characteristic way of
acting, is shaped first by what we think, and in particular by judgments we make
about the ends that are worthy of being pursued and the principles or rules that
ought to be followed; and Reid calls these judgments motives. And secondly, we

20
Yaffe offers a good explanation of the difference between the two species of general purposes.
He writes that some purposes aim at general ends while others aim at some general rule. In the first
case the goal is to perform conduct that instantiates a certain pattern and in the second the aim is to
bring about a certain pattern of events that is regulated by a set of rules. See Gideon Yaffe,
Manifest Activity: Thomas Reid’s Theory of Action (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2004), 80-81. Yaffe
argues that character traits are fixed purposes to act only according to a certain rule. It seems to me,
however, that Reid holds that both kinds of general purposes have an effect on one’s character.
Reid writes: “Thus, a young man purposes to follow the profession of law, of medicine, or of
theology. This general purpose directs the course of his reading and study. It directs him in the
choice of his company and companions, and even of his diversions. It determines his travels and
the place of his abode. It has influence upon his dress and manners, and a considerable effect in
forming his character. There are other fixed purposes which have a still greater effect in forming
the character. I mean such as regard our moral conduct” (EAP 84-85, italics are mine). It is clear in
this passage that Reid holds that fixed purposes regarding our moral conduct shape one’s character
but he also writes that ends such as a certain academic degree, for example, have a “considerable
effect in forming” one’s character. I believe that Reid’s position is that resolutions to follow a rule
of conduct have a greater effect on one’s character than resolutions to act according to a certain
pattern.
225
will tend to act in a certain way because of the decision or determination to follow
such motives over time.
Some may bring up the objection that human beings display tendencies to
act in a certain way even in the absence of resolutions. After all, our children have
what appears to be character traits and dispositions independently of any decision
on their part to further some end or rule of action. In anticipation of such an
objection, Reid draws the distinction between natural tempers and character traits.
I have pointed out that character traits are formed by decisions or determinations to
act in accordance with a rule or principle governing actions. And this decision is
voluntary. In some cases, however, our actions display some consistency but not
because of some voluntary decision on our part. In this case, Reid speaks of
natural tempers which “are part of the constitution of man, and are really
involuntary, though they often lead to voluntary action” (EAP 86). Since natural
tempers are involuntary, they are dispositions or tendencies that are the result of
elements over which we did not display any control or government. Whether they
be tendencies we are born with or acquire because of our education, Reid does not
specify. What is clear, however, is that it is part of our constitution, independently
of our judgments, ends and decisions, to display patterns of behavior. Since these
tendencies are naturally part of us (which means, perhaps, that they are part of us
because of the way nature, in general, works) they are neither morally good or bad.
Reid writes: “A good natural temper is not virtue, nor is a bad one vice. Hard
226
would it be indeed to think, that a man should be born under a decree of
reprobation, because he has the misfortune of a bad natural temper” (EAP 86).
Therefore, Reid recognizes that it is part of our constitution to have natural
tempers and hence to tend to act in a certain way in the absence of resolutions or
fixed purposes.
However, Reid would point out that when we speak of a person’s character,
we refer to a more consistent tendency than the tendency displayed by natural
tempers and we also talk about aspects of a person that are morally praiseworthy
or blameworthy. Hence, when we think of a person’s characteristic way of acting,
we must mean that the person is somehow responsible for this tendency to act. In
our way of speaking, then, we recognize that there is more to a person’s character
than an involuntary temper. Indeed, natural tempers, dispositions or humors are the
result of one’s education, one’s natural constitution, or even of opinions but not of
decisions voluntarily made by the agent. It seems that for Reid there is a
connection between one’s natural temper and the animal motives one tends to act
upon. He writes: “the balance of our animal principles, I think, constitutes what we
call a man’s natural temper, which may be good or bad, without regard to virtue”
(EAP 197). Reid writes here of a balance of animal motives (without the presence
of a rational motive), and not of a control or government of animal motives, since
natural tempers are involuntary. Hence nature or education or circumstances have
an influence on our non-governed and involuntary tendencies to act, and more
227
specifically on the nature of animal motives that incite us to act. What this implies,
however, is that natural tempers are unstable and whimsical. And Reid sometimes
writes as though natural tempers were not fixed tendencies to act at all. He points
out that if a man were to act only according to his natural temper he “would have
no character at all, but be benevolent or spiteful, pleasant or morose, honest or
dishonest, as the present wind of passion, or tide of humour moved him” (EAP
198). Natural tempers are therefore natural tendencies to act in a certain way but
these tendencies may change or disappear as the circumstances and emotions
change.
This is not surprising since, for Reid, it is only when one forms resolutions
that one can be self-governed and hence that one can tend to act in a consistent
way. Very few beings have no character. Indeed, as soon as we form judgments
about ends and about moral values, we tend to make resolutions as to the type of
actions that ought to be carried out. And in order to act according to these
judgments, the contrary animal motives must be controlled. Natural tempers are
therefore associated with animal motives and in the case where no resolutions at
all are made (which is almost impossible for adult human beings), there is no self-
control, no self-government, and hence natural tempers change according to
circumstances.
In men who have no fixed rule of conduct, no self-government, the natural
temper is variable by numberless accidents. The man who is full of
affection and benevolence this hour, when a cross accident happens to
ruffle him, or perhaps when an easterly wind blows, feels a strange
228
revolution in his temper. The kind and benevolent affections give place to
the jealous and malignant, which are as readily indulged in their turn, and
for the same reason, because he feels a propensity to indulge them (EAP
86).

Natural tempers in beings who do not control their motives and who do not
determine to act according to resolutions are therefore unstable.
Character traits, however, are emblematic of self-government and moral
liberty. Indeed, it is only the agent who is able to control his motives who can have
a consistent way of acting. Hence Reid writes that “Every man who maintains an
uniform and consistent character, must sweat and toil, and often struggle with his
present inclinations” (EAP 198). And the man who has no fixed purposes, no
resolutions or no self-control can be said “to have no character at all.” Reid adds
that
He will be honest or dishonest, benevolent or malicious, compassionate or
cruel, as the tide of his passions and affections drives him. This, however, I
believe is the case of but a few in advanced life, and these, with regard to
conduct, the weakest and most contemptible of species.
A man of some constancy may change his general purposes once or twice
in life, seldom more. From the pursuit of pleasure in early life, he may
change to that of ambition, and from ambition to avarice. But every man
who uses his reason in the conduct of life, will have some end, to which he
gives a preference above all others. To this he steers his course; his projects
and his actions will be regulated by it. Without this, there would be no
consistency in his conduct. He would be like a ship in the ocean, which is
bound to no port, under no government, but left to the mercy of winds and
tides (EAP 88-89).

Therefore, even if those who form no resolutions exhibit some natural tendencies
to act in a certain way, these tendencies will change as the circumstances and
passions change. Also, natural tempers, in the absence of all resolution or
229
character, are involuntary and are typical of those beings who act according to the
laws of nature, without self-government. Hence, if human beings had only
involuntary and whimsical natural tempers, we could not explain that human
beings often act in a characteristic and consistent manner.
One might wonder about the relation between an agent’s moral sense and
his character. Indeed, it might seem that resolutions or character traits are
equivalent to virtues and hence that the agent’s moral sense and character play the
same role. This is not Reid’s view, however. For Reid, it is because agents have a
moral faculty or a moral sense that they can perceive that some actions are
virtuous and also that some moral axioms are true and ought to be followed. For
Reid, moral rules are dictates of one’s moral sense. Indeed, he writes: “The truths
immediately testified by our moral faculty, are the first principles of all moral
reasoning, from which all our knowledge of our duty must be deduced” (EAP
233). And most of these moral axioms or first principles are rules of conduct.
Hence, by our moral sense, we perceive the truth of these axioms and the
obligation to follow them. Now, virtues are themselves fixed resolutions to follow
such rules. Reid writes:
Suppose a man to have exercised his intellectual and moral faculties, so far
as to have distinct notions of justice and injustice, and of the consequences
of both, and, after due deliberation, to have formed a fixed purpose to
adhere inflexibly to justice, and never to handle the wages of iniquity.
Is not this the man whom we should call a just man? We consider the moral
virtues as inherent in the mind of a good man, even when there is no
opportunity of exercising them. And what is it in the mind which we call
the virtue of justice, when it is not exercised? It can be nothing but a fixed
230
purpose, or determination, to act according to the rules of justice, when
there is opportunity (EAP 85).

Hence, by our moral sense we form rules of morals or we perceive some actions to
be virtuous, others vicious and others indifferent. But the virtuous agent, or the
agent with a virtuous character, not only perceives and recognizes these rules but
he also determines or intends to follow the rule. The character trait of the agent is
shaped by his determination to follow the rule, but this character trait or
determination is not identical to the dictates of his moral sense. The agent
perceives moral obligations by his moral sense, but it is the agent himself who
must determine to follow the dictates of his conscience.
Some agents might even decide not to follow the dictates of their moral
sense. I believe Gideon Yaffe also notices this when he writes: “in between the
person with the benevolent temperament who has no character at all, and the
person with the trait of benevolence, lies a third sort of agent: someone who has
the trait associated with the rule ‘Do as my sentiments direct’. Such a person does
have a character trait, but it is not the trait of benevolence…. He differs from the
virtuous person by virtue of the difference in the rules to which each is fixedly
committed.”
21
In other words, the rule of conduct of such an agent is to act against
duty. Yaffe holds that character traits just are the resolutions to follow a certain
rule or purpose for Reid. I believe however that in the case of moral rules, for
example, the resolution to follow a moral rule is a virtue, but the virtuous character

21
Gideon Yaffe, Manifest Activity: Thomas Reid’s Theory of Action, 84.
231
is a more comprehensive way of acting that involves habits and animal motives
according to which virtuous persons tend to act. Nevertheless, I agree with Yaffe
that the virtuous person will determine to follow moral rules and non-virtuous
persons, on the other hand, will form rules and resolutions that might be contrary
to moral rules.
To come back to our problem of explaining why agents choose to act
according to some motives and not others, we can point out at this point that for
Reid the character of agents explains why agents tend to act according to some
motives and not others. Agents who judge that in all cases one should do what
justice requires will tend to act according to this motive in the pursuit of other
goals and to choose courses of action that are in accordance with this rule. But in
order to have such a character, one must have reasoning capacities and active
power. And the character of such agents will have an influence on their natural
tempers. In fact, Reid seems to hold that when the effort is put forth to live in
accordance with our ends or rules of conduct we will then develop certain habits
and all the parts of our being will be affected. One does not have a character trait
just by deciding or forming the resolution to be benevolent. In those whose natural
temper is such that they tend, naturally, to be benevolent, it will require little effort
to live up to that resolution. But in those whose natural temper is bad, much effort
will be required to conquer those contrary animal motives and to act according to
the resolution. And over time, one will develop an overall tendency or way of
232
being that is consistent with one’s resolutions. Such is the case, therefore, that in
most adult human beings, one’s passion, affections, dispositions, humors, and
actions tend to fall in line with the resolutions and there is no more difference
between one’s natural temper and one’s character. Therefore, when an agent is
faced with a moral dilemma, his choice will be explained in part by the motive or
reasons he is faced with and in part by the agent’s character or governed tendency
to act. However, whether he decides one way or the other will depend on the effort
put forth.
Before going on, however, one may object again that if resolutions are
decisions to act according to certain general rules or in order to reach a certain end,
then we are lead into a regress of decisions. Our quest was to understand or
explain an agent’s decisions. And we noticed that the agent’s character or general
resolutions or purposes explain his decisions. What this means, however, is that
when one and the same agent, with, say, a benevolent character, must decide, this
agent will tend to decide to act in a benevolent way because he is a benevolent
person. But he is a benevolent person because his animal inclinations, his habits,
his goals and ends (hence his overall benevolent character) are shaped by a
previous decision (a resolution) on his part to act, in general, in a way that is
benevolent. The worry is that in order to explain the general resolution or decision
we might have to provide some further reasons.
233
However, I do not think Reid’s account leads us into an infinite regress of
reasons or of decisions and the objection is somewhat misleading. What we are
after is why one and the same agent decides, for example, to hold her promise
when she could, in exactly the same circumstances, decide to break her promise.
Without knowing what alternative she will end up deciding upon, we can first of
all examine her motives. If she has no contrary animal motive, she will almost
certainly keep her promise. But let us imagine that she does have contrary animal
motives. She deliberates about the course of actions she ought to adopt and she
ends up forming the judgment that what she really ought to do is keep her promise.
If she is a virtuous person, who has developed a habit and thus an overall tendency
to do what is right, she will most likely keep her promise. Her reasons for acting in
this case are that she thinks it is right to keep her promise even if it might be
difficult and that she previously resolved to do what is right and to keep her
promises. Hence the question: ‘why did she previously resolve or decide to keep
her promises?’ The answer to this question might involve other reasons; other
motives. But really, those reasons do not explain here and now why she tends to
keep her promise. The reasons involved in previous decisions and resolutions
which formed her character are not elements we need to understand how she
chooses now, given her present character. Indeed, if the agent keeps her promise,
part of our explanation of why she did so will be, ‘she is the kind of person that
keeps her promises.’ But we do not need to know the reasons for which she is that
234
kind of person in order to understand why she now keeps her promise. What is
more, Reid would point out that the reason she resolved to keep her promises is
tied to a resolution to do what is virtuous. And here, the ‘why’ questions stop.
According to Reid, our constitution is such that when we perceive the moral value
of an action, we also judge that we ought to perform such an action. We perceive
that such an action is one that we must perform and hence we are moved to action.
Therefore, once we answer that such and such a resolution is conducive to our
interest or to duty, there are no more reasons left to explain the resolution.
If, however, the agent does not keep her promise, we will be surprised and
think that she should not have broken her promise but we will still not look for
other motives. Indeed, the agent’s character and motives do not change from one
situation to the other. What we have is two possible alternatives, or two possible
worlds, hence two situations, but one person at one decision time. If she is the kind
of person who is virtuous, and who has been so for a long time, and whose habits
fall in line with her character, appealing to reasons that are different from one case
to the other simply will not answer our worry. If we say that if she keeps her
promise her character is strong and firm but if she breaks her promise her character
is weak and superficial, we are just pushing the problem back; we are talking about
two different agents, or of one same agent but at different times and places, and
not of an agent with such an such a character and reasons and at such a time and
place, with genuine alternatives. Hence, if we have all the elements to explain why
235
she kept her promise, we cannot revert to other reasons or elements to explain why
she breaks her promise. The conclusion here is then that we can understand how a
person chooses when she chooses in a way that is consistent with her character.
But if this same person chooses in a way that is out of line with her character, the
situation seems inexplicable. We are surprised to notice a situation that really
should not be.
III. Effort: the heart of the matter
So far I have argued that, according to Reid, when we are about to make a
decision, we often go through a deliberative process in which we think about our
animal and rational motives and then we form some higher order judgment, which
is itself a rational motive, about which course of action or which motive it is best
or good to act upon. Once this judgment is made, the agent is still influenced by
different contrary motives. And the fact that some agents tend to act according to
their animal motives and others according to their rational motives is often
explained by the agent’s character. Character is a tendency to act according to
some motive because of the agent’s voluntary resolutions, purposes, or goals.
These judgments influence the way of acting of the agent since they factor into the
deliberative process itself. They also influence the agent’s animal motives since he
will tend to turn his attention to some objects rather than to others because of his
fixed purposes. And hence the whole way of being of the agent, his character, is a
236
tendency to act according to his fixed purposes. For this reason, some agents tend
to choose to follow one set of motives rather than another.
Nonetheless, it is sometimes possible to act out of character. Hence the
necessitarian will still wonder why, in one same situation, one subject may
sometimes choose to act according to his best judgment and sometimes according
to some other motive. Compatibilists like Haji and Goetz point out that what is
puzzling about the libertarian position is that we cannot appeal to anything about
the subject to explain the choice of motives. It does not help according to these
philosophers to appeal to the agent’s character or to the laws of nature or to
circumstances since agents who are free, according to libertarian theories, must
have genuine alternatives open. Hence, it must be the case that when one and the
same agent in the same circumstances makes a decision it is always possible for
him to make another decision or choice given the same motives. As Alfred R.
Mele argues, the problem is that the agent’s decision must be a matter of dumb
luck.
22
Mele also offers an illustration of an agent, John, who is tempted and who
exerts an effort to resist the temptation. Mele writes: “If John’s effort to resist
temptation fails where John (2)’s effort succeeds, and there is nothing about the
agents’ powers, capacities, states of mind, moral character, and the like that
explains this difference in outcome, then the difference really is just a matter of

22
See Mele, Alfred R. (1999) ‘Ultimate Responsibility and Dumb Luck’, Social Philosophy &
Policy Foundation, 16 pp 274-293.
237
luck.”
23
And he writes that this is a problem for any libertarian theory since
libertarians hold that for an agent to be free at the moment of a choice, the agent
must be in control of his decision.
Reid would point out that the agent’s character and motives explain much
about the agent’s choice. Assuming that a decision takes place, even if the motives
do not causally necessitate the decision, motives offer all the reasons necessary for
making the decision. And appealing to the agent’s character often explains the
choice of the agent. It is because an agent has a virtuous character that he tends to
choose to act according to the dictates of his conscience. Now, what Mele points
out is that this same agent in exactly the same situation could choose to act against
his sense of duty. And if nothing about the agent changes, then his decision is a
matter of moral luck. I think Reid would appeal to one more element to explain the
difference between, for example, P and P*. Even if nothing about the agent
changes, it is the case that one agent makes more of an effort than the other. This
might seem like we are pushing back the problem, or not solving the problem at
all. Indeed, we could then ask why the agent exerts a certain effort. Here I believe
Reid would point out that no other explanation can be given and that we are
satisfied with the understanding of the agent’s strength or weakness of will. And if

23
Ibid., 280. According to Mele, if at the moment of decision there is nothing about the agent that
changes, then the fact that the actual world obtains is a matter of luck. This is a point he also brings
up in Mele, Alfred R., Free Will and Luck (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). Mele does not
formulate the problem in terms of explanation but in terms of control. He writes that the problem
for libertarians is to explain how the agent displays control over alternatives if the decision involves
moral luck.
238
the necessitarian does not rest content it is because he is looking for a determining
cause and that he assumes that only determining causes are explanations.
According to Reid, the amount of effort necessary to follow a rational
motive is proportional to the strength of the contrary motives. If the contrary
motive is an animal motive, as is most often the case, the more violent the passion,
the more difficult it is to resist it. When an agent has active power, when the agent
determines his will, he has the power to put forth the effort or not to put forth the
effort necessary. Reid seems to hold that all free actions are accompanied with a
certain degree of effort. If this is the case, then whatever the choice, P and P*
make an effort. In the following passage, it is clear that all acts of volition are
accompanied with effort:
The next observation is, That when we will to do a thing immediately, the
volition is accompanied with an effort to execute that which we willed.
If a man wills to raise a great weight from the ground by the strength of his
arm, he makes an effort for that purpose proportioned to the weight he
determines to raise. A great weight requires a great effort; a small weight a
less effort. We say, indeed, that to raise a very small body requires no
effort at all. But this, I apprehend, must be understood either as a figurative
way of speaking… or it is owing to our giving no attention to very small
efforts…
This effort we are conscious of, if we will but give attention to it; and there
is nothing in which we are in a more strict sense active (EAP 63).

Here Reid seems to be saying that every act of will to act immediately requires
making an effort. Exerting our active power is always characterized by effort. And
in cases in which we believe that an action is not in our power, we make no effort
239
to carry out the action. Hence, if P (and P*) has moral liberty, in both cases she
puts forth a certain effort to act.
However, when Reid speaks of moral deliberation, or of a decision to make
when influenced by rational and contrary animal motives, he writes that it is the
resisting of the animal motive that requires most effort. In fact, the strength of
animal motives is measured in relation to the effort necessary to resist them. Reid
writes that “we feel their influence, and judge of their strength, by the conscious
effort which is necessary to resist them” (EAP 289). Brutes are not capable of
making the effort to resist a strong (or rather, the strongest) animal motive. But
most human beings are capable of putting forth an effort of self-command to resist
the strongest animal motive. In some cases, of course, the animal motive is so
strong that human beings are not able to resist it, as in the case of torture for
example. In other cases, the animal motive is very strong but not irresistible and it
requires a great amount of effort to resist it and yet the agent yields after some
time. Reid concludes that in these cases, the agent had the power to resist but his
power is limited because the effort demanded is great (EAP 66-67). Hence Reid
points out that the action here is imputed partly to the man, partly to the passion. In
cases of actions done because of habit also there is almost no effort exerted. To
resist habit requires much effort, but to do what we have been accustomed to do
requires very little effort.
240
What we learn from these passages is that in all cases where the agent
exerts his active power then also a certain amount of effort is required. In cases
where the agent acts according to an irresistible passion, or because of habit, etc.,
no effort is required because the action is not determined by the agent himself.
When no effort is made, the agent is not the efficient cause of the action. Hence,
all actions that are the result of the agent’s determination of his own will are the
result of an effort on the part of the agent. However, the degree of effort to put
forth will depend on the strength of contrary motives. The difference between P
and P* therefore is not that one made an effort and the other did not but that one
made more of an effort than the other. When P* yields to the temptation, in acting
she exerts her active power and hence also puts forth a small degree of effort. But
when P acts according to her best judgment, she puts forth more effort than P*
since she has to resist the contrary animal motives that usually push more
forcefully than the rational judgments.
For the necessitarian, Reid is only pushing back the problem since we still
wonder why P made more of an effort than P*. Here I think Reid would answer,
perhaps in a Wittgensteinian manner, that we have reached bedrock. The reasons
themselves, the agent’s character and the effort made are all the elements that play
on each other at the moment of the decision.
24
Again, an agent who has often

24
Timothy O’Connor holds a similar account of the explanation of our actions. He writes that
having active power is a structural capacity. Our ability to choose and to act is structured by
reasons. In recognizing a reason to act, the agent thereby acquires a propensity to initiate a certain
behaviour. Hence, he would probably agree with Reid that reasons or motives provide the most
241
exercised his will, who is therefore strong-willed since he has developed a habit of
resisting contrary motives and whose tendency to act is characterized by making
the right decisions even if they are hard, will most likely put forth the effort
necessary to resist temptation. Again, education and circumstances play a role here
also since Reid often points out that “men in general will be good or bad members
of society, according to the education and discipline by which they have been
trained” (EAP 195). Nonetheless, men are still responsible for their characters
since they are the ones forming general fixed purposes and who put forth the effort
necessary to resist temptation. Hence Reid points out that “it ought likewise to be
observed, that he who has accustomed himself to restrain his passions, enlarges by
habit his power over them, and consequently over himself” (EAP 311). Hence one
can appeal to the agent’s character to point out that such a person is very likely to
make the necessary effort to resist temptation and to the strength of his character
since a strong character is habituated to controlling motives that are contrary to the

important elements of explanation. But he also recognizes the role of the agent’s character in
explaining his behaviour since, in forming an intention, not only the reasons play a role but also
“relatively fixed dispositions and long-standing general intentions and purposes around which
one’s life has come to be realized.” (O’Connor 98-99). What is more, the link between an agent’s
reason for acting and the action itself is the agent’s exercise of active power, “without which the
reason could not in any significant way explain the behaviour.” (O’Connor 88). Hence, O’Connor
also relies on the agent’s motives, which will include long term goals or resolutions, and on the
exercise of active power to explain actions. And, he writes, all that is needed are sufficient
conditions to explain action. I am not sure Reid would actually agree with the list of sufficient
conditions that O’Connor mentions. However, O’Connor and Reid would probably agree that once
we understand facts about the agent’s motives, his character, and the effort that is essential to an
exertion of active power, we actually understand all that we need or want to understand. See
Timothy O’Connor, Persons and Causes (New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000).
242
fixed resolutions. But even an agent with a strong character is capable of acting out
of character, even if the probability of doing so is very small.
When an agent is faced with genuine alternatives, the probability of acting
according to his best judgment or not is highly influenced by the content of the
motives themselves, the agent’s character, and the effort needed to resist the
contrary animal motives. If the agent has good reasons to keep her promise and if
one of her character traits is to be faithful and if the intensity of effort demanded is
not great, the probability of the action of keeping her promise is extremely high –
we are approaching certainty here. However, and Reid would appeal to our
common observations and to what we experience ourselves, it is always possible to
act against our character and to fail to put forth the needed effort, especially in
cases where the effort needed to resist contrary motives is great. He writes:
But when we reason from the character of men to their future actions,
though, in many cases, we have such probability as we rest upon in our
most important worldly concerns, yet we have no certainty, because men
are imperfect in wisdom and in virtue. If we had even the most perfect
knowledge of the character and situation of a man, this would not be
sufficient to give certainty to our knowledge of his future actions; because,
in some actions, both good and bad men deviate from their general
character (EAP 345).

I might be a virtuous person and have good reasons to keep my promise and have
animal motives which could be resisted (I am not tortured) and hence it is almost
certain that I will keep my promises, but Reid would point out that we can observe
that it is still possible that I will break my promise.
243
It is at this point, I think, that Reid would appeal to something like the
essence or nature of human beings. There is a fact about us, something about our
nature, that is unobservable and therefore perhaps unexplainable, that makes it
impossible for us to always live up to what we would like to be. Reid seldom
speaks of this fact, but he does mention that passions and strong appetites “make
us liable, in our present state, to strong temptations to deviate from our duty. This
is the lot of human nature in the present period of our existence” (EAP 180).
Indeed, the lot of human nature is to be weak, or unable to live up to our
resolutions. Thankfully, he writes, God “is ready to aid our weakness, to help our
infirmities, and not to suffer us to be tempted above what we are able to bear...”
(EAP 355). In some cases, we are perfectly able to resist temptation and also
equipped to resist temptation, we are able to control our contrary motives, we are
able to judge accurately, and yet we fail to do what is right. This is the bottom line
explanation: some problem or quirk in our nature that makes it impossible for us to
hit the target. Our explanation involves an agent’s character, the strength of his
character, the content of his motives, and the degree of effort needed, but this
explanation is probabilistic just because of our natural inability to always act
according to our resolutions or best judgments.
I believe Reid would appeal to our everyday experiences to defend this
kind of explanation. When an agent acts, we appeal to her motives to explain her
choice. But to explain the choice of motives we appeal to her character and to the
244
effort necessary to bring about the event. But when agents do not live up to their
characters and do not exert the effort they could have exerted, we know that
human nature has a kind of weakness or imperfection. And we are saddened by the
choice and consider the agent responsible because we are certain that in these
cases, it would have been absolutely possible for the agent to do otherwise. Not
only do we observe this weakness in ourselves and in others, but Reid would also
point out that the libertarian position is the only account that allows for this
weakness in our nature while preserving moral responsibility. The doctrine of
necessity must explain action by appealing to the strongest motive, but we all
observe that we do not always act according to the strongest animal motive, nor
according to the strongest rational motive. Or, the necessitarian must explain
action by appealing to the last dictate of the understanding, but we all observe that
we do not always act according to what is best. Or, the necessitarian must hold that
our character or previous resolutions determine our choices, but we all know that
we are incapable of always acting according to our character. The necessitarian
might also explain our action by stating that human nature is weak, but then it
would fail to account for the possibility of overcoming our weak nature and of
being responsible since the choice would most likely be caused or determined by
the strongest passion. Indeed, Reid writes that under the system of necessity, we
have no responsibility at all for our decisions, and hence for our sins since it is the
strongest motive, and not the agent, who determines the choice. Reid writes
245
therefore: “A doctrine so flattering to the mind of a sinner, is very apt to give
strength to weak arguments” (EAP 307). Whatever the necessitarian explanation, it
does not account for this, perhaps humbling, fact of imperfection. And if it does
consider it, then it takes away the possibility of acting otherwise.
Does Reid answer the worry that nothing explains the choice of agents if
his libertarian account is correct? If the problem is stated in terms of explaining an
agent’s choice, then I believe his account answers the worry. Indeed, if we ask
why P kept or did not keep her promise, we can say things about her contrary
animal motives, about her character, or about the effort she did or did not put forth.
If we ask why she did or did not put forth the effort, we will again speak of her
character or of her contrary animal motives. If her animal motives could have been
resisted and if she acts out of character and if she breaks her promise, we realize
she really could have acted otherwise but we also know human nature is such that
it is absolutely possible to fail to put forth the effort she could have put forth. I
believe we are satisfied with such explanations. Now, it is still difficult, I admit, to
answer the objection that she lacked control over her decision if the obtaining of
one situation is in part a matter of luck. However, it seems to me that Reid would
not accept that the decision (or the obtaining of one possible world rather than
another) is a matter of luck in cases of genuine free action, since it is the agent that
causes one of the worlds to obtain. On this, Reid should have perhaps said more
and the question of control in Reid is one that must still be carefully examined. But
246
for the moment we can notice that for Reid there is an explanation to our choices
and that this explanation accords much better with our experience than a
necessitarian explanation.
Perhaps the necessitarian will never be satisfied with the uncertainty that is
always present in this account. Indeed, we cannot predict with certainty how the
decision will be made. Also, at the moment of decision, according to the
libertarian position, the agent could potentially make the effort or not, not because
he has no reason to act one way or the other, but because there is a moment of
suspense where the agent really can act either way. And this moment of suspense
might seem mysterious or imaginary. However, Reid would probably answer that
what we experience all the time and the belief that we are really able to act
otherwise hardly seems mysterious in practice. What is more, Reid might point out
that the necessitarian must be careful not to think that an explanation, by
definition, is a necessary cause. If only a necessary cause will satisfy the
necessitarian’s search for an explanation, then it is the necessitarian who is
begging the question. Reid would, as I have pointed out, appeal to what we
observe in our moments of decision to show that there are explanations but these
will always be probabilistic, because of our nature. But such explanations are
sufficient since we are absolutely justified in making inductive inferences to the
effect that such and such persons will most likely act according to their character.
We could even explain that such an agent will very probably keep her promise
247
whereas for another agent, it will be more difficult to keep her promises. But there
is always an element of uncertainty because we know that we sometimes fail to do
what we believe is right even if it is part of our character to do what is right.
25

Leibniz and Goetz seem to think that if motives do not function as causes
then we are led into an infinite regress of motives. Indeed, they seem to hold that a
motive is a good explanation for a choice only if it causally necessitates the choice.
If it does not necessitate the choice, then we will keep looking for a reason that
does causally and necessarily explain the choice. Goetz writes that if there is no
causal link between a motive and a decision, then we must say that we choose with
a reason and not because of a reason. However, Reid explicitly replies to this
objection. He writes that this view presupposes that the principle of sufficient

25
See Yaffe’s chapter ‘From End-Directedness to Power’ in Manifest Activity for a very good
analysis of Reid’s account of character traits. Yaffe also points out that agents with character traits
are stable and hence we are justified in believing that the agent will tend to act according to his
nature. However, Yaffe holds that “to have a character trait, for Reid, is to be self-consciously rule-
governed in one’s efforts with sufficient fixity to provide as much justification for inferences about
how one will act as can be had for inductive inferences” p 87. This means that “for Reid, we have
as good reason to legitimately expect the benevolent person to do the benevolent thing as we have
to expect the unsupported object to fall; we have a guarantee of the same strength as the guarantee
that we have that nature will be uniform” 86. Indeed, I believe there is a similarity between our
resolutions and the laws of nature which are God’s resolutions to act according to a rule. What is
similar is that both human agents and God are efficient causes and also both have character traits.
Hence both will act according to the rules they resolve to follow. However, Reid would claim that
there is a great difference. God is absolutely capable of always acting according to his resolutions,
if this is what he wants. But we are incapable of always living up to our resolutions. The inferences
we make in the case of human agents depend on the strength of their character, and hence we might
not always be justified in making inferences if a certain agent’s character is not strong. In the case
of nature, the laws of nature are resolutions of the author of nature and since he is perfect and
capable of acting according to his resolutions, we are justified in our inductive inferences. In the
case of human beings, however, we can be more or less justified, depending on the strength of the
agent’s character. And even if the agent has a strong character, our inferences in the case of human
beings are still less certain than in the case of God’s resolutions. Indeed, since human beings are
not perfect, the probability for a benevolent agent to choose what is benevolent is smaller than the
probability of an object’s falling.
248
reason is true. Reid argues that this principle supposes that the will is like a
machine, and that it chooses in favor of the motive that has the most weight.
However, that this is how decisions are made is just what needs to be proved (and,
in fact, it is not even clear that this principle has a universal application in nature
according to Reid).
Reid’s reply is given in chapter IX of Essay IV. He writes: “to prove that
liberty of determination is impossible, it has been said, that there must be a
sufficient reason for every thing. For every existence, for every event, for every
truth, there must be a sufficient reason. The famous German philosopher Leibnitz
boasted much of having first applied this principle to philosophy…” (EAP 326).
Reid records that according to Leibniz, the determination of the will itself, as an
event, must have had a sufficient reason, that is, “something previous, which was
necessarily followed by that determination, and could not be followed by any other
determination” and hence the determination of the will was necessary (EAP 328).
Reid writes that this principle could be used in the physical world, where an object
can remain at rest if the two forces applied to it are equal. But this is the case
because the object has no power to move itself. And “to apply this reasoning to a
man, is to take for granted that the man is a machine, which is the very point in
question” (EAP 328).
Nevertheless, Reid, to show that Leibniz’s position is untenable, examines
whether there is “a sufficient reason for a particular determination of the will”.
249
Reid points out that this principle may have three different meanings, and none of
the versions is a threat to the doctrine of liberty. First, the principle may mean that
one must have a good reason for one’s choices. Agents always choose according to
what they think is best, and hence there must be a motive sufficient to justify the
action as good or wise. Reid writes here that if this is the case, then many of our
actions have no sufficient reason since we often choose to act against what we
think is best. Many of our actions are “foolish, unreasonable, and unjustifiable.”
Hence this would prove the principle false. Secondly, if the meaning of the
principle is that for every event there must be a cause, Reid agrees. But Reid holds
that the agent, who has power sufficient to produce the event and who exerted that
power, is the cause of the action. If the agent is not the cause of the action, then it
is not his action, and we must look elsewhere for the cause of the action. In any
case, it is true that every event has a cause, but “the question about liberty is not in
the least affected by this concession.” Lastly, if the meaning of the principle is that
there is always something previous to the action that necessarily produces it, then
it is “a mere assertion of necessity without proof” (EAP 330).
Let us then apply Reid’s reply to our question. Goetz and Leibniz seem to
hold that if a motive does not causally necessitate the decision, then there is no
explanation for the decision. To explain a choice, we must find the sufficient
reason for the choice. Reid would answer that, first, if the sufficient reason must be
the best motive, or the judgment of what is wisest or most virtuous, then there is
250
no sufficient reason for the choice since we often choose irrationally. But
‘irrationality’ does not mean acting without a motive. Actions done without a
motive are trifling and unimportant actions. Irrational actions are those done for a
motive that is contrary to our best judgment. ‘Irrationality’ simply means that we
act against a rational principle of action and according to some other wrong
rational motive or to some animal motive. Second, if these philosophers mean that
to explain the choice we must find the cause of the choice, then Reid would point
out that the cause is the agent who has power to bring about the action and who
exerts his power. The agent explains the choice made. And understanding the
agent’s character but also his imperfect nature explains the action. And thirdly, if
by sufficient reason we mean the necessary cause of the decision, then this begs
the question. Indeed, Reid argues that we have no good reason to think that only
necessary causes are explanations of actions. And, in fact, our belief in moral
responsibility and in our ability to have done otherwise is not accounted for by a
deterministic account. Reid therefore holds that an agent can act because of a
motive even if the motive does not causally necessitate the determination of the
will. To argue that one acts because of a motive only if a motive is a sufficient
reason in the sense of a necessary reason is simply to beg the question. One can be
an agent and act because of a motive even if the explanation is probabilistic.
Hence, if the necessitarian is not satisfied by Reid’s account of the explanation of a
251
decision, it might be because the necessitarian is only looking for a necessary
cause.
I think Reid would point out that his account is faithful to our everyday
experiences and questions. When we seek an explanation for a person’s actions, if
the explanation is given in terms of the motives themselves or the agent’s character
or of the strength or weakness of his will to put forth the necessary effort, we
actually rest satisfied even if none of these determine the agent. What is more,
Reid’s account is not contrary to the way we think about blame, responsibility,
acting against what we know to be right, etc. It is only because the agent, at the
moment of decision, has the power of making an effort to resist temptation that we
are disappointed if he does not make the effort and that we blame him and perhaps
punish him. What is more, Reid, as an enlightened figure, is not subject to the
objection that philosophers of this period tend to have a distorted view of human
nature and of evil in general. Hence Voltaire will write a satire in which he
characterizes Leibniz’s position as naïvely optimistic since man, for Leibniz, is
part of a beautiful plan and even his evil actions play a role in bringing about the
best possible good. The problem with Leibniz’s picture is that evil does not seem
to be so bad, and man does not seem to be completely responsible for his evil
actions. According to Reid’s picture of human nature, however, even if by nature
and unadulterated, a human being’s motives and faculties are inherently good;
there is a moment where the possibility and responsibility of evil is real. Human
252
beings are absolutely capable of going against all that is right. The agent, if honest,
can only be humble when he contemplates the idea that he is indeed capable of
great evil, whatever his character, education and motives. And the agent himself,
not his motives or other determining factors, is the only being responsible since
indeed the action can be imputed to none but to him. The judge’s sentence,
therefore, can be explained by accounting for the pleas of the advocates (or
motives) at the bar, the character of the judge, the amount of effort required to
make the best choice, and the imperfect nature of human judges.
253
Chapter 6: Reid’s moral sense theory in context
An account of Reid’s Essays on the Active Powers and of the nature and
role of the principles of action and their relation to the agent as a whole would not
be complete without an examination of the moral sense. If there is such a thing as a
moral sense tradition, I believe Reid is to be considered as part of this tradition.
D.D. Raphael writes that a moral sense theory is an alternative to the view that
moral distinctions are perceived by reason, or rather grasped by reason. Moral
distinctions are based on feelings of approval and disapproval. Hence, the word
sense in genuine moral sense accounts refers to ‘feelings’.
1
Hence D.D. Raphael
concludes that “an explicit theory of a moral sense can be attributed only to
Hutcheson and Hume, and is to be understood within the context of an empiricist
epistemology and as standing opposed to rationalist theories of ethics.” I believe
that moral sense theories display other important characteristics and that these
characteristics apply to Reid’s account also. In this paper, therefore, I want to
show, first, that there is a characteristic moral sense tradition and that Reid is part
of it and, second, that Reid sees his own account as improving the study of
morality and of the moral sense. Despite appearances, Reid is perhaps more
genuinely a moral sense theorist than his predecessors.

1
D.D. Raphael, The dictionary of the History of Ideas; The electronic Text Center at the University
of Virginia Library (2003), the Gale group. Moral sense, p.1.
254
I. The Moral Sense tradition
I realize that an accurate portrayal of moral sense theories is a dissertation
topic in itself and that many 17
th
and 18
th
century figures as well as earlier related
influences ought to be examined. Since my overview and examination will be
quite brief and selective, I will surely leave out important aspects of this tradition
and my account may not be as accurate as it should be. My aim, however, is
mostly to understand Reid’s own account and I believe it is helpful to at least
briefly situate his thoughts in their context. I will mention only a few philosophers
that are part of this context: Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Hume and Butler. Why these
philosophers? Simply because Reid, in his published works, implicitly or explicitly
makes references to their views in relation to his own moral views.
Reid most likely considers these writers as belonging to the moral sense
tradition and he also considers himself as belonging to this tradition. He writes, for
example that
the name of the moral sense, though more frequently given to conscience
since lord Shaftesbury and Dr. Hutcheson wrote, is not new. The sensus
recti et honesti is a phrase not unfrequent among the ancients, neither is the
sense of duty among us. It has got this name of sense, no doubt, from some
analogy which it is conceived to bear to the external senses. And if we have
just notions of the office of the external senses, the analogy is very evident,
and I see no reason to take offence, as some have done, at the name of the
moral sense (EAP 231).

In this passage of the third Essay of the Active Powers Reid mentions the term
‘moral sense’ in relation to Shaftesbury and Hutcheson. In Essay V, it is Hume
255
that Reid mentions most. Indeed, the first three chapters of this Essay make up
Reid’s own moral theory, but the following four chapters are for the most part a
discussion and criticism of Hume’s views, his main point being that Hume is
mistaken in his understanding of what we sense when we make moral distinctions.
As far as Butler is concerned, Reid only mentions him explicitly in Essay III, when
he examines the active principle Butler calls resentment. Although Butler’s name
does not come up in the sections in the third essay dealing with conscience and in
Reid’s last essay, Of Morals, one cannot help thinking of Butler’s account when
reading these passages. Indeed, some of Reid’s descriptions of conscience are very
(sometimes exactly) similar to Butler’s: Reid also speaks of conscience as the
candle of the Lord in us (EAP 254), of the authority and supremacy of conscience
(EAP 232), of conscience as evaluating all other motives (EAP 254), as being
peculiar to man (EAP 250), as showing us the intention of our nature (EAP 252),
as being the dignity of our nature (EAP 245), etc.
2
These descriptions of the moral
sense are frequent in Butler’s Analogy and Sermons.
Although the accounts of these philosophers vary, there are important
similarities which account for their place in what we could call a moral sense
tradition. While reading over the works of these philosophers, several elements

2
One could include Richard Price in the moral sense theorists who are related to Reid. However,
Reid never mentions him nor refers to him in relation to his own moral theory (his reference to
Price appears in his discussion of the first rational principle of action). Price no doubt had an
influence on Reid and such a study would be interesting. However, for sake of brevity I will try to
remain faithful to my more or less acceptable criterion of selection, which is some reference to the
philosopher’s account found in Reid’s own writings on morality.
256
appear to be always associated with the different accounts of the moral sense. Each
philosopher speaks of a sense of morals that is different from reason and the
common characteristics that we observe as distinctive of each account do seem to
be characteristics of what we could call a moral sense tradition. Indeed, the
common characteristics seem to be essential to an account of the moral sense. The
list I propose is certainly not exhaustive, but I wish to offer four main
characteristics that seem to be common to moral sense theories, and which could
be used to understand the nature of such a theory. The first is a rejection of ethical
egoism or the view that all moral values are explainable by appealing to self-love.
The second is that normal, adult, human beings have a moral sense, which is a
faculty by which they make moral distinctions, and this faculty is part of the
constitution of human nature, but is different from the faculty called ‘reason’.
Thirdly, the moral sense is an affective faculty in that feelings are always
associated to moral distinctions. And finally, the moral sense is an active principle
and it therefore explains, at least in part, moral motivation. Reid holds that what is
also common to moral sense views is an analogy between the moral sense and
external senses. Although this is an important characteristic for Reid and although
the first-fruits of this analogy are found in other moral sense philosophers, I do not
think the following philosophers considered the analogy as important or useful in
any exceptional sense.
Anthony Ashley Cooper, Third Earl of Shaftesbury
257
The moral account Shaftesbury (1671 to 1713) offers clearly includes
these four characteristics. Shaftesbury observes that both animals and humans have
natural affections towards objects. Humans, however, have a principle that
involves more than natural affections. This principle is duty, and it is different
from the affections we share with animals because it implies the use of reason and
hence it applies to humans only. Isabel Rivers writes that for Shaftesbury, the
sense of right and wrong, or the moral sense, “involves reflection on the operation
of the affections, and is in effect ‘another kind of Affection towards those very
Affections themselves’”.
3
The sense of right and wrong involves reflection on
one’s affections, and by this reflection we form general notions of actions and
objects. And these general notions themselves become the object of affections, that
is, of approval and disapprobation (Inquiry 16).
4
Therefore, the capacity for virtue
or the sense of right and wrong is possible because of the moral sense. And this
faculty involves reflection but is essentially an affective faculty. He writes that
even if a creature is generous or compassionate, for example, “yet if he cannot
reflect on what he himself does, or sees others do, so as to take notice of what is
worthy or honest; and make that Notice or Conception of Worth and Honesty to be
an object of his Affection; he has not the Character of being virtuous...” (Inquiry
18). Hence we need reason to reflect on actions and on passions and to form

3
Isabelle Rivers, ‘Shaftesbury and the defence of natural affection.’ Reason, Grace, and Sentiment,
p. 134.
4
Shaftesbury, An Inquiry Concerning Virtue and Merit, ed. David Walford (England: Manchester
University Press, 1977), p. 16.
258
notions or conceptions, but these notions and conceptions then become an object
of affection, which is the moral sentiment by which we track, so to speak, what is
right or wrong.
Now, moral values are not dependent upon feelings according to
Shaftesbury but have real and objective existence. It is not the case that our
sentiments determine the moral value of objects. On the contrary, Shaftesbury
writes that the affections are caused by actions which are themselves right or
wrong. He writes, and I quote him at length, that we therefore
find how far WORTH and VIRTUE depend on a knowledge of Right and
Wrong, and on a use of Reason, sufficient to secure a right application of
the Affections; that nothing horrid or unnatural, nothing unexemplary,
nothing destructive of that natural Affection by which the Species or
Society is upheld, may, on any account, or thro any Principle or Notion of
Honour or Religion, be at any time affected or prosecuted as a good and
proper Object of Esteem. For such a Principle as this must be wholly
vicious: and whatsoever is acted upon it, can be no other than Vice and
Immorality. And thus if there be any thing which teaches Men either
Treachery, Ingratitude, or Cruelty, by Divine Warrant; or under colour and
pretence of any present or future Good to Mankind; if there be any thing
which teaches Men to persecute their Friends thro Love; or to torment
Captives of War in sport...be it Custom which gives Applause, or Religion
which gives a Sanction; this is not, nor ever can be Virtue... but must
remain still horrid Depravity, notwithstanding any Fashion, Law, Custom
or Religion, which may be ill and vitious it-self; but can never alter the
eternal Measures, and Immutable independent Nature of Worth and
VIRTUE (Inquiry 20-21).

With the moral sense we therefore form feelings or affections about first order
feelings and these second-order feelings, when the moral sense is well functioning,
are responses to passions or actions that are in themselves right and wrong.
259
But why are actions and passions right and wrong? According to
Shaftesbury, moral value is tied to the harmony of the self and of society in
general. The sentiments of morals tell us when our passions and desires form a
harmonious whole (see Characteristicks II.iii, 181). Also, we have positive
feelings towards affections that promote not only our own well being but also the
well-being of humanity. He writes:
To stand thus well affected, and to have one’s Affections right and entire,
not only in respect of one’s self, but of Society and the Publick: This is
Rectitude, Integrity, or VIRTUE. And to be wanting in any of these, or to
have their Contrarys, is Depravity, Corruption, and VICE (Inquiry 48).

Therefore, self-interest, according to Shaftesbury, is not the only motive to
action, but a regard to virtue also moves us to action. Indeed, we can observe that
the virtuous man performs moral actions to further the interest of others. Why is he
moved to act in such a way? On one hand, Shaftesbury seems to hold that we
simply are constituted in such a way as to have an interest in the good of society.
He writes: “Nor will any-one deny that this Affection of a Creature towards the
Good of the Species or common Nature, is as proper and natural to him, as it is to
any Organ, Part or Member of an animal-Body, or mere Vegetable, to work in its
known Course, and regular way of Growth” (Inquiry 48). However, even if some
of our motives are disinterested and done for the sake of virtue only, it is the case
that since the universe is a harmonious whole, what contributes to the overall good
will also be to our advantage. Hence “to have the natural affections... is to have the
chief means and power of self-enjoyment; and that to want them is certain misery
260
and ill” (Inquiry, 162). Hence, not only is virtue a natural affection and propensity,
but virtue is also “that by which alone Man can be happy, and without which he
must be miserable” (Inquiry 110).
The moral sense, therefore, is a faculty of the human constitution which
involves reflection and affection (feeling) and which recognizes what is conducive
to the harmony of my self, of my species and of the overall harmonious system in
which I am included. Hence, I am able to control my passions to bring about this
harmony and I am not left to the whims of passions and desires. I am under the
obligation to act according to the affections of the moral sense since it is my nature
to act for the happiness of myself and others. However, as Schneewind points out,
Shaftesbury’s account is still deterministic: “although the moral sentiment alone
can give one enough unity so that one can be a single agent... the strength of our
feelings is what explains which of them we act upon. What ultimately
differentiates this view from Hobbes’s is that for Shaftesbury we have genuinely
altruistic impulses and an independent moral sentiment which can throw its weight
into the balance as well.”
5

Hutcheson and Hume
As D.D.Raphael pointed out, what is distinctive about both Hutcheson and
Hume is that the moral sense is basically a feeling of approval. Hutcheson held
that we do not only act for our own advantage and that we do have disinterested

5
Jerome B. Schneewind, ‘The Active Powers’ in The Cambridge History of Eighteenth-Century
Philosophy, ed. Knud Haakonssen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 570.
261
motives. When we observe a man acting from the motive of benevolence, our
natural reaction is to have a feeling of approval. And our judgment that
benevolence is good is an expression of our approval. The moral sense is therefore
a natural faculty, tied to our constitution, by which we approve of what leads to the
happiness of others. Hutcheson’s view therefore developed into an account of
utilitarianism. Indeed, as D.D Raphael writes: “benevolence aims at the happiness
of others; a wide benevolence is approved more than a narrow one, and a universal
benevolence is approved most of all.”
6
Hence the best action is the action that
leads to the greatest happiness for the greatest number. Admittedly, the moral
sentiment now depends on a thought or judgment about the consequences of
actions and not the sole motive of benevolence. However, Hutcheson continues to
refer to a moral sense as a source of ideas that is different from reason and from
the external senses. Hence Raphael writes:
while in his first book [An Inquiry into the original of our Ideas of Beauty
and Virtue] Hutcheson had been arguing chiefly against egoistic theory in
order to establish the disinterested character of moral action and moral
judgment, in the second book [An Essay on the Nature and Conduct of the
Passions and Affections] he defends the empiricist assumptions of his
account against the views of rationalists. He argues that justifying reasons
are concerned with means to presupposed ends and that the approval of
ultimate ends must be a function of ‘sense’, i.e., feeling.
7

Let us now consider Hume’s understanding of the moral sense. According
to Hume, moral distinctions are not grasped through reason (by reflecting on the

6
Dictionary of the History of Ideas, p.3.
7
Ibid., 4.
262
relation of ideas) and they are not matters of fact we might perceive with our
senses and about which we have beliefs. Moral distinctions are based on feelings
of approbation and disapprobation that we experience upon contemplating moral
characters. In the Treatise Hume writes of a sense of morals or of conscience (T
458), as that faculty with which nature furnishes us. In the Enquiry into the
Principles of Morals, Hume prefers the terms ‘finer internal taste’ (SE 74) or
“taste” (SE 163) or “some internal sense or feeling” (SE 75). In each book, the
moral sense is tied to our natural constitution. Hence Hume writes for example that
“the utmost politicians can perform is, to extend the natural sentiments beyond
their original bounds; but still nature must furnish the materials, and give us some
notion of moral distinctions” (T 500). Also: “when you pronounce any action or
character to be vicious you mean nothing but that from the constitution of your
nature you have a feeling or sentiment of blame from the contemplation of it” (T
469).
8

Hume, as other moral sense philosophers, distinguishes between the sense
of right and wrong and the sense of interest. The moral sense is not self-centered.
Indeed, “’Tis only when a character is considered in general, without reference to
our particular interest, that it causes such a feeling or sentiment, as denominates it
morally good or evil” (T 472). In some cases, self-interest may move us to

8
See also Treatise 474 : “These sentiments are so rooted in our constitution and temper, that
without entirely confounding the human mind by disease or madness, ‘tis impossible to extirpate
and destroy them.”
263
accomplish certain virtuous actions. However, when we contemplate some agent’s
actions or character, we might feel, by sympathy, the same kind of esteem that the
agent himself feels, and yet this action might not be in our own interest. There is
such a thing, in Hume, as public interest, or interest for others and not just for
ourselves (T 499). Hence, the desire for our own good, as Schneewind writes
about Hume, is “neither our sole nor most important motivation, nor the basic
explanation of the passions” (Schneewind 2006, p. 574).
Although reason is necessary to make a just estimation of things and of
their relations, the internal sense is ultimately one by which we feel approbation or
disapprobation. When an agent performs a certain action, in particular one that is
motivated by a character trait, that action elicits in us a certain response. This
response is made up either of agreeable or of disagreeable feelings. An impartial
judge can also think of or perceive the agent’s action and the agreeable feelings in
the receiver and will also, through sympathy, experience such feelings. According
to Hume, it is these feelings of pleasure and uneasiness that constitute the moral
approval or disapproval of the action.
It is because beings have a moral sense that they have such feelings of
approval and disapproval. Hume, at times, writes as though objects or rather agents
had some objective qualities which were virtuous and vicious in themselves. At
other times, he writes as though those qualities were virtuous or vicious because of
the response they cause in the receiver or in the impartial spectator. I believe
264
Hume holds the latter position. It is true that what we call virtue is a person’s
motives or character traits. Benevolence is the tendency of an agent to act in a way
that brings about the other’s interest. Hume writes that virtue is “whatever mental
action or quality gives to a spectator the pleasing sentiment of approbation; and
vice the contrary” (Inquiry 160). But benevolence is good because when we
experience it or perceive it, it leads us or a judge to have feelings of approval.
Hume writes that if you observe actions or agents, you do not perceive a crime in
any matter of fact. What is more, you do not perceive the crime, for example, in a
relation between agents and their actions. Hence “if you feel no indignation or
compassion arise in you from this complication of circumstances, you would in
vain ask him, in what consists the crime or villainy” (Inquiry 162). Hence, when
we observe our own sentiments or feelings, we discover that the character traits
and actions that tend to the good of others are a source of approbation. What
brings pleasure to ourselves and to others recommends itself to our sentiments and
affections. But viciousness, for example, is not a particular fact but it “arises
entirely from the sentiment of disapprobation, which, by the structure of human
nature, we unavoidably feel on the apprehension of barbarity or treachery”
(Inquiry 162). Hence, even if it is the case that certain qualities are approved of, it
is because of the approval that the quality is virtuous, and not because of the
quality itself.
265
For Hume also the moral sense is a motivating or active principle. Hume
writes that “reason is wholly inactive, and can never be the source of so active a
principle as conscience, or a sense of morals” (T 458). We are so constituted that
the mind “tends to unite itself with the good, and to avoid the evil” (T 438). And
since “the distinction of moral good or evil is founded on the pleasure or pain,
which results from the view of any sentiment, or character; and as that pleasure or
pain cannot be unknown to the person who feels it” (T 546), it follows that such
sentiments move us to acquire good and shun evil. The moral sense, or that sense
by which we feel approbation or disapprobation directly when we consider
characters, or indirectly when we think about the usefulness of actions, is mostly
an affective and an active principle of our constitution.
The moral sense, according to Hutcheson and Hume is therefore an internal
sense, a sense by which we form internal feelings, and not an external sense which
perceives external objects, their qualities and relations. Hume goes further,
however, and claims that the moral sense is the result of sympathy since we feel
through sympathy the same kind of esteem that other agents feel when they
perform virtuous actions. We not only feel pleasure when another person acts in a
benevolent way and feels pleasure himself, we also feel pleasure at the happiness
of mankind. Hence, we approve of what is immediately agreeable but also of what
is useful. Both Hutcheson and Hume therefore hold that by the moral sense we
266
approve both of actions that are in themselves agreeable and also of those that are
useful.
Joseph Butler
As we can notice, Shaftesbury, Hutcheson and Hume do not put any accent
on the superior role of the moral sense. The moral sense is seen as a part of our
constitution by which we feel approval or disapprobation and these feelings, if
they are strong enough, or if they are tied to certain circumstances and other
principles at work in us, are simply another impulse which can be thrown in the
balance, as Schneewind writes about Shaftesbury. Let us now turn to Butler’s
understanding of conscience, which for him is superior to all other motives. Butler
is mostly reacting to Shaftesbury and he points out that Shaftesbury does not take
into account the natural fact that conscience has authority over all other principles.
Butler himself is writing before Hutcheson and Hume, but some of his remarks in
fact also apply to their views. Hutcheson and Hume seem to be aware of Butler’s
works, but they depart from his account in many respects. The reason I consider
Butler’s position last is because Reid’s own moral account comes closest to
Butler’s.
9

As Butler points out, when we observe human nature, we notice that the
moral sense is different from interest (whether for ourselves or others) and it has
an authority that other motives do not have. As C.D. Broad writes: “by saying that

9
Add dates of Butler’s works and dates of Shaftesbury, Hutcheson and Hume.
267
conscience has supreme authority Butler means that we regard the
pronouncements of conscience, not simply as interesting or uninteresting
statements of fact, and not simply as reasons to be balanced against others, but as
conclusive reasons for or against doing the action about which it pronounces.”
10
In
the views of Shaftesbury, Hutcheson and Hume, the agent himself and his ability
to listen to the voice of conscience and hence to govern himself disappear. What is
more, Butler points out that by conscience we approve of actions that, for all we
know, do not seem to lead to anyone’s happiness. Butler hence thinks
Shaftesbury’s account puts too much emphasis on the happiness of ourselves, of
others, and of the whole (see Sermons 16). Hence, Shaftesbury’s view (and Butler
would have probably added Hutcheson’s and Hume’s had he been writing later)
does not account for the distinctively moral and human phenomena.
However, I believe Butler still follows the moral sense tradition. Indeed,
Butler also thinks that we are so constituted as to approve of motives or not.
Indeed, in his Sermons, he proceeds to study the subject of morals “from a matter
of fact, namely, what the particular nature of man is, its several parts, their
economy or constitution; from whence it proceeds to determine what course of life
it is, which is correspondent to this whole nature” (S. 5-6).
11
And it is Butler’s
claim that the mark of our nature is the authority of conscience. We not only

10
C.D. Broad, Five Types of Ethical Theory (Totowa, NJ, 1965), 78.
11
Joseph Butler, ‘Sermons’ in The Works of Joseph Butler, Vol. II, ed. W.E. Gladstone (England:
Thoemmes Press, 1995).
268
observe that we approve or disapprove of actions by a moral sense, but also that
the dictates of this moral sense have authority over all other motives or passions
(S. 43). He writes: “Every bias, instinct, propension within, is a real part of our
nature, but not the whole: add to these the superior faculty, whose office it is to
adjust, manage, and preside over them, and take in this its natural superiority, and
you complete the idea of human nature” (S. 67-68).
Butler also holds that we do not always act for our own self-interest. He
holds that we are not moved only by self-interested motives and hence a moral
system and our moral psychology cannot be explained in merely egoistical terms.
He writes that we sometimes have our own pleasure in view but we at other times
have social pleasure in view when we act. He writes:
The sum of the whole is plainly this. The nature of man considered in his
single capacity, and with respect only to the present world, is adapted and
leads him to attain the greatest happiness he can for himself in the present
world. The nature of man considered in his public or social capacity leads
him to a right behaviour in society, to that course of life which we call
virtue. Men follow or obey their nature in both these capacities and
respects to a certain degree, but not entirely... Thus they are as often unjust
to themselves as to others, and for the most part are equally so to both by
the same actions (S. 50).

Hence we sometimes act out of benevolence as well as out of self-interest. Now,
Butler is not always clear about the relation between benevolence and conscience.
It seems at times that conscience is benevolence (see S. XII. 19 and 22). However,
I believe that Butler considered conscience to be a principle different from and
superior to benevolence. He writes, for example: “These principles, propensions,
269
or instincts which lead him to do good, are approved of by a certain faculty within,
quite distinct from these propensions themselves” (S. 54).
12
Hence, benevolence is
itself approved of by a ‘certain faculty within’, which is conscience for Butler.
Conscience is mostly a reflective faculty rather than an affective faculty for
Butler. It is “a principle of reflection in men, by which they distinguish between,
approve and disapprove their own actions” (S. 41). Butler is not explicit about the
nature of approval or disapproval itself. He writes that we feel “an approbation of
what was good, and disapprobation of the contrary” (S. 16).
13
Even if it is still not
clear whether, for Butler, approbation or the moral sense includes a feeling as well
as a moral judgment, moral sentiments do seem to be deliverances of conscience.
And, in general, moral sentiments include feelings of some sort.
Butler calls conscience a “principle of reflection” (S. 41) What we reflect
upon, however, is not the happiness of mankind but our different incitements and
we then approve of some incitements rather than others, sometimes independently

12
I agree with Brian Hebblethwaite that “conscience condemns lying, violence, and injustice,
irrespective of any beneficial consequences that such things might have... Our moral character, our
human virtue, is rather a matter of benevolence within the framework of conscience. Conscience,
not benevolence, has the last word.” See Brian Hebblethwaite, ‘Butler on Conscience and Virtue’
in Joseph Butler’s Moral and Religious Thought, ed. Christopher Cunliffe (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1992), p. 199.
13
He continues: “Take in then that authority and obligation, which is a constituent part of this
reflex approbation, and it will undeniably follow, though a man should doubt of every thing else,
yet, that he would still remain under the nearest and most certain obligation to the practice of
virtue; and obligation implied in the very idea of virtue, in the very idea of reflex approbation.”
Butler is here reacting to Shaftesbury who, according to Butler, “has shown beyond all
contradiction, that virtue is naturally the interest or happiness, and vice the misery, of such a
creature as man, place in the circumstances which we are in this world” (S. 15). And Butler’s point
is that even if we had no idea about the happiness of human beings, we would still approve of and
feel an obligation for virtue. Hence, the idea of virtue implies obligation and approbation, but it is
not clear whether approbation itself implies some kind of feeling.
270
of concerns about happiness, and since conscience is by its nature superior in its
dictates, we then form a law we are under an obligation to follow.
14
And this
obligation is the inducement to act. Conscience is therefore an active principle
which moves us very strongly. It is the superiority of conscience that accounts for
its moral motivation.
Butler, therefore, is part of the moral sense tradition in so far as he holds
that the moral sense is part of human nature or human constitution, it is a principle
and obligation that is different from self-interest and its own authority is the basis
for its motivational force. Finally, because of the moral sense, we feel moral
sentiments when we reflect on our different motives. Let us now turn to Reid, who,
in many aspects holds a view that is very similar to Butler’s but who also sees
himself as making improvements upon that view.
II. Reid and the moral sense tradition
It is quite clear that Reid is part of the moral sense tradition as I have
characterized it. Since this relation is clear, this section will be brief and I will
mostly point to passages that support my claim.
15
First of all, the moral sense is a
natural faculty by which we perceive actions to be virtuous or not. Although it is

14
That conscience has authority for Butler is a non-controversial claim. Now, the question as to
why conscience has authority is more complicated. I do not wish to discuss this question here. For
an interesting
15
It might seem that I have chosen four characteristics of the moral sense tradition and then that I
tried to make each account fit into it. But this is not how I have proceeded. I have tried to follow
Reid’s method and have therefore read the works of each philosopher and then simply noticed the
obvious characteristics of each account.
271
tied to reason or the speculative faculty (by which we conceive, judge, remember,
etc.), it is distinct from it. It is true that moral distinctions always involve
conception, judgment and may also involve memory and consciousness, and hence
it requires and is tied to the understanding. However, it does not require thinking
about the relation of objects or of judgments. Hence, it does not require reason in
the sense of reasoning. Conscience is an internal sense and not an internal thinking
process (see chapter 3 and 5). The human mind, according to Reid, is both rational
and moral and the rational and moral operations are not always different. But still,
Reid seems to think that the speculative faculties of the mind deal with what is true
or false whereas the moral faculty deals specifically with what is right and wrong
in human conduct (EAP 226). It might seem that these are two roles of the same
faculty, namely reason, but it would be more accurate to say that for Reid they are
two faculties of one mind, which is both (but not necessarily only) rational and
moral.
It is also a faculty that is part of the natural constitution of human nature.
We could say that in Reid’s account of the moral sense, this moral sense is natural
in two ways. First, we are constituted in such a way that we recognize what is right
or wrong and a certain fabric of the mind is needed to make these distinctions.
Reid writes of the moral sense as an “original power of faculty” (EAP 231). We
are constituted or created in such a way that we can make moral distinctions. The
moral sense is tied to our nature: “The seeds, as it were, of moral discernment are
272
planted in the mind by him that made us” (EAP 247; see also 369). It is “the
noblest part of the human constitution” (EAP 406). And we can all recognize or
are conscious that this faculty is tied to our nature. Reid writes:
that these sentiments spring up in the mind of man as naturally as his body
grows to its proper stature; that they are not the birth of instruction, or
politicians, but the pure growth of nature, cannot, I think, without
effrontery, be denied (EAP 417).

Secondly, and this is true of Butler’s account also, conscience is natural in
the sense that going against its dictates puts us at variance with our own self.
Indeed, the moral sense is distinctively human (EAP 250), and when we disobey
its dictates, “the sense of guilt makes a man at variance with himself... He has
fallen from the dignity of his nature” (EAP 245). This is because conscience is the
“noblest faculty with which God has endowed us” and it is “evidently intended by
nature to be the immediate guide and director of our conduct, after we arrive at the
years of understanding” (EAP 252). Conscience is “the law of God written in his
heart, which he cannot disobey without acting unnaturally, and being self-
condemned” (EAP 365).
Reid is also reacting against ethical-egoism. The moral sense is a principle
of action that is different from a regard to our own interest and it is also different
from the approval of benevolence. Hutcheson and Hume consider benevolence as
an instinctive passion, a feeling of pleasure we have when we consider the good of
others. Shaftesbury’s moral sense includes reflection upon actions and how they
lead to the good of the whole, and through such reflection we arrive at a feeling of
273
approval of what is benevolent. For Butler, however, benevolence and the moral
sense are two different principles (even if the moral sense also approves of
benevolent actions). It is true that we have affections for society, as well as for
ourselves, but the moral sense is a regard to what is right independently of the
consequences of the actions. Reid’s view is in such respects very similar to
Butler’s. Indeed, Reid also differentiates between benevolence, self-interest and
the sense of duty. The difference, however, between Butler and Reid is that Reid
considers benevolence as an animal principle of action and self-interest as a
rational principle of action. Hence he argues that we are moved to seek the good of
others and of society without judgment, in the same way brute animals are moved
(see EAP, Essay III, part II, ch. III). A developed understanding is not necessary in
order to be moved by benevolence and hence small children have this kind of
incitement also. Benevolent affections dispose us to do good to others and to
society independently about our judgments about ends. Reid nevertheless agrees
with Shaftesbury and “many other judicious moralists” (EAP 142) that this motive
is the capital part of human happiness. However, Reid continues, this does not
mean that we are moved by benevolence only to achieve our own happiness.
Hence, he writes, “I consider those affections only as benevolent, where the good
of the object is desired ultimately, and not as the means only, in order to something
else” (EAP 143). He concludes: “We are placed in this world, by the Author of our
being, surrounded with many objects that are necessary or useful to us, and with
274
many that may hurt us. We are led, not by reason and self-love only, but by many
instincts, and appetites, and natural desires, to seek the former, and to avoid the
latter” (EAP 144). Benevolence is therefore more instinctive than rational self-
love.
Self-interest, or a regard to our overall happiness, is a rational principle of
action. It rests on a judgment about ends, about purposes, and acting upon this
principle requires a resolution to pursue this end. Animal motives do not require
such judgments and resolutions. Hence, benevolence is different from the moral
sense and self-interest is also different from the moral sense. Reid writes:
the notion of duty cannot be resolved into that of interest, or what is most
for our happiness.
Every man may be satisfied of this who attends to his own conceptions, and
the language of mankind shows it. When I say this is my interest, I mean
one thing; when I say it is my duty, I mean another thing. And though the
same course of action, when rightly understood, may be both my duty and
my interest, the conceptions are very different. Both are reasonable motives
to action, but quite distinct in their nature (EAP 223-224).

Hence, we all understand that we have a regard to what is right that is different
from a regard to our own happiness. The esteem we have for a man who does what
is good out of interest is different and inferior in degree to the esteem we have for
the man who does what is good or right for duty’s sake only (EAP 218).
Conscience is also an affective faculty, according to Reid. The moral
sentiments or moral judgments are always connected with some feeling. Reid
writes: “Our moral judgments are not, like those we form in speculative matters,
275
dry and unaffecting, but from their nature, are necessarily accompanied with
affections and feelings...” (EAP 238). Also:
When we contemplate a noble character, though but in ancient history, or
even in fiction; like a beautiful object, it gives a lively and pleasant
emotion to the spirits. It warms the heart, and invigorates the whole frame.
Like the beams of the sun, it enlivens the face of nature, and diffuses heat
and light all around (EAP 241).

Hence, we have feelings of pleasure, indeed, when we contemplate noble
characters. And on the other hand, bad conduct, especially in those in whom we
are interested (like friends or family), give an uneasy and painful feeling. When we
contemplate moral actions, we either approve or disapprove of them. And although
this approbation and disapprobation is based on a judgment of the moral worth of
the action, it always includes feelings of esteem or guilt and affections for or
against the person. Now, I do not believe that these feelings are responsible for the
motivational force of moral motives, as I have argued in Chapter 2. These feelings
might help us perceive what is right or wrong, and even add some motivational
force to our judgments, but it is essentially the sense of obligation that is part of
our moral judgments that moves us to action. Hence, the moral sense is tied to our
affective nature and the judgments we make by our moral sense move us to action.
III. Reid’s contribution to the moral sense tradition
If the elements I have mentioned are indeed essential to any moral sense
account, then Reid is clearly part of this tradition. But Reid is writing after
276
Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Hume and Butler and although he sees himself as
indebted to their accounts, it is typical of Reid to see his own account as offering
some progress to the science of the mind and its powers. Reid does not directly tell
us what he thinks of the views of Shaftesbury, Hutcheson and Butler, but much of
Reid’s account, when it is considered in relation to the moral sense tradition, can
be seen as responding to their views. Hume, on the other hand, is the philosopher
Reid explicitly criticizes and this throughout the Essays and Reid clearly tells us
what he thinks of Hume’s account of the moral sense. However, I will be offering
an overview of Reid’s possible responses and not an in-depth examination and
evaluation of Reid’s criticisms. My aim, as I have already pointed out, is to
understand Reid’s place in the historical discussion and to show that Reid is
actually a true moral sense theorist in a way that his predecessors are not.
As I have briefly shown, Shaftesbury writes that our feelings track or sense
what is harmonious. We have positive feelings towards actions and affections that
promote not only our well-being, but also the well-being of others and of the
whole of which we all are part of. There are two main objections that Reid would
make to this view. Although he would agree with Shaftesbury that what is right or
wrong has a real existence, independently of our own feelings, feelings are in
themselves not adequate mental states to track such existences. This is actually
Reid’s main criticism of the moral sense tradition: that it misunderstands what it
means to sense.
277
Reid writes about the term moral sense:
The offence taken at this name seems to be owing to this, that philosophers
have degraded the senses too much, and deprived them of the most
important part of their office.
We are taught, that by the senses, we have only certain ideas which we
could not have otherwise. They are represented as powers by which we
have sensations and ideas, not as powers by which we judge.
This notion of the senses I take to be very lame, and to contradict what
nature and accurate reflection teach concerning them (EAP 231-232).

Reid writes this right after attributing the use of the term moral sense to
Shaftesbury and Hutcheson. Shaftesbury, as Reid thus implies, thinks of the moral
sense as a faculty comparable to the external senses by which we have moral
sensations or ideas and not judgments. The problem, however, according to Reid is
that feelings do not see anything, they do not tell us anything; they are about
nothing. Shaftesbury holds that there are objective moral truths, but then he holds
that moral distinctions are essentially feelings. Reid, however, argues, mostly in
the Inquiry and in the Essays on the Intellectual Powers that sensations or feelings
have no object; they are not about some object.
16
Indeed, Reid writes that the
sensation we have when we smell a rose, for example,
can be nothing else that it is felt to be. Its very essence consists in being
felt; and when it is not felt, it is not. There is no difference between the
sensation and the feeling of it; they are one and the same thing. It is for this
reason, that we before observed, that, in sensation, there is no object
distinct from that act of mind by which it is felt; and this holds true with
regard to all sensations (EIP 243).

16
As I point out in Chapter 2, I disagree with the view that sensations have themselves as objects.
See especially footnote 34.
278
Since much has been written on sensation in Reid’s account of perception, I will
not address this issue here. What we can conclude, however, is that Reid considers
Shaftesbury’s moral sense to bear some analogy with the external senses. And
Reid would argue against Shaftesbury by pointing out that sensations are not
equivalent to perceptions. When I say that I feel something, I mean something
different than when I say that I see or perceive something. Sensations are not
sufficient to give us access to the external world. Hence, Shaftesbury’s account of
the moral sense is defective because, as a feeling, it cannot give us the moral
information we all share.
The problem, however, is that Shaftesbury does not clearly talk of the
moral sense as similar to the external senses. He does write:
The MIND, which is Spectator or Auditor of other Minds, cannot be
without its Eye and Ear; so as to discern Proportion, distinguish Sound, and
scan each Sentiment or Thought which comes before it. It can let nothing
escape its Censure. It feels the Soft and Harsh, the Agreeable and
Disagreeable, in the Affections; and finds a Foul and Fair, a Harmonious
and a Dissonant, as really and truly here, as in any musical Numbers, or in
the outward Forms or Representations of sensible Things... (Inquiry, 16-
17).

Here Shaftesbury does seem to be thinking of the mind as perceiving affections,
sentiments and motives. And the mind also feels the agreeable and the
disagreeable in the affections. So, it is understandable to think of Shaftesbury’s
moral sense as similar to the external sense but as involving mostly feeling.
However, it is because the agent forms a judgment that he then has a
corresponding feeling. Indeed, as I have already mentioned, Shaftesbury writes:
279
And in this Case alone it is we call any Creature Worthy or Virtuous, when
it can have the Notion of a publick Interest, and can attain the Speculation
or Science of what is morally good or ill, admirable or blameable, right or
wrong....
So that if a Creature be generous, kind, constant, compassionate; yet if he
cannot reflect on what he himself does, or sees others do, so as to take
notice of what is worthy or honest; and make that Notice or Conception of
Worth and Honesty to be an Object of his Affection; he has not the
Character of being virtuous... (Inquiry 18).

Now, this sounds very much like Reid’s own account of the moral sense. It is
because we form a judgment about what is worthy that we then, by the constitution
of our nature, have a corresponding affection. Reid also holds that our moral
affections are based on and related to our moral judgments. It is because we form
judgments about the moral worth of actions that we then have corresponding
feelings. I therefore think that there is more agreement between Reid and
Shaftesbury than Reid seems to imply. Reid himself compares the moral sense to
the external senses, and in a very well developed and thorough manner. But it is a
mistake for Reid to consider the accounts of his predecessors in terms only of this
relation between the internal and external senses. Indeed, Shaftesbury at least does
not make much of this comparison. We are not sure whether he in fact thought of
the moral sense as perceiving anything and he does not offer a well-developed
account of perception in the same way Reid does. In any case, Shaftesbury is not
the sentimentalist that Reid makes him out to be since affections are dependent on
our judgments, which themselves are about objective moral facts.
280
Now, there is nevertheless another sense in which Reid’s account could be
considered as an improvement of Shaftesbury’s account. Butler had already
observed that even if an action does not seem to be in any one’s interest, we might
still feel an obligation to perform such an action. Hence, we would be under two
different obligations: one not to perform the action and the other one to perform
the action. But, Butler remarks,
the obligation on the side of interest really does not remain. For the natural
authority of the principle of reflection is an obligation the most near and
intimate, the most certain and known; whereas the contrary obligation can
at the utmost appear no more than probable; since no man can be certain in
any circumstances that vice is his interest in the present world, much less
can he be certain against another (Sermons 15-16).

He writes concerning Shaftesbury: “what this author does not seem to have been
aware of, [is] that the greatest degree of scepticism which he thought possible will
still leave men under the strictest moral obligations, whatever their opinion be
concerning the happiness of virtue” (Sermons 16). Those who are familiar with
Essay III and V of Reid’s Essays on the Active Powers will notice how much
Butler sounds like Reid in this passage.
Indeed, the observations Reid makes against the sense of one’s overall
happiness (what Reid calls the first rational principle of action) could be made
against Shaftesbury’s sense of the overall happiness not only of ourselves but of
others as well. In Essay III, Part III, chapter IV, Reid points out that there are
several defects that are tied to rational motives that rest on trains of reasoning
about what will bring about the greatest good. The first is the obvious observation
281
that “the greater part of mankind can never attain such extensive views of human
life, and so correct a judgment of good and ill, as the right application of this
principle requires” (EAP 216). Secondly, “though a steady pursuit of our own real
good may, in an enlightened mind, produce a kind of virtue which is entitled to
some degree of approbation, yet it can never produce the noblest kind of virtue,
which claims our highest love and esteem” (EAP 217-218). We can observe that
we have a different kind of esteem for the man who does the action for his own
benefit than for the man who does the action independently of his own interest.
Now, this observation might not apply in the case of our esteem of somebody who
acts out of benevolence for others and the whole. Indeed, Reid himself writes that
acting out of benevolence is virtuous and thus esteemable in the same degree as
other actions done out of a sense of virtue. The third point Reid makes, however
does apply to Shaftesbury. Reid points out, thirdly, that acting out of a sense of
interest might cause great fear and worry. Indeed, the uncertainty is great and the
fear of acting in a way that might not in reality bring about the greatest good might
minimize that happiness that is supposed to result from such an action. The
objections available to Reid, therefore, are that any kind of moral distinction that is
based on a reasoning process is defective. Indeed, since we are not perfect, we are
unable to know what will actually bring about the greatest happiness (Reid is
thinking for ourselves, but this applies also to Shaftesbury’s moral motive). The
distant view to the overall happiness of ourselves, of others, of the whole, is not a
282
sharp enough monitor to human action and it in fact leads to great uncertainty and
worry. Hence Reid writes:
The road of duty is so plain, that the man who seeks it, with an upright
heart, cannot greatly err from it. But the road to happiness, if that be
supposed the only end our nature leads us to pursue, would be found dark
and intricate, full of snares and dangers, and therefore not to be trodden
without fear, and care, and perplexity (EAP 220).

Hence, Reid is mistaken to think that Shaftesbury compares the moral sense to our
external senses and that for Shaftesbury sensing is then a matter mostly of feeling.
However, Reid has another objection available. This objection is that
Shaftesbury’s moral sense still involves too much reasoning and is not enough like
an external sense. Indeed, when we perceive something, according to Reid, we
need not make inferences in order to form a judgment about the object perceived.
The problem with Shaftesbury’s account is that it does not account for this clearer,
more direct, sense of what is right and wrong that does not seem to require any
reasoning at all and no concern about issues of happiness. In Shaftesbury’s
account, the moral sense turns out to be superfluous. Indeed, there is no need to
appeal to another sense since moral distinctions are based on reason and affections.
This same objection could be made against Hutcheson’s account. First, a
regard to our own interest and a regard to the interest of others is not what we
understand by acting out of a sense of duty. We sometimes think of actions as
morally right or wrong independently of what the consequences might be for our
happiness and the happiness of others. Hence the moral sense must not be reduced
283
to benevolence. And secondly, there is too much reasoning involved in
Shaftesbury and Hutcheson’s moral sense and hence the result is uncertainty and
worry instead of happiness. Also, if we consider something to be morally right or
wrong, it is not the case that we give up this belief because of thoughts about what
is or is not be conducive to happiness. For Reid,
a clear and intuitive judgment, resulting from the constitution of human
nature, is sufficient to overbalance a train of subtile reasoning on the other
side. Thus, the testimony of our senses is sufficient to overbalance all the
subtile arguments brought against their testimony. And, if there be a like
testimony of conscience in favour of honesty, all the subtile reasoning of
the knave against it ought to be rejected without examination, as fallacious
and sophistical, because it concludes against a self-evident principle; just as
we reject the subtile reasoning of the metaphysician against the evidence of
sense (EAP 409).

However, although Hutcheson’s views develop into a kind of
utilitarianism, which does involve reasoning about the relation of actions and
about happiness, it is also Hutcheson’s position that we simply and instinctively
approve of a person acting from a benevolent motive. This reaction does not
presuppose any kind of reasoning about the relation of actions and events. And this
feeling of approval is also called the moral sense. In the face of virtue, moral
approbation is a reaction similar to love or admiration that arises naturally from
beauty, according to Hutcheson. Also, ultimate ends are the business of feelings or
of sense, and we directly approve of ends that are pleasurable. Hume also takes up
these ideas and develops them. Indeed, Hume will explain our moral approbation
in terms of sympathy. When a person acts from virtuous motives, I sympathize
284
with the pleasure he feels and I in turn approve (or feel pleasure because) of such
an action. Now, some virtue is natural, and the approbation hence arises directly
and instinctively, but some virtue is artificial and hence the approbation rests not
on human nature but on convention and thoughts about general interest. Reid’s
objection that benevolence or a regard to the happiness of others relies on our
judgments about the relation of objects and this judgment is not a clear guide to
action does not always apply since for Hutcheson and Hume we do have more
simple reactions towards the happiness of others, and they also call this
approbation or moral sense.
Now, Reid’s main objection against Hume, and indirectly against
Hutcheson, is not only an objection to the position that reasoning about utility and
happiness is involved in order to be able to approve or disapprove for Hume but it
is also an objection against the claim that morality is fundamentally a question of
feeling. The fundamental criticism against Hume is that he misunderstands
perception in general, and hence how the agent is naturally constituted. Reid
argues that Hume understands the moral sense in the same way as he understands
perception by the external senses. And, according to Reid, Hume is mistaken in
this account.
When compared to Shaftesbury, Hutcheson and Butler, Hume most clearly
speaks of approbation and disapprobation as perception. He writes: “Our decisions
concerning moral rectitude and depravity are evidently perceptions” (T 470). Since
285
all perceptions, he writes, “are either impressions or ideas, the exclusion of the one
is a convincing argument. Morality, therefore, is more properly felt than jud’d
of...” Hence, morality is perception, and this perception is equivalent to receiving
certain impressions. The impressions we receive are feelings of pain and pleasure.
Hence, “virtue is distinguished by the pleasure, and vice by the pain, that any
action, sentiment or character gives us by the mere view and contemplation” (T
475). Hume, in the Second Inquiry, writes that reason judges of matter of facts and
of relations. But look at the crime of ingratitude, he urges. Reason does not
determine that certain relations are wrong and others right and reason cannot pick
out any matter of fact we would call crime or duty (Inquiry 158-159). Hence,
moral perception is mostly a matter of receiving impressions and when we
consider the impressions or feelings that naturally arise in some circumstances,
these are the basis of our moral distinctions.
Reid points out repeatedly that Hume is mistaken in his account of
perception. Reid observes that by our external senses, we perceive objects and
their qualities. We not only have sensations but we also, by the constitution of our
nature, have a conception of the object of perception and we have a belief or
judgment about its existence and qualities. Many have written about Reid’s
account of perception and hence I need not repeat this account. I will just point out
that sensation is only part of perception for Reid. Conception and judgment are
actually the most essential elements of perception.
286
The rationalist account Hume is reacting to is mainly the account of
Samuel Clark who holds that crime, for example, is against reason in the sense that
reason grasps a certain relation of fitness between certain objects or actions and
that this relation does not hold between immoral actions. Now, Hume holds that
the ideas we have of the world are given to us through our senses, through
impressions, by observation. But the propositions we then form about objects are
grasped through reason. And the propositions reason grasps are propositions about
matters of fact and about relations of ideas and the role of reasoning is then to
form judgments about causes and effect and to produce demonstrations. Now,
Hume argues that the rationalist position is wrong because going against reason
does not in itself constitute the wrongness of an action. Hence, he writes in the first
appendix of the Second Inquiry: “Consequently, we may infer, that the crime of
ingratitude is not any particular individual fact; but arises from a complication of
circumstances, which, being presented to the spectator, excites the sentiment of
blame, by the particular structure and fabric of his mind” (Second Inquiry, 159).
Nor does this crime rest in any relation between the action and the rule of right,
since the rule of right must itself be determined by examination of the relation of
the action to the rule of right (Second Inquiry 159).
Reid’s response is that moral perception is not a matter of thinking about
the agreement or disagreement of ideas and it is not a matter of considering
matters of fact or relations as being fit or unfit, as Clarke holds, but neither is it a
287
matter of feelings only. Judgments are involved in moral perception but these
judgments are intuitive, self-evident beliefs that arise, because of our constitution,
when we perceive certain objects. And the judgments of morals are not simply
judgments about the truth and falsehood of matters of fact, they are judgments
about what ought to be done. And for Reid it is only because we have a moral
sense that we can form these judgments. By our moral sense, we perceive that
some actions are right and hence ought to be done or are wrong and hence ought
not to be done. The approval we feel when we contemplate good actions includes
both a judgment of this kind and a feeling, and for Reid the feeling depends on the
judgment. Indeed, take away the judgment and the feeling disappears, he observes.
Reid’s account of perception in the Inquiry and in the Essays on the Intellectual
Powers stems from a criticism of Hume’s way of ideas. In the same way, Reid’s
account of the moral sense in the Essays on the Active Powers is offered as an
alternative and solution to Hume’s account of what we perceive when we approve
or disapprove of actions.
In conclusion, then, Reid would point out that Hutcheson and Hume, like
Shaftesbury are not in the end true moral sense theorists. Indeed, what is at the
center of Hutcheson and Hume’s accounts is the pleasure that I feel when I
consider the good of others or, instinctively, that I feel when I sympathize with
someone else’s pleasure. But this comes back to a certain form of self-interest
where duty is tied to my own pleasure. Hume tries to react to Hobbes’s ethical
288
egoism by appealing to a sense that is intrinsically moral, different from our reason
and from self-interest. However, Reid might point out that by rejecting reason they
reject the role of judgment in perception and hence morality becomes essentially a
matter of feelings and as such swings back to the egoism they cannot help
embracing. Hence, these philosophers fail to offer the alternative they wished to
defend and hence the role of the moral sense becomes blurred.
When we consider what has been said so far about Reid’s desire to improve
the accounts of the moral sense offered before him, we can notice that there are
therefore three objections that Reid could offer to Hume. The first is related to the
criticism Reid could make against Shaftesbury’s position, and it is that
benevolence, or the approval we feel when we are faced with actions that bring
about the greatest good, involves too much reasoning and is not direct. Hence,
understanding the moral sense as benevolence or as a regard to the happiness of
others is defective and does not include a more direct sense of duty that we all
experience. So, the concept we have of duty is different from the concept of utility.
Secondly, Hume is mistaken in his account of perception, whether in the case of
the external senses or of the internal sense. Perception, according to Reid, is not
only a matter of receiving feelings or of perceiving ideas or impressions.
Perception involves not only feelings but also judgments about external objects
and it is these objects that we perceive. And finally, as I have pointed out Hume
and Hutcheson hold that we do not only approve of what is useful but we also have
289
a more direct and instinctive approval of what is pleasurable. Hence, it is not the
case that moral sense is reduced to a regard to utility only but also to a more direct
sense of pleasure. Reid, however, points out that when we think about what we
mean by virtue or duty, our conception is different not only from utility but also
from agreeableness. He writes:
It is true, that every virtue is both agreeable and useful in the highest
degree; and that every quality that is agreeable or useful, has a merit upon
that account. But virtue has a merit peculiar to itself, a merit which does
not arise from its being useful or agreeable, but from its being virtue....
We give the name of esteem both to the regard we have for things useful
and agreeable, and to the regard we have for virtue; but these are different
kinds of esteem...
Good breeding is a very amiable quality; and even if I knew that the man
had no motive to it but its pleasure and utility to himself and others, I
should like it still, but I would not in that case call it a moral virtue (EAP
404-405).

Much more could be said about Reid’s criticism of Hume’s account of the moral
sense. But what I wanted to highlight is the idea that Hume’s account leaves out
important aspects of human nature and hence is not complete as a science of the
human mind, according to Reid. Reid does not see his own account as complete or
finished, but at least as an improvement. For Reid, Hume’s account of perception
is different from what we are conscience of when we perceive objects. And much
of Reid’s speculative writings deal with this issue. Conception and judgment is
also part of perception, and this applies to moral perception too. Sensations alone
are not perceptions. What is more, Hume’s account of the moral sense does not
account for the fact that we approve of some objects independently of their
290
pleasurableness or utility. And finally, since feeling is the basis of approval for
Hume, his account does not explain the fact that most of our feelings seem to be
dependent on a judgment about the actions in question. Therefore, Hume’s account
of utility depends too much on reason and his account of sympathy depends too
much on personal feelings of agreeableness to appeal to a particular moral sense
that is responsible for our ability to make moral distinctions.
We have already noticed that Reid’s account is similar to Butler’s on many
points, but I believe that Reid also thought Butler’s views stood in need of
correction and improvement. Now, Butler had already noticed that agreeableness
and utility is not the whole story. Butler holds that there is a principle of a higher
order, by which agents can reflect on motives and which then guides their actions.
Reid agrees with Butler that the deliverances of conscience have authority over
other motives. He also agrees that a regard to duty is different from a regard both
to self-interest and to benevolence. And it is true that conscience judges of all
motives and hence the agent can determine which motive should be acted upon.
What is more, Reid also holds that acting against conscience is acting against
one’s nature. Hence, there is a sense in which acting according to conscience is
acting according to our nature and acting against conscience is acting against one’s
self. Reid also holds that the dictates of conscience are a law written on our hearts.
Butler writes about man: “from his make, constitution, or nature, he is in the
strictest and most proper sense a law to himself. He hath the rule of right within:
291
what is wanting is only that he honestly attend to it” (Sermon III, section 3, p. 69).
Hence, both would agree that conscience is a superior faculty, given to us by God,
by which we form a moral law, hence by which we have moral knowledge and to
act against that law is to act against our selves.
The problem with Butler’s account, however, is that he is very unclear in
this account about the content of that law. Butler does not explain how it is that we
come to form moral judgments. Actions and passions seem virtuous because they
allow a unity of the self, that is, passions are in line with conscience. But how and
why does conscience tell us anything? It is not clear in Butler whether actions are
right or wrong because they go against our nature, and here a certain circularity is
looming, or whether actions are right and wrong in themselves, independently of
our nature. From Butler’s criticism of Shaftesbury, we can deduce that duty is not
a certain quality of producing happiness, nor is it a feeling arising from a
pleasurable quality. But what exactly is virtue for Butler and what is the content of
the law written on our hearts?
I believe much of Reid’s account on perception by the external senses and
its relation to moral perception is an attempt to answer these questions. By our
moral sense, we perceive certain actions to be right and others to be wrong, not
because they are conducive or not to our own happiness, or to the happiness of
others, and not because they are pleasurable or not. Also, we do not judge
something to be right because it accords somehow with our nature, nor because it
292
allows some overall harmony. In all of these views about the foundation or origin
of moral values, values are always dependent on some other feature or role of the
action which one must reflect upon or perceive. It seems that for Shaftesbury,
Hutcheson, Hume and Butler, another reason is needed to act according to duty.
One could ask these philosophers: why should I act in this way? And they would
answer: because it is good for others, or for the whole, or for myself, or because it
is agreeable to my nature or because it accords with the law of my nature (to
conscience), or because it is pleasurable. Reid, however, thinks that this question
does not reflect our everyday practice. Why should I do this virtuous action?
Simply because the action itself is virtuous. And I know it is virtuous because I
directly perceive it to be so.
The content of the law, or the basis for our moral perception, is grasped
because the moral sense is a perceiving faculty. When I perceive some action with
certain qualities, I have a conception of the action, I judge it to be morally right or
wrong, and I then I also have a feeling which accompanies this judgment. A
correct understanding of the moral sense, therefore, must be made against the
background of Reid’s account of perception in general. Indeed, although Reid
seems to think that the term ‘moral sense’ was used by others because of some
analogy it bears to our external senses, it is only Reid himself who clearly makes
the analogy. We make moral distinctions because we have a sense by which we
perceive, directly, and not by first perceiving sensations or thoughts, actions ‘out
293
there’ which are in themselves right or wrong. And when we have perceived such
actions, we can make generalizations about the moral value of kinds of actions and
of the relation between kinds of actions. We can consider Reid’s attempt,
therefore, as an attempt to examine human nature more carefully and also to
provide the objective content of the deliverances of our moral sense.
I have attempted to show that there is a tradition that can be called the
moral sense tradition, and that Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Hume, Butler and Reid are
part of this tradition and that each relies on similar characteristics of this moral
sense. Reid, I have tried to show, considers his own moral account as closer and
more faithful to our observations concerning our human constitution. Now, Reid’s
own account still stands in need of improvement and there are questions that Reid
himself leaves unanswered. His account of the moral sense is rather short,
compared to his account of the external senses. And although Reid holds that we
directly perceive some actions to be wrong and others to be good, he does not tell
us what quality or qualities we are perceiving with our moral sense. If there are no
qualities that distinguish moral actions from other non-moral actions, then Reid
has not successfully answered Hume’s charge that when I make judgments about
matters of fact, there is no moral quality or value there to perceive. Indeed, even if
Reid is correct in claiming that perception involves conception and judgment as
well as sensation (or without sensation, depending on one’s understanding of
Reid), why should I make moral judgments about actions and not just speculative
294
judgments? Also, what is it that we are perceiving with our moral sense that we
could not perceive with our external senses? There are so many similarities
between our external senses and the moral sense that we might now wonder
whether any talk about the moral sense is not, in the end, superfluous. We will
therefore turn to these questions in the next chapter.
295
Chapter 7: Reid on the Moral Sense and Moral Perception
I. Introduction
When we perceive by our external senses, we not only have sensations but
we also form conceptions and judgments of objects. Reid often draws parallels
between perception by the external senses and perception by the internal senses of
taste and of conscience. Reid calls our evaluation of agents and their conduct,
‘moral perception’. He writes, for example, that it is natural for a man trained in
society “to perceive a right and a wrong, an honourable and a base, in human
conduct…” (EAP 370). As for beauty, he writes: “Beauty is a quality of the circle,
not demonstrable by mathematical reasoning, but immediately perceived by a good
taste” (EAP 476). The aim of this chapter is to understand Reid’s account of
moral perception and its relation to perception by the external senses. To
understand moral perception, I will examine Reid’s account of natural signs, and
more specifically the tripartite classification he offers in the Inquiry 5.3, and I will
also briefly examine how perception by the sense of taste functions. I will suggest
that moral perception, like aesthetic perception, involves and relies on perception
by the external senses as it involves signs of all three categories. However,
perception by the internal senses cannot be reduced to perception by the external
senses. What we perceive by the external senses, I suggest, functions as signs of
296
moral qualities which are themselves not perceived by our external senses but by
our internal senses.
II. Perception and natural signs
In its most general form, Reid’s theory of perception could be summarized
as follows:
An agent A perceives an external object O if and only if, there is an external object
O, and in consequence of a physical impression (resulting from O or from some
physical medium), a certain sign suggests, contingently, non-inferentially and
immediately, the conception by A of O and a belief about O.
Much could be said about each element of this definition. Indeed, one must
understand what Reid means by sensation, conception, and belief to have a more
precise understanding of perception – and, in fact, much has already been written
on this topic. In this section, I focus on Reid’s understanding of those signs that
suggest conceptions and beliefs. In the Essays Reid is not especially interested in
the nature of the impressions arising directly from the object or from the medium
between the object and the agent’s body since his main interest is the human mind
and not the human body. He is, therefore, interested in the nature of the natural
sign which suggests the conception of and belief in and about object O.
In the Inquiry into the Human Mind, Reid seems to hold that many of our
beliefs about reality involve signs. Hence, almost each section of the Inquiry will
297
mention the role of signs in one form or another. And we will also find thoughts
about natural signs dispersed throughout the Essays. Reid’s understanding of signs
resists any kind of simple classification. Indeed, signs like sensations, for example,
do not always suggest the same quality and they do not always suggest in the same
way. One relatively clear classification that Reid offers is one according to the way
in which the sign is connected to the object and the way in which it suggests the
object and its qualities. In this account, found in the Inquiry, chapter 5, section 3,
Reid mentions three categories of signs. In the fist category we find “those whose
connection with the thing signified is established by nature, but discovered only by
experience” (Inquiry 59; see also Inquiry 196). Nature works according to certain
laws of nature, and in nature we find certain events constantly conjoined with
others. Of course, to have an adequate understanding of the constant conjunctions
found in nature much observation and experience is required. Reid writes:
The laws of nature are the most general facts we can discover in the
operations of nature. Like other facts, they are not to be hit upon by a
happy conjecture, but justly deduced from observation: Like other general
facts, they are not to be drawn from a few particulars, but from a copious,
patient, and cautious induction (Inquiry 125).

By observation and experience, we come to recognize that some events are
constantly followed by other events. We did not decide or have a say about this
conjunction. The connection is established by nature, or rather, by the author of
our nature and for certain purposes. But the sign does not suggest the effect when
we see the sign for the first time. We need to experience the constancy of the
298
conjunction to believe something about the effect as soon as we consider the
cause. Hence the events we call causes work as signs of effects because of natural
connections between these events but we must discover this connection and hence
the signs only function as signs because of our experience.
It must be observed, however, that certain events function as signs of other
events even in the absence of an adequate knowledge of the law of nature and this
sign, without adequate observation, has such a great influence that it may lead to
mistakes concerning nature. Hence, the smell of the rose is felt when the rose is
present, and is removed when the rose is removed. With little experience, we
associate the smell of the rose with the rose. We do not know what quality of the
rose is responsible for our feeling, nor do we think about causes and laws of nature
to have this belief. But we naturally associate the smell with the rose. In other
cases, little experience leads to great mistakes. Hence, Reid writes that “we are apt
to fancy connections upon the slightest grounds” (Inquiry 40). Hence, the ignorant,
for example, might have an unlucky accident on a certain day of the year. If this
experience is repeated the following year, he will tend to think of that day as
unlucky, as if the day itself was the cause of the accident. Thus Reid writes:
However silly and ridiculous this opinion was, it sprung from the same root
in human nature, on which all natural philosophy grows; namely, an eager
desire to find out connections in things, and a natural, original, and
unaccountable propensity to believe, that the connections which we have
observed in time past, will continue in time to come. Omens, portents, good
and bad luck, palmistry, astrology … and true principles in the philosophy
of nature, are all built upon the same foundation in the human constitution;
299
and are distinguished only according as we conclude rashly from too few
instances, or cautiously from a sufficient induction (Inquiry 41).

Hence, certain events function as signs of other events and upon observing one
event, which we usually call the cause, we naturally believe another event, the
effect, will follow. However, the natural sign works because of our observation
and experience. It is therefore absolutely possible to be mistaken and to believe a
certain effect will follow a cause although there is no law of nature connecting the
two. It is only through careful and repeated observation that we can come to an
adequate formulation of the natural law and that natural signs of this first category
suggest according to connections which actually exist in nature.
The difference between the second class and the third class of natural signs
is not easy to ascertain. This is what Reid writes:
A second class is that wherein the connection between the sign and thing
signified, is not only established by nature, but discovered to us by a
natural principle, without reasoning or experience. Of this kind are the
natural signs of human thoughts, purposes, and desires, which have been
already mentioned as the natural language of mankind... the principles of
all the fine arts, and of what we call a fine taste, may be resolved into
connections of this kind. A fine taste may be improved by reasoning and
experience; but if the first principles of it were not planted in our minds by
nature, it could never be acquired....
A third class of natural signs comprehends those which, though we never
before had any notion or conception of the thing signified, do suggest it, or
conjure it up, as it were, by a natural kind of magic, and at once give us a
conception, and create a belief of it... The conception of a mind is neither
an idea of sensation nor of reflection; for it is neither like any of our
sensations, nor like any thing we are conscious of. The first conception of
it, as well as the belief of it, and of the common relation it bears to all that
we are conscious of, or remember, is suggested to every thinking being, we
do not know how.
300
The notion of hardness in bodies, as well as the belief of it, are got in a
similar manner; being, by an original principle of our nature, annexed to
that sensation which we have when we feel a hard body (Inquiry 60).

Hence, both kinds of signs are related to the thing signified by nature. Indeed, in
the second class, the connection is “established by nature” and in the third class,
the sign is annexed to the qualities or objects suggested “by an original principle”.
As all natural signs, the connection sign-thing signified is not subject to our will
but it is something that is part of the way nature is made and functions. In the
second class we find signs like facial expressions which are signs of thoughts,
feelings, intentions, and other operations of the mind. The signs of the third class
are sensations that suggest the existence of objects and their qualities. Neither sign
2 nor sign 3 seems to function as signs because of our experience. Indeed, the
connection is discovered, in the second class, “without reasoning or experience”
and in the third class the quality is suggested “by a natural kind of magic.” So what
is the difference between the two classes of signs?
In his recent book, Thomas Reid’s Theory of Perception, Ryan Nichols
distinguishes between Instinctual (class 2) signs and Constitutional (class 3) signs.
1

Instinctual signs are those that require no experience to suggest certain qualities.
And constitutional signs are those that depend on our human constitution. He then
offers as distinguishing features the examples cited by Reid himself. However, I

1
Nichols, Ryan, Thomas Reid’s Theory of Perception (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 2007), pp 87-90.
He seems to think there are four classes of signs: instinctual, constitutional, habitual, and
experiential. My view is that the first class is indeed experiential, but the second and third are both
instinctual and constitutional. As for signs responsible for acquired perception, for example, they
are indeed habitual but result from signs of the first and third class.
301
do not think that his account is very helpful in understanding Reid since both
classes of signs seem to be instinctual, since no experience is required, and
constitutional, since the relation sign-thing signified is base on our constitution.
2

Hence Nichols does not enlighten us in our understanding of the difference
between the second and third category of signs. Wolterstorff, in his book Thomas
Reid and the Story of Epistemology, writes that signs 3 (this is the first class
Wolterstorff examines) are the signs involved in what he calls the “standard
schema of perception” since sensations are the signs of the external quality that
caused the sensation.
3
And signs 2 (the third class he mentions), he writes, are
those that Reid calls “the natural language of mankind” since the signs here (facial
expressions, etc.) are the foundation of language. As Nichols, he seems to
differentiate between these two classes according to the qualities suggested. That
is, he only repeats what these signs signify: in one case thoughts and dispositions

2
Nichols considers the third class of signs as constitutional but Reid write that we understand
“certain features of the countenance, sounds of the voice, and gestures of the body...by the
constitution of our nature” (EIP 636). Hence, Reid thinks that class 2 signs are also constitutional.
3
Wolterstorff, Nicholas, Thomas Reid and the Story of Epistemology (Cambridge, Cambridge
University Press, 2001), pp 166-168. Wolterstorff distinguishes between the standard schema of
perception which includes a sensory experience and the non-standard schema of perception in
which the sign is not a sensation (see chapters 5 and 6). For Wolterstorff, perception of the figure
and magnitude of objects is non-standard perception since the sign is not a sensation but is the
visible figure and magnitude. I find some difficulties understanding visual perception according to
this distinction. Indeed, it is difficult to understand how sensations are associated at all with visual
perception. Wolterstorff calls colour a sensation, and hence the perception of red standard
perception. But what is this sensation? I do not feel anything different when I see red or when I see
the shape of an object. Also, even though there is textual evidence that no sensation is associated
with perception of figure (Inquiry 101) there is also textual evidence that “the position of the
coloured thing...is by the laws of my constitution presented to the mind along with the colour,
without any additional sensation” (Inquiry 99). What is more, although Wolterstorff speaks of signs
3 as those signs involved in standard perception, I cannot understand what kind of signs he
associates with non-standard perception.
302
and in the other qualities like hardness, etc. The problem, however, is that Reid
seems to differentiate between signs according to the way in which they function
and not according to the qualities suggested. The qualities Wolterstorff mentions
are once again simply the examples mentioned by Reid and which are supposed to
illustrate a difference that lies elsewhere.
In his Manifest activity, Yaffe’s distinction is more helpful but still does
not seem to completely capture what Reid has in mind. For Yaffe, the signs in the
third category signify an object O “even if we have never encountered anything of
the same kind as O; we need never have encountered anything hard in order to
conceive of hardness after having a certain tactile sensation.”
4
About signs of the
second class, however, like facial expressions that express intentions or other
mental states, he writes that “we have encountered things of the same sort as those
that are expressed by the signs; that is, we have conscious experience of the
features of our own inner lives.”
5
What Yaffe seems to think is that we have
experienced having our own thoughts, dispositions, intentions, etc. I have
experienced fear or joy and when I see a certain joyful facial expression, for
example, I directly associate this expression with the sentiment of joy. Hence, for
Yaffe, signs 2 are different from signs 1 because in the first case one needs no
experience or observation to know that a joyful facial expression is associated with

4
Yaffe, Gideon, Manifest Activity: Thomas Reid’s Theory of Action (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
2004), p. 29.
5
Yaffe, Manifest Activity, pp. 29-30.
303
a joyful sentiment. The constant conjunction has not been observed. However, we
have experienced our own thoughts before, and when we see a certain facial
expression, we directly associate it with the thought. And signs 2 are different
from signs 3 because in the last case, when we have a certain sensation we directly
judge that the object is hard, for example, “even if we have never encountered
anything of the same kind as” the quality of hardness. He writes: “we need never
have encountered anything hard in order to conceive of hardness after having a
certain tactile sensation.”
6

I think this account brings us closer to Reid’s position. The problem,
however, is that Reid does not write that we need have encountered “things of the
same sort as those that are expressed by the signs.” Indeed, the infant might have
no consciousness of her own mental states, or very little such consciousness. Or,
she might never have experienced fear before and yet she is “put into a fright by an
angry countenance, and soothed again by smiles and blandishments” (Inquiry 60).
In the Essays, Reid writes that “The involuntary signs of the passions and
dispositions of the mind, in the voice, features, and action; are a part of the human
constitution which deserves admiration. The signification of the signs is known to
all men by nature, and previous to all experience” (EAP 185).
For Yaffe, class 2 signs are different from class 1 signs because in the latter
case, we must have experienced the constant conjunction or connection between

6
Ibid., p. 29.
304
the sign and the thing signified. In the other case, we need not experience this
connection. However, Yaffe does seem to hold that we must have experience of
our own inner lives, and then we instinctively associate the facial expression with
the other person’s inner life. I believe, however, that for Reid we need not have
experienced anything at all, not even our own mental states, in order to think of
another person as angry or mean or frightful when we see his expression or hear
the tone of his voice.
However, Yaffe is correct to bring up the idea that there is a sense in which
experience plays a role in class 2 signs that it does not play in class 3 signs. Hence,
I believe that what Reid has in mind is that experience plays no role in the third
case whereas it can play a role in class 2 signs. Class 3 signs are instinctive, they
suggest by a kind of magic, because of our constitution and without any
experience at all. And no degree of experience can make us better feelers of
hardness. This sign never suggests in a rational way. It is not because I have felt
the sensation before and that I have believed in hardness that I become an expert in
feeling hardness. When I perceive, without experience, that something is hard, the
feeling I have moves me directly to the conception of and belief in the hardness of
the object and this happens in an inexplicable way. Indeed, no amount of
experience or of study could help me understand why it is that my sensation of
touch leads me to think of hardness. Also, there is no other way of explaining or of
testing the fact that certain sensations suggest primary qualities like hardness. In
305
the same way, we cannot explain why it is that my own sensations immediately
give me the conception of a mind that is related to that sensation. Hence Reid
writes: “it is impossible to show how our sensations and thoughts can give us the
notion and conception either of a mind or of a faculty” (Inquiry 37). I believe that
the natural signs which suggest primary qualities but also secondary qualities are
signs of this class.
Now, signs of the second class also suggest instinctively, by a kind of
magic, but this instinct we have of believing in anger when we see an angry face
can develop into a more rational principle. Indeed, we can come to better
understand these signs and we can even consider the connection in ourselves
between our behavior and thoughts. We can also test this sign. When somebody is
crying or sad, we can ask her what she is feeling and she will then describe the
feelings or thoughts that her facial expressions express. This kind of sign is
therefore instinctive but it is less mysterious than the third kind of sign. The sign
suggests, like class 3 signs, instinctively. Nevertheless, one could explain that such
modulations of the voice and of facial features are signs of the other’s dispositions
and we also learn that when we feel a certain way, our facial expressions are
similar. What is more, the more experience we have, the better we will be able to
interpret these signs. The sign itself can be improved and express the qualities
even more accurately. Hence Reid writes that
An excellent painter or statuary can tell, not only what are the proportions
of a good face, but what changes every passion makes in it. This, however,
306
is one of the chief mysteries of his art, to the acquisition of which, infinite
labour and attention, as well as a happy genius, are required. But when he
puts his art in practice, and happily expresses a passion by its proper signs,
every one understands the meaning of these signs, without art, and without
reflection (Inquiry 102).
A fine taste may be improved by reasoning and experience; but if the first
principles of it were not planted in our minds by nature, it could never be
acquired.

It seems, therefore, that by attention and experience (and, sometimes, genius) we
can increase our understanding and our knowledge of the range and function of
these signs. However, the first principles of these are planted in our minds and are
known without experience or attention. Hence, before any experience or any
reasoning on his part or any knowledge of his own states of mind, the small infant
knows what these signs suggest. But the relation between the facial expression and
the mind state can still be, in principle, explained or known through experience or
through reasoning. Hence, these signs are both instinctive and rational or
experiential.
It seems also that the signs in the second class display some dependency on
perception that involves signs of the third class. Perception that involves signs 2,
although not acquired, is still based on perception that involves signs 3. If the only
external sense that I have is touch, for example, I will perceive the hardness and
the shape of my desk. Or if I have sight only, I will see the red rose even if I
cannot hear, smell, taste or touch. And the quality perceived is not perceived by
way of another quality perceived. I simply see red. I simply feel the desk. In the
case of perception involving signs 2, however, I must have an external sense
307
functioning in order to sense, further, the quality suggested. Hence, I must be able
to see your face or hear your voice to sense that you are sad. My perception of
your mental state is mediated by the perception of your face. Your mental state, in
this sense, is hidden from plain view, or from my external senses. This leads me to
conclude that perception by the external senses is foundational. I cannot perceive
your sadness if some of my external senses are not functioning. Hence perception
thanks to signs 2 is dependent on perception involving signs 3. I must first
perceive the features of your face, your behavior, the modulations of your voice in
order to perceive, as directly and non-inferentially, your mood.
One could then wonder why we need to mention signs 2 at all. Indeed, why
couldn’t signs 3 function, on one hand, as signs of the face and then also, on the
other hand, as signs of the mental states? In other words, the sensation by which I
perceive your face could serve as a sign not only of the shape of your face but also
of your inner thoughts, intentions, feelings, etc.
7
Reid’s simple answer would be to
say that signs 3 could signify mental attitudes in the same way that smell could
signify sound or taste smell. However, this is not how we are constituted. The
author of our nature intended that we perceive other peoples’ inner life thanks to
their natural language (signs 2).
Reid, however, might also appeal to another difference between the
function of signs 2 and signs 3 to answer this question. Sensations, or signs 3,

7
Gideon Yaffe brought this question to my attention.
308
which signify originally (not because of association or habit), signify a certain
quality like hardness, redness, sweetness, etc. And this quality of the object or
person can be suggested by no other sensation. The redness of the flower cannot be
perceived in any other way than by the color sensation or the impression on my
retina. The hardness of my desk cannot be perceived, originally, by sight, smell,
sound or taste. If I do not perceive hardness I cannot use another sign 3 to help me
out. Qualities of objects perceived by our senses are suggested by sensations that
are specific to those qualities. This seems to be how class 3 signs function. My
intentions or inner states, however, can be expressed by different sorts of signs of
the second class. In the Essays, in the chapter on contracts, and in his paper on
private jurisprudence Reid writes of the intention to keep a promise and on the
obligation of contracts. He observes that contracts can be made between two
nations who do not speak the same language. He writes:
We gave an instance of A traffick carried on between nations who never
saw one another nor employed any agent or factor to go between them. Yet
these nations who tho extreamly rude and unimproved are conscious of
their obligation to deal fairly & honestly by one another and act
accordingly (PE 157).
8

He writes earlier that it is both by artificial and by natural signs that
men can affirm or deny accept or refuse, promise or contract, threaten or
Supplicate, praise or blame, encourage or discourage, and in a word by
which we can communicate to others our thoughts our Sentiments our
purposes our passions and afflictions (PE 157).

8
Thomas Reid, Practical Ethics, Being Lectures and Papers on Natural Religion, Self-
Government, Natural Jurisprudence, and the Law of Nations, ed. Knud Haakonssen (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1990), 157.
309

Now, we can imagine meeting a person who does not speak our language and
having to express our acceptance of a contract. The sensation of sight (sign 3) by
which this person perceives our face will not be sufficient and perhaps not even
necessary to express our intention. We will probably mime our thoughts in
different ways and using different sounds, behaviors and expressions. Our
interlocutor will receive different sensations, different signs 3 associated with the
behavior. And it is not these signs of color or sound that suggest my intention. It is
my overall behavior that will suggest my desire to enter into contract. The sign is
much broader than a single sensation and the quality perceived is much broader in
range than the quality of the object perceived. Signs of the second class represent a
non-conventional, non-verbal social language. In the same way that one word may
be replaced by another or one expression by another in conventional languages to
express the same thought, one behavior or physical expression might be replaced
by another in our natural language to express the same attitude.
Signs of the second class are inherently social signs, allowing interaction
and relationship between human beings. Signs of the third class are individual and
they specifically suggest physical qualities of the natural world. Signs 2, however,
suggest mental operations that are part of an immaterial reality. Without these
signs, we would probably be comparable to brute animals who perceive shapes,
colors and smells. Although brutes have sensations they do not have a natural
language expressing an inner life of thoughts and feelings (which leads us to think
310
that they do not have our emotional and rational capacities). It seems, therefore,
that it is not part of the nature of signs of the third class to suggest such mental
properties. And having such signs is not sufficient for social interaction.
Personally, I think much more should be said about the relation between
signs and perception. Surely, not all cases of conception and belief formation
based on natural signs are cases of perception. Indeed, although I perceive the fire
and the pan full of water on the fire, I believe the water will boil but I do not
perceive it boiling. However, when I hear the bus but I do not see it and yet I
believe it is the bus passing by in the street, although this perception involves
experience (signs 1), the sound of the bus which really is out there leads me to
have a conception which I first had by sight (and which involved signs 3). There is
a connection, by my senses, between the bus and my conception. The bus is there
and it is available and ascertained or ‘captured’ somehow by my senses. Here, I
really do seem to be perceiving the bus. I am not sure whether conceptions and
beliefs that depend on class 2 signs are really cases of perception. I do not really
see or perceive, strictly speaking, your thoughts or mental states. And yet, they are
right there, expressed by your facial expressions that sometimes suggest them. My
perception by my senses of your face directly suggests your thoughts. It’s as if
your mental states are in your facial expression, somehow. Hence, I do seem to
perceive your thoughts in a way that I do not perceive the boiling water.
311
For the sake of simplicity, let us assume that perception takes place when
signs 1, 2 or 3 suggest the conception and belief of the object or qualities that are
present and when signs 1 and 2 are based on a connection, by signs 3, between the
object (or it’s expression) and our conception and belief of it. And I think Reid
would agree to call these cases perception by our external senses, and in the rest of
my paper, this is what I will mean also by ‘perception by the external senses.’
Hence, all cases in which we form a conception and belief about an object and its
qualities by means of a signs 2 are cases of perception by the external senses. In
the next two sections I will show that though many philosophers have explained
aesthetic perception and moral perception by appealing only to natural signs
involved in perception by the external senses, my view is that this kind of
perception is not sufficient to give us aesthetic and moral conceptions and beliefs.
External perception is required to form judgments about beauty and morals but it is
not sufficient. Moral perception involves but cannot be reduced to external
perception. In other words, perception by our external senses and which involves,
at least, signs 2 and 3, is a necessary but not sufficient condition for moral
perception.
III. The perception of beauty and the internal sense of taste
I am struck by how little mention is made of the internal sense of taste in
the literature dealing with Reid’s aesthetics and philosophy of art. Much of the
312
time, perception of aesthetic qualities is reduced to perception by the external
senses. It is true that aesthetic perception requires perception by the external
senses. It is the aim of this section, however, to show that aesthetic perception
cannot be reduced to perception by the external senses.
Recently, papers by philosophers like Peter Kivy and Michael J. DeMoor
examine important aspects of Reid’s philosophy of art, but both philosophers leave
out any mention of the role of an internal sense.
9
DeMoor tends to focus on aspects
of Reid’s philosophy of taste that are found in the Inquiry and Kivy on aspects
found in the Essay on Taste of the Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man. As
DeMoor argues, the signs that are involved in art-related perception are not only
signs of the second class but also of the first and third class. And indeed, I agree
that these signs suggest qualities that are tied to our perception of aesthetic
qualities. I think this is an important point because it shows that aesthetic
perception or evaluation is tied to perception in general, and not just to perception
of qualities that express mental states. As DeMoor notices, most of the comments
found in the Inquiry about art or about our perception of art-related qualities are
tied to comments about class 2 signs. For example, Reid writes:
It may be observed, that as the first class of natural signs I have mentioned,
is the foundation of true philosophy, and the second, the foundation of the

9
Kivy, Peter, “Reid’s philosophy of Art”, The Cambridge Companion to Thomas Reid, ed. Terence
Cuneo and René van Woudenberg (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004),
267-288.
DeMoor, Michael, “The Philosophy of Art in Reid’s Inquiry and its Place in 18
th
Century Scottish
Aesthetics”, Journal of Scottish Philosophy (2006), Vol. 4.1: 37-49.
313
fine arts, or of taste; so the last is the foundation of common sense; a part of
human nature which hath never been explained (Inquiry 61).

Reid also thinks that the natural signs of the second class are the signs that make
up our natural language (see Inquiry 190) and he writes:
It were easy to show, that the fine arts of the musician, the painter, the
actor, and the orator, so far as they are expressive; although the knowledge
of them requires in us a delicate taste, a nice judgment, and much study and
practice; yet they are nothing else but the language of nature, which we
brought into the world with us, but have unlearned by disuse, and so find
the greatest difficulty in recovering it (Inquiry 53).

The fine arts, therefore, are expressive of certain emotions, passions or
dispositions of the mind. And the artist has a great knowledge of the signs that
suggest these emotions and must attend to them more carefully in order to
represent them in his work. In the Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Reid adds
that the objects of taste, or beauties, that we perceive are real excellences (EIP
760). He writes:
There are some attributes of mind which have a real and intrinsic
excellence, compared with their contraries, and which, in every degree, are
the natural objects of esteem, but, in an uncommon degree are objects of
admiration. We put a value upon them because they are intrinsically
valuable and excellent (EIP 768).

These passages, among others (EIP 770, 771, 776-778; and especially 791-792)
lead us to think that what we perceive when we perceive aesthetic qualities are
states of mind that are excellent or morally esteemable. And indeed, we know that
the perception of internal states of mind is made possible by the signs of natural
language (facial expressions, etc.) and which are represented in the works of art.
314
However, as DeMoor correctly argues, Reid connects painting, for
example, and its aesthetic qualities with signs of class 1 and 3 also. In particular,
the artist, according to Reid, must pay close attention and have a great mastery of
visible figure, of the appearance of color, of the distance of objects in relation to
their appearance, etc. Reid writes:
There is a certain degradation of the colour, and a certain confusion and
indistinctness of the minute parts, which is the natural consequence of the
removal of the object to a greater distance. Those that are not painters, or
critics in painting, overlook this... But the masters in painting know how,
by the degradation of the colour, and the confusion of the minute parts,
figures, which are upon the same canvas, and at the same distance from the
eye, may be made to represent objects which are at the most unequal
distances.
Every one who is acquainted with the rules of perspective, knows that the
appearance of the figure of the book must vary in every different position...
(Inquiry 83).

Hence, aesthetic qualities are also suggested by signs such as the appearance of
figure. And art-relevant perception involves qualities such as figure, color but also
qualities of mind expressed by modulations of the face or in art. The signs
involved in aesthetic perception are therefore signs of all three classes.
Peter Kivy also argues that beauty and sublimity are found in the states of
mind expressed in the characters of literature, art, etc. He writes that: “it is the
beautifully and sublimely passionate states of mind of its represented characters
from which works of art get, according to Reid, part of their necessarily derivative
beauty and grandeur” (Kivy, 283). Hence, beauty in objects of art or in physical
objects is found in so far as they represent the beauty found in a mind. And,
315
indeed, as I have noted, this does seem to be what Reid has in mind in the Essays
on the Intellectual Powers. Kivy adds that the other part of beauty is got from the
manner or style in which these states are depicted. Beauty, he argues, is found in
the expression of beautiful passions and characters and in the style in which these
are presented or expressed. He would therefore agree that signs of the second class
are involved in our perception of beauty since we are perceiving first and foremost
the expression of beautiful states of mind. Kivy and DeMoor both seek to explain
Reid’s philosophy of art, and therefore the perception of art-relevant qualities, in
terms of perception by the external senses.
Indeed, it is true that perception by the external senses is an essential
element of aesthetic perception. I believe Reid holds that aesthetic perception
depends on perception by the external senses (which mostly involves signs 2 but
also signs 3 and 1). Indeed, at one point in the Essay on Taste, Reid writes that
beauty and deformity result from the structure of the object. Hence, one must
perceive the structure of the object to perceive beauty. But nevertheless, beauty
cannot be reduced to such qualities. Reid writes:
Beauty or deformity in an object, results from its nature or structure. To
perceive the beauty therefore, we must perceive the nature or structure from
which it results. In this the internal sense differs from the external. Our
external senses may discover qualities which do not depend upon any
antecedent perception. Thus I can hear the sound of a bell, though I never
perceived any thing else belonging to it. But it is impossible to perceive the
beauty of an object, without perceiving the object, or at least conceiving it.
On this account, Dr. Hutcheson called the senses of beauty and harmony
reflex or secondary senses; because the beauty cannot be perceived unless
the object be perceived by some other power of the mind. Thus the sense of
316
harmony and melody in sounds opposes the external sense of hearing, and
is a kind of secondary to it. A man born deaf may be a good judge of
beauties of another kind, but can have no notion of melody or harmony.
The like may be said of beauties in colouring and in figure, which can
never be perceived without the senses, by which colour and figure are
perceived (EIP 760-761).

I think Reid is very clear in this passage that we need the external senses to
perceive qualities like figure and shape and facial expressions and the aesthetic
qualities are somehow part of or inherent in these qualities but are not reducible to
them. Indeed, one must have a sense of taste in order to perceive the beauty of the
figure, the shape, the colour, or the disposition of mind. It is one thing to perceive
your joy or sadness; it is another to perceive the beauty of your states of mind.
It is strange that DeMoor and Kivy do not mention that beauty, for
example, must be more than an excellent character or a symmetrical figure.
Indeed, DeMoor writes that aesthetic qualities are excellences of minds expressed
in works of art. He argues that there are also non-aesthetic qualities that are part of
art-relevant perception, but those that are aesthetic are those that are expressive of
excellent, and more specifically moral, states of mind. He seems to think that there
is nothing more to aesthetic qualities than these expressions. The problem,
however, is that this does not explain why or how we perceive them to be
beautiful. Indeed, the difference between the perception of a state of mind that has
no aesthetic quality and one that does is just that the latter is beautiful and the
former is not. But in what lies their difference?
317
This is the same problem with Kivy’s account. He writes that the
“painting...derives the chief part of its beauty from the representation of the
passion and dispositions of men in the attitudes and countenances” (Kivy 277). He
writes a little later: “It is the possession of the garden variety emotions as
perceptual properties that gives the fine arts their beautiful and sublime features.
And their beautiful and sublime features arouse in us various enjoyable feelings
described above” (Kivy 279 – the garden variety emotions are joy, hope, fear,
sadness, jealousy, anger, etc.). He seems to say at first that the beauty of the work
of art lays in the representation of mental states, whatever the state. A beautiful
painting will be beautiful in so far as it represents any mental state. But he later
seems to restrict beautiful works of arts only to those works of art that are
expressive of beautiful states of mind and which do so in a beautiful style. I have
presented his account in a way that brings out the circularity. Indeed, we still
wonder why the sate of mind is beautiful. What makes one state of mind beautiful
and another ugly? What is the difference between a painting that represents states
of mind and which is beautiful and a painting that represents states of mind but
which is ugly? And what makes a style beautiful? The beauty must be something
else than just the representation, or just the representation of a beautiful state of
mind, or just a certain style. In other words, although perception by the external
senses is required to perceive the mental states, the figure, the shape the color, the
318
sounds, etc. the beauty of those qualities is not captured by those senses. I believe
this is why Reid writes about the perception of sound and of harmony:
When I hear a certain sound, I conclude immediately, without reasoning,
that a coach passes by. There are no premises from which this conclusion is
inferred by any rules of logic. It is the effect of a principle of our nature,
common to us with the brutes.
Although it is by hearing, that we are capable of the perceptions of
harmony and melody, and of all the charms of music; yet it would seem,
that these require a higher faculty, which we call a musical ear. This seems
to be in very different degrees, in those who have the bare faculty of
hearing equally perfect; and therefore ought not to be classed with the
external senses, but in a higher order (Inquiry 50).

It is one thing to perceive the sound of a coach passing by or the sound of bells. It
is another to perceive the harmony of sounds. Music might be expressive of mental
states and follow certain mathematical rules, but yet the beauty of the music seems
to transcend those qualities. Indeed, a person might write music that expresses
anger and this person might write the music according to the rules of harmony, and
yet the melody might still not be beautiful. In the same way, I might hear with my
ears the notes and I might be able to reason about the succession of notes but I
need a different sense, and internal one, to perceive the harmony and the beauty of
the work. Certain characteristics must be present and certain conditions must be
met (like the symmetry of the parts, or the structure of the building, or the
expression of mental states) but the question still remains: why is it that we
perceive these relations of conditions and characteristics as beautiful? Reid states
that the external senses are not sufficient to let us perceive the beauty of objects.
One must also have the internal sense of taste to perceive beauty.
319
III. Moral perception and the moral sense
I believe that the situation is similar for moral perception. Indeed, signs of
the second class are those that are mostly associated with our perception of moral
qualities but other signs are also involved. Describing moral perception in the
same way as perception by our external senses, however, is not sufficient to
understand how we actually see moral qualities. First of all, let us examine why
the natural signs of the second class are involved in moral perception. Reid often
writes that moral qualities are first of all found in agents. Moral qualities are
certain intentions, dispositions, etc. And we think of actions as morally good or
bad insofar as they are the expressions of morally good or bad qualities of the
agent. Reid writes the following:
It appears evident… That the thoughts, purposes, and dispositions of the
mind, have their natural signs in the features of the face, the modulation of
the voice, and the motion and attitude of the body: That without a natural
knowledge of the connection between these signs, and the things signified
by them, language could never have been invented and established among
men… (Inquiry 59).

Hence, the features of the face, etc. are signs of thoughts, purposes, and
dispositions of the mind. In the Essays on the Active Powers, Reid writes:
We consider the moral virtues as inherent in the mind of a good man, even
when there is no opportunity of exercising them. And what is it in the mind
which we call the virtue of justice, when it is not exercised? It can be
nothing but a fixed purpose, or determination, to act according to the rules
of justice, when there is opportunity (EAP 85).

320
Moral virtues or qualities, Reid writes here, are fixed purposes or resolutions to
follow the rules of justice. If we put the two passages together, therefore, moral
qualities are purposes or resolutions to follow duty, and we perceive these qualities
by means of the natural signs (of the second class) which suggest them. And the
following passage shows that the moral qualities of actions are derivative of the
moral qualities of agents:
We likewise ascribe moral goodness to an agent on account of an action he
has done; we call it a good action, though, in this case, the goodness is
properly in the man, and is only by a figure ascribed to the action (EAP
394; for parallels with the sense of taste, see EIP 793-797).

Natural signs like facial expressions and modulations of the voice are hence
clearly signs of the moral qualities of agents.
Terence Cuneo, in his three recent papers on the subject, actually argues
that moral perception is a case of (what he and Wolterstorff call) non-standard
perception, that is, perception in which the signs are not sensations but features of
the face, etc. He writes, therefore, that “there is no special problem of how we can
perceive moral qualities as opposed to other higher order features of persons and
mental states. Moral perception of this kind is simply a special case of perceiving
features of persons and things in the mind.”
10
He writes in another paper that “at
work in Reid’s account of moral perception is the claim that the countenance and
behaviour of an agent S function as signs for moral qualities, such as her

10
Cuneo (2003), Reidian Moral Perception, 240.
321
temperance, courage or kindness.”
11
For Cuneo, moral perception is hence “simply
a special case of perceiving features of persons and things in the mind.”
12
This is
how he summarizes Reid’s account of moral perception:
“Moral quality of S → sign (countenance or behaviour of S) →
Apprehension of moral quality/moral belief by S’ → Affection/feeling in
S’.”
13

Finally, Cuneo holds that, according to Reid, signs suggest evaluative moral
qualities and deontic moral qualities. An evaluative quality (‘this person is
compassionate’, or ‘this murder is wicked’) is a quality that merits a certain
response but is not itself a directive. Deontic properties, however, (‘That one ought
not to murder’) are directive. Evaluative or particular moral facts result from non-
moral facts (a cluster of non-moral qualities), and we apprehend these moral
qualities by conceptual apprehension. Deontic properties are relations between the
evaluative qualities and the response this quality merits, and this relation is also
apprehended conceptually. For Cuneo, only the natural signs of the second class
suggest both evaluative and deontic properties.
14

The problem now is to understand what differentiates moral qualities from
non-moral qualities. Cuneo writes that evaluative qualities are dispositions of
mind, desires, intentions, etc. But what differentiates the ones that are moral from

11
Cuneo (2006), Signs of Value, 72.
12
Cuneo (2003), Reidian Moral Perception, 240.
13
Cuneo (2006), Signs of Value, 73.
14
See Cuneo (2003), Reidian Moral Perception, pp. 242; 246-248 and Cuneo (2004), Reid’s Moral
Philosophy, 244; 261-263.
322
those that aren’t? Reid clearly thinks that infants can perceive a person’s anger,
sadness, or happiness by the natural signs of the second class. But the infant’s
moral sense is not developed yet, and still the infant recognizes these qualities. In
fact, many resolutions and dispositions have nothing to do with morality. As
adults, we perceive some resolutions to be selfish or sometimes resolutions to
follow a non-moral end, etc. And at other times we perceive, supposedly with the
same natural signs, resolutions that are moral. Why is it that a cluster of non-moral
qualities is associated with sometimes a non-moral disposition (fear or joy) and at
other times with a moral disposition (jealousy or an intention to follow justice)? If
the moral quality is out there (and it is for Reid), then where lies the difference?
Cuneo seems to think that we master certain concepts and that we think of
non-moral and moral qualities as instantiations of the concept. Hence, I master the
concept of sensitivity or jealousy and I recognize this mental state as an instance of
such a concept. It seems to me, however, that Reid holds that our perceptions and
the conceptions involved in perception are more basic than that. I perceive redness
when I have red in my mind’s eye, when I mentally grasp ‘that colour, whatever it
is’ and then believe that the object has ‘that colour, whatever it is.’ To facilitate
things and as we grow older we learn to attach words or concepts to such qualities,
but these words are not needed to perceive. I think this is how Reid understands
perception, or more specifically conception, and I see no reason to understand
moral conception differently. If fact, Reid writes about our first moral conceptions:
323
Our first moral conceptions are probably got by attending coolly to the
conduct of others, and observing what moves our approbation, what our
indignation. These sentiments spring from our moral faculty as naturally as
the sensations of sweet and bitter from the faculty of taste (EAP 372-373).

Before having any kind of theoretical knowledge or mastery of concepts, I can still
perceive moral qualities as easily as sweet and bitter.
We must be careful, however, not to conclude that the difference between
moral qualities and non-moral qualities lies in the feeling associated with qualities.
Approbation and indignation and moral sentiments in general are not feelings for
Reid. They do include feelings and also affections, but these are based on
judgments about the person or action. This is what Reid writes:
Let me now consider how I am affected when I see a man exerting himself
nobly in a good cause. I am conscious that the effect of his conduct on my
mind is complex, though it may be called by one name. I look up to his
virtue, I approve, I admire it. In doing so, I have pleasure indeed, or an
agreeable feeling; this is granted. But I find myself interested in his success
and in his fame. This is affection; it is love and esteem, which is more than
mere feeling. The man is the object of this esteem; but in mere feeling there
is no object.
I am likewise conscious, that this agreeable feeling in me, and this esteem
of him, depend entirely upon the judgment I form of his conduct. I judge
that this conduct merits esteem; and, while I thus judge, I cannot but esteem
him, and contemplate his conduct with pleasure. Persuade me that he was
bribed, or that he acted from some mercenary or bad motive, immediately
my esteem and my agreeable feeling vanish (EAP 463).

Hence, when our reasoning capacities are developed enough to be able to make
judgments, and as our moral sense develops also, we come to judge of conducts as
good or bad, not because of the feelings that these actions provoke but because we
judge or see that they are good or bad.
324
But why do we judge that a person or a conduct is good or bad? We still do
not know the difference between moral and non-moral qualities. Are moral
dispositions and resolutions just like any other resolution? This is, in fact, what
Cuneo’s account seems to suggest. He writes of evaluative qualities as qualities
that are not very different from any other non-moral qualities. But then because we
master certain concept, we perceive that these evaluative qualities merit a certain
response. And the relation between evaluative qualities and the appropriate
response are deontic moral qualities. I think that this distinction is misleading and
very un-Reidian. I do not believe Reid would accept this distinction between
evaluative and deontic properties. Indeed, Reid clearly holds that moral qualities
include the notion of obligation. To perceive a moral quality is to perceive that this
quality is one that we ought or ought not perform. In other words, all moral
qualities merit a response and are tied to motivation. He writes:
The notion of justice carries inseparably along with it, a perception of its
moral obligation. For to say that such an action is an act of justice, that it is
due, that it ought to be done, that we are under a moral obligation to do it,
are only different ways of expressing the same thing (EAP 413).

To say that something is required by justice or is our duty is to say that we are
under a moral obligation to perform such an action. In fact, although virtue and
vice most properly belong to agents, it is still possible to consider an action
independently of the agent; to consider it abstractly. Reid writes:
But what do we mean by goodness in an action considered abstractly? To
me it appears to be in this, and this only, that it is an action which ought to
325
be done by those who have the power and opportunity, and the capacity of
perceiving their obligation to do it (EAP 395).

What is a good action considered independently from the agent? It is an action
which ought to be done; or an action which we perceive an obligation to perform.
Reid, therefore, seems to think that the quality perceived is first of all an
obligation. Part of the essence of moral qualities is an obligation to perform or to
refrain from performing actions with such qualities. And Reid does not seem to
think that this obligation is a concept that holds for actions and their relation to a
response. We simply perceive the obligation.
But what is an obligation? The obligation is not a property of the action
only or of the agent only. It is a relation that obtains between types of agents and
types of actions. Reid points out: : “If we consider the abstract notion of duty, or
moral obligation, it appears to be neither any real quality of the action considered
by itself, nor of the agent considered without respect to the action, but a certain
relation between the one and the other” (EAP 228) So, when we consider an agent
and his action, part of what we perceive is the agent’s mental states (using signs 2)
but we also perceive the agent’s conduct and, at the same time, perceive that this
conduct is one that he should or should not perform. So, to come back to our
earlier question of what differentiates mental states that are non-moral from those
that are moral, we can now understand that we do not perceive non-moral mental
states like animal passions, fear, joy, sadness, or involuntary dispositions in
relation to actions. Indeed, I perceive your sadness by the features of your face but
326
part of my conception does not include anything else than your sadness. When I
perceive your lack of forgiveness, however, I cannot even think of it without
thinking of others or of actions you ought not perform. Part of my very conception
of your moral resolutions is that you have a mental state related to virtuous actions.
My conception of non-moral mental states does not include actions related to these
states. It is perhaps for this reason that Reid writes that our first moral conceptions
are got by attending to conduct (and not to the facial expressions of agents). In
perceiving moral conduct, we perceive it as being an action that the agent ought to
resolve to perform or not.
What all this implies, therefore, is that moral perception involves all the
signs involved in external perception. Our perception of the mental dispositions of
agents and our perception of their actions involve signs of the second class, but
also of the first and third. Indeed, we perceive by sight, sound, etc. actions or
conduct and most of our perception involves acquired habits, which are themselves
based on signs 1 and 3. Reid could have therefore written, in parallel with the
sense of taste, that moral perception is, as Hutcheson had recognized, a secondary
sense. Recall the passage cited earlier:
Beauty or deformity in an object, results from its nature or structure. To
perceive the beauty therefore, we must perceive the nature or structure from
which it results. In this the internal sense differs from the external. Our
external senses may discover qualities which do not depend upon any
antecedent perception… But it is impossible to perceive the beauty of an
object, without perceiving the object, or at least conceiving it. On this
account, Dr. Hutcheson called the senses of beauty and harmony reflex or
secondary senses; because the beauty cannot be perceived unless the object
327
be perceived by some other power of the mind… The like may be said of
beauties in colouring and in figure, which can never be perceived without
the senses, by which colour and figure are perceived (EIP 760-761).

In the same way, Reid could have noted that we must perceive agents and their
actions (and all three classes of signs are necessary for this) in order to perceive
moral qualities. Perhaps, as I will suggest in a few paragraphs, the external non-
moral qualities perceived by our external senses function as signs of aesthetic and
moral qualities. When we see certain actions and agents and their relation, these
suggest to us moral qualities.
Now, we could think that we can perceive agents and even their mental
states and that we can perceive actions and their relation to agents but that the
action is one that ought to be done or not is not something we actually perceive.
Indeed, I believe that perception by the external senses is not sufficient, according
to Reid, to perceive moral obligation, duty or vice. What we perceive by our
external senses thanks to natural signs functions as signs of a real but abstract
quality of those objects perceived. But the abstract qualities are themselves not
perceived by our external senses. According to Reid, it is our moral sense that is
sensitive to these qualities. And without a moral sense, we could not perceive
them. Hence Reid writes about conscience:
Its intention is manifestly implied in its office, which is, to show us what is
good, what bad, and what indifferent in human conduct” (EAP 253).
“It is the candle of the Lord set up within us, to guide our steps. Other
principles may urge and impel, but this only authorizes. Other principles
ought to be controlled by this; this may be, but never ought to be controlled
by any other, and never can be with innocence” (EAP 254).
328
In every action of a moral agent, his conscience is either altogether silent,
or it pronounces the action to be good, or bad, or indifferent (EAP 387).
A being who has no more conception of moral goodness and baseness, of
right and wrong, than a blind man of colours, can have no regard to it in his
conduct, and therefore can neither be virtuous nor vicious (EAP 398).

Without sight we cannot judge of colors and without the moral sense we cannot
judge or perceive moral qualities. But our external senses, by themselves, do not
yield any perception of moral qualities.
Reid also holds that by the moral sense we perceive the self-evident truths
of general rules. If this is the case, and if by reflection on these general rules we
get conceptions of right and wrong, then perhaps moral qualities, it might be
objected, are not qualities of the object but they are values we impose on or apply
to reality. Or perhaps human conduct is moral insofar as it falls under such a
general rule. This would mean that there is nothing about the action or agent
themselves that is of a moral nature. We would have moral norms in our minds
and moral concepts and conduct would be moral or not if it falls or not under such
norms or concepts. This is obviously not Reid’s position, since he often writes of
qualities like beauty or virtue and vice as being in the object and not in our minds
and the point of comparing the internal senses to the external senses is to bring out
the idea that the qualities perceived by the internal senses are in the object.
However, Reid should have enlightened us much more on this point.
But he would perhaps answer by drawing a parallel between the sense of
taste and the moral sense. He had written in the Essays on the Intellectual Powers
329
that some of our perception of beauty is instinctive and some is rational. Some
qualities that please us are occult, and they resemble secondary qualities since we
know them mostly from their effect. But in other cases, we can understand why the
object is beautiful. This is what Reid writes:
Our judgment of beauty is in many cases more enlightened. A work of art
may appear beautiful to the most ignorant, even to a child. It pleases, but he
knows not why. To one who understands it perfectly, and perceives how
every part is fitted with exact judgment to its end, the beauty is not
mysterious; it is perfectly comprehended; and he knows wherein it consists,
as well as how it affects him (EIP 755).

A little later in this first chapter on taste Reid writes that sometimes superior
excellence is directly perceived, and is comparable to primary qualities. But at
other times, we cannot describe or understand the excellence but we will perceive
it, as is the case with secondary qualities. But even in the first case, one might
grasp the excellence without understanding what qualities it consists in. In chapter
IV, Of Beauty, Reid writes the following:
This distinction between a rational judgment of beauty and that which is
instinctive, may be illustrated by an instance.
In a heap of pebbles, one that is remarkable for brilliancy of colour, and
regularity of figure will be picked out of the heap by a child. He perceives a
beauty in it, puts a value upon it, and is fond of the property of it. For this
preference, no reason can be given, but that children are, by their
constitution, fond of brilliant colours, and of regular figures.
Suppose again that an expert mechanic views a well constructed machine.
He sees all its parts to be made of the fittest materials, and of the most
proper form; nothing superfluous, nothing deficient; every part adapted to
its use, and the whole fitted in the most perfect manner to the end for which
it is intended. He pronounces it to be a beautiful machine. He views it with
the same agreeable emotion as the child viewed the pebble; but he can give
a reason for his judgment, and point out the particular perfections of the
object on which it is grounded (EIP 787).
330

Hence, there are two ways of perceiving aesthetic qualities. I can simply and
instinctively find an object beautiful, for no reason, or I can understand that the
beauty is in the structure, in the relation of parts, etc.
I believe Reid would have said the same thing for moral perception. Of
course, small infants do not perceive moral qualities since one must have at least a
slightly developed moral sense to do so. But once reason and the moral sense start
to grow, one can start to perceive that some conduct is right or wrong. Again, one
might simply perceive conduct as morally virtuous, for example, but one might not
be able to explain this perception. One might have never reflected on moral
axioms. After all, Reid is clear that we have no innate ideas of right and wrong (he
writes that conscience does not require innate ideas, “any more than the faculty of
seeing requires innate ideas of colours, or than the faculty of reasoning requires
innate ideas of cones, cylinders, and spheres” EAP 434). And moral axioms are
recognized as true without reasoning and demonstration but one must at least think
about them, or have a conception of them. But perhaps we perceive moral qualities
before having any conception of these moral axioms, like the child who perceives
beauty instinctively. In this sense, the perception of the moral qualities of
particular actions comes first. And in this context, the following passage makes
sense:
Our first moral conceptions are probably got by attending coolly to the
conduct of others, and observing what moves our approbation, what our
331
indignation. These sentiments spring from our moral faculty as naturally as
the sensations of sweet and bitter from the faculty of taste (EAP 372-373).

Without any conception of general rules, of axioms, of right or wrong, we can
naturally (instinctively) perceive some actions to be morally right or wrong.
But as we think about agents and their conducts, and once we come to think
about the moral rules that apply to classes of actions, we could come to understand
and explain which non-moral qualities are tied to moral qualities. An action could
be seen as an instance of a more general axiom. Or, we might come to understand
the conditions that must obtain for an action to be morally obligatory. And in fact,
this is what Reid does when he gives a whole list of conditions that must be met
for moral obligation to obtain and he calls them “qualifications of the action and of
the agent” (see EAP 229-230). Although our perception is immediate and direct,
we could still explain why we perceive moral qualities and these qualities could
perhaps be known in another way. This would lead me to say that non-moral
qualities we perceive using our external senses (using signs of all three categories)
suggest moral qualities in the same way that signs of the second class suggest
qualities that are not seen (properly speaking). The connection between qualities
perceived by our external senses and moral or aesthetic qualities perceived by our
internal senses would be established by nature, “but discovered to us by a natural
principle, without reasoning or experience” (Inquiry 60). But nevertheless, our
moral sense and our sense of taste may be improved by reasoning and experience
and our perceptions could be explained by a perfected understanding of the non-
332
moral qualities that are the bases for moral qualities. Had Reid lived even longer, I
believe he might have given us more details about the conditions and nature of the
non-moral qualities in which moral qualities are embedded and expressed.
In conclusion, there is for Reid an analogy in nature in general, as we will
see in the next chapter, but there is also an analogy in human nature. Indeed, signs
of the second quality are both instinctive and experiential. The facial expressions
and behaviors will be signs of internal happenings. And the signs involved are the
instinctive/rational signs of the second category. Now, when external perception is
at work, and this perception involves signs of all three categories, the external
perception itself can function as a sign of moral and aesthetic qualities. And
external perception functions as a sign of the second category also. Indeed, I can
instinctively perceive something to be beautiful or virtuous but I can also have a
more rational perception of the beautiful object or of the virtuous action. External
perception as it involves all three kinds of signs is essential to moral perception but
it is not sufficient.

333
Conclusion: Agents and their Motives
I would like to conclude this dissertation by briefly examining how motives
are related to the self, or the agent. In Reid’s understanding of the human nature
or constitution motives or principles of action hold an important place. Reid must
think, therefore, that understanding those principles that are involved in our actions
helps us to understand human nature. Throughout the different chapters of this
dissertation we have examined different questions related to Reid’s account of
motives, but what have we learned about the agent? We have learned that motives
are an important aspect of the self. An agent’s desires about present purposes and
his desires for certain ends and his tendency to act according to them are all
aspects of the self. Motives are part of the self. What is more, Reid seems to think
that some motives, like the moral ones, are more personal or self-related than other
motives, like the animal ones. Hence, some motives seem to be part of or
expressive of the self more than others. However, it is also Reid’s position that the
self is not, in itself, reducible to motives but is behind the scenes. I will therefore
examine why and how, for Reid, motives can be part of the self and yet the self be
one indivisible substance that does not have parts.
We cannot doubt, according to Reid, that we have an individual mind or
self. Already at the beginning of the Inquiry, Reid writes that
It appears then to be an undeniable fact, that from thought or sensation, all
mankind, constantly and invariably, from the first dawning of reflection, do
334
infer a power or faculty of thinking, and a permanent being or mind to
which that faculty belongs; and that we as invariably ascribe all the various
kinds of sensation and thought we are conscious of, to one individual mind
or self (Inquiry 37).

We cannot think of all our faculties and of all the operations of our mind without
thinking that the mind or self is the bearer of these faculties and operations.
According to Reid, it is a first principle of contingent truth
that the thoughts of which I am conscious, are the thoughts of a being
which I call myself, my mind, my person (EIP 620).

Now, this self which we cannot help believing in and relying on is
immaterial and indivisible for Reid. In one of his lectures on the Nature and
Duration of the Soul he writes that mind is a single substance, not divisible into
parts.
1
And in his chapter on personal identity, Reid writes:
It is perhaps more difficult to ascertain with precision the meaning of
personality; but it is not necessary in the present subject: it is sufficient for
our purpose to observe, that all mankind place their personality in
something that cannot be divided, or consist of parts. A part of a person is a
manifest absurdity (EIP 340).
A person is something indivisible, and is what Leibnitz calls a monad (EIP
341).

This self, or person, is for Reid an indivisible and non-material substance that
continues the same uninterrupted existence as long as the agent lives.
Reid therefore clearly holds that the immaterial self cannot be divided or
consist of parts. What is the relation then between this immaterial self and its
motives? There is an important sense in which motives are part of our constitution,

1
See Thomas Reid, Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, ed. Derek R. Brookes and Knud
Haakonssen (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2002), 625.
335
for Reid. Mechanical, animal and rational motives are all part of our constitution.
In the case of the animal motives, Reid writes:
The natural desires I have mentioned are, in themselves, neither virtuous
nor vicious. They are parts of our constitution, and ought to be regulated
and restrained, when they stand in competition with more important
principles. But to eradicate them if it were possible, and I believe it is not,
would only be like cutting off a leg or an arm, that is, making ourselves
other creatures than God has made us (EAP 131).

Our desires, all of them, are intrinsically part of our constitution. And Reid claims
that when our animal desires are contrary to what duty requires, self-denial is
necessary in order to follow duty (EAP 220). Also, in order to follow what we
think is right, self-government or self-control is required. Hence, it seems that one
part of the self must be governed by another.
Hence, Reid speaks of the agent as one indivisible substance and he also
speaks of motives as being part of the agent’s constitution. To understand how
Reid arrives at these ideas, I would like to draw quite extensively on his notes on
matter, physiology and animate creation.
2
I believe that Reid’s view that is implied
not only in these papers but throughout his works is that the human agent is in part
vegetable, in part animal and in part spiritual and it is only the spiritual part that is
the self per se. This self is an immaterial and indivisible substance and it is the
organizing and unifying principle of the agent as a whole, as it is both immaterial
and material. Both the vegetable and animal parts function according to the laws of

2
These notes, papers, reflections are assembled in Thomas Reid on the Animate Creation, Papers
Relating to the Life Sciences, ed. Paul Wood (University Park, Pennsylvania: The Pennsylvania
State University Press, 1995).
336
matter. As far as the mind is part of creation, it also follows certain laws of nature
but only in a limited sense since the agent is also the source and initiators of her
own laws and resolutions.
As he considers nature as a whole, Reid distinguishes between matter,
vegetables and animals. Matter is inanimate and its life is not taken away when the
whole is taken to pieces. In vegetables and animals, however, “there is life which
removes when the whole is taken to pieces & is not found in any of the parts nor
can be restored by the Art of Man” (AC 218). Vegetables, therefore, are like living
objects. They follow mechanical laws but they are alive in a way that inanimate
objects are not. Many aspects of our body function in a mechanical way and follow
the same laws of motion, etc. as any other kind of object The workings of our
muscles, our instincts, our nervous system in themselves imply no thought, no
conception and are purely mechanical or physical and follow principles similar to
those that rule the material world. As we have seen it is God, the author of nature
and who created it for certain purposes, who is the author of these principles. We
have a certain influence on our bodily happenings, like the contraction of our
muscles when we decide to carry some object. But how the muscle itself works
and the laws that regulate its motion are the effect of God’s creative power. Hence
Reid writes in his notes that
There must be an Intelligent efficient Cause of a Work which shews a
perfect knowledge of the internal Structure of the human Body as well as
an ability to guide the infant blindfold to what is necessary to its
preservation. We may, therefore, I think, say without a Figure that this
337
Instinct is the Inspiration of the Almighty. And the same may be said of
every Operation which we ascribe to Instinct. It necessarily implyes the
interposition of some invisible Power that leads us as it were by the hand in
a way we know not” (AC 109).

Reid adds that
“the System of the Muscles, as a part of the Machine of the human Body, is
contrived with perfect Skill & Wisdom for the End for which they are
intended. They are the Instruments or Engines by which all our voluntary
Motions are performed, in all the Employments, Arts and Exercises of
Mankind; and they are perfectly fitted for this purpose, … (AC 117).

Our mechanical bodies are part of ourselves, in a sense I will point our more
precisely later, but their nature is similar to all inanimate objects. It is therefore not
surprising that Reid speaks first of mechanical motives, which are principles that
are essential to our survival and well-being but that are ruled by God’s purposes
more than our own.
Another part of our self is more animal in nature, and similar to the whole
of the animate creation.
3
The difference between vegetables and animals, for Reid
is that
Animal Life implies some kind or degree of thought be it ever so small.
The least degree of Sensation suppose it onely the feeling of a small degree
of pain or pleasure is called animal Life, which we see no reason to ascribe
to vegetables (AC 218).

We are clearly, in part, of an animal nature for Reid since he writes the following
about our rational motives and about our animal passions: “all men must allow,

3
There is a definite animal nature but animals are also guided in their actions by mechanical
principles. Indeed, all beings who are in part material are guided by laws that govern mater. Hence
Reid writes: “By instinct in Animals is commonly meant a Propensity to certain Actions, which is
neither the Effect of any rational Motive nor the Effect of Habit, but of the Constitution of the
Animal.” 141
338
that this is the manly part of our constitution, the other the brute part” (EAP 71). In
the Essays on the Active Powers Reid also points out that
Feeling, or sensation, seems to be the lowest degree of animation we can
conceive. We give the name of animal to every being that feels pain or
pleasure; and this seems to be the boundary between the inanimate and
animal creation (EAP 459).
“As feeling distinguishes the animal nature from the inanimate; so judging
seems to distinguish the rational nature from the merely animal” (EAP
460).

In our feelings and in many of our animal motives, we share the same nature as
brute animals for Reid. Animal motives are expressive of the animal part of our
nature. He writes:
“Every thing that can be called a motive, is addressed either to the animal
or to the rational part of our nature. Motives of the former kind are
common to us with the brutes; those of the latter are peculiar to rational
beings” (EAP 288-289).

Hence, animal motives in so far as they imply conception only and not judgment
are motives that we share with brutes and that are part of the more animal aspect of
our constitution.
Now, Reid disagrees with other modern philosophers who limit the human
self to the animal nature. He believes this is what Hume does when he fails to take
into account our rational motives and the active power of the agent. Reid also
thinks that Priestley reduces human nature as a whole to the material world or the
world of brutes. Reid makes notes about Priestley’s Disquisitions and he writes,
disapprovingly, that for Priestley, “Brutes… differ from us in degree onely, and
not in kind.” (AC 237). What is interesting about Reid, however, is not that he
339
accepts the modern views about matter in general and then argues that human
agents are different from matter. What Reid thinks, on the contrary, is that
moderns, including Hobbes, Locke, Berkeley, Hume and Priestley misunderstand
matter and nature itself and hence, of course, fail to understand human nature.
The first step down is the idea or hypothesis that all of our ideas come from
experience or reflection and hence that since we cannot observe any substance we
do not have any idea of substance. As we know, some of our beliefs for Reid are
principles of our constitution and not products of reflection or sensation. And our
belief in the existence of substances, for example, is one such belief. One problem
with the moderns is that they argue that they do not have any idea of substance,
and yet they reach many conclusions about the nature of matter. Now, matter is a
substance which cannot be observed and which is known through its attributes and
relations for Reid. Priestley argues that substance is a word without meaning, and
yet he makes many claims about bodies. And he writes that bodies and souls are
not different substances. Hence Reid points out: “If I believe that Substance is a
word without meaning, or that it is an imaginary thing, invented to support
Accidents, as the Indian invented his Elephant to support the Earth, how can I
seriously believe that either Body or Soul is a Substance?” (AC 175). If I believe
that body and matter have certain characteristics and that souls have the same
essential characteristics as bodies then how could I say that ‘substance’ is a term
without meaning? Reid holds that moderns should also recognize that their
340
position about substances and about ideas in general leads them to hold a
Berkeleyan view of matter. Indeed, if ‘substance’ is a term without meaning, that
is, that does not refer to anything, then matter must not exist. Hence, the modern
position itself, according to Reid, is actually subversive to materialism and does
not accurately capture the real nature of matter.
For Reid, if we consider the animate and the inanimate creation, the
substances that are the object of natural philosophy, we will discover that the
human soul is not an extravagant postulate. First of all, true scientific inquiry, as
Newton teaches, “is comprised in these two things, first to discover the laws of
Nature, and secondly to apply the laws of Nature to explain the Phaenomena of
Nature” (AC 183). Now, there are many natural phenomena that can be subsumed
under laws. But the causes of these laws, as Reid often argues, must be immaterial
and personal. When we understand certain laws of nature, we also understand that
matter has certain characteristics. That matter is inert and passive, for example,
follows from the laws of motion. But if matter is inert, then movement of matter
itself must find its ultimate cause in God. Reid writes that many kind of forces,
like
the force by which the parts of hard bodies cohere, corpuscular Attraction
in the parts of Liquid bodies. Elasticity. Both in hard bodies & in elastick
Fluids, Magnetism Electricity, and all those affinities & hostilities which
Chemistry presents to our View. These are all impressed Forces, and must
immediately or ultimately [be] impressed by something that is not Matter
(AC 239).

341
Reid thinks that we can say things about matter. Matter, as all natural philosophy
takes for granted, is an inert, impenetrable, divisible & moveable substance. And
matter follows certain laws of nature of which God must be the cause since matter
itself cannot be the origin of motion, etc.
4
There is an immaterial substance at
work behind all the happenings of material substance. And Reid thinks this
follows from a Newtonian and truly scientific understanding of human nature.
This very same fact is also present in the animate world, but in a different
way. Vegetables and animals are alive in a way that inanimate objects are not. He
writes:
The Animated Matter has united to it a Principle of Life, which pervades
the whole Animal or Vegetable, and Unites it into one Being, which has
various Members & various active Functions relative to the whole. As soon
as this vital Principle departs, all the material Elements remain but are dead
& inactive, Even those combinations of Elements which were peculiar to
its animated state may remain for a long time, so as it may be known that
they once belonged to an animated Body, but they retain no symptom of
the life that once animated them (AC 224).

If there is a certain organization of the various parts of an animated being, this
organization itself does not change or cease at the precise instant when the being
goes from being alive to dead. There is nothing material about objects that
accounts for this presence of life or for its absence, Reid points out.
5
According to

4
See also AC 223-223 where Reid writes : “The Argument is short and simple – in all these Laws
of Nature Active power is constantly exerted, There is no such Power in Matter; therefore, it must
be in some Being that is immaterial. By these impressions upon Matter it is made a fit Instrument
for all the purposes of animal Life. And by these Impressions on Matter, Man who is endowed with
Reason is led to perceive his Connection with an immaterial & invisible World.”
5
Reid also writes: “Every thing that hath Life whether vegetable or Animal hath an Unity which
does not belong to dead Matter. A piece of dead Matter is from its Nature made up of parts and
342
Reid, the difference between dead and living body is not due to a different
arrangements of parts (AC 237). Hence, Reid writes, “I know nothing therefore in
the Phenomena of Nature that hinders us to conclude that what our Reason plainly
dictates that every living thing whether vegetable or animal has an Unity &
individuality which belongs not to Matter” (AC 225).
This principle of life, therefore, is immaterial, but it is also a principle of
unity and growth. As long as such a being is alive, it is organized and whole. The
different material parts are kept together. When the principle of life ceases, the
different parts of the substance disintegrate, or are separated by putrefaction, etc.
And the different vegetable and animal functions, like drawing nourishment from
dead matter and growth, are effects whose cause cannot be material. Reid writes:
Every Animal has a Body very curiously organized. How this Organization
begun, or what part the Principle of Life had in its first formation, is
perhaps beyond the reach of our knowledge. But we see evidently the
preservation of this Organization, the Nourishment & Growth of the
Animal till its parts and functions are perfected, depends upon the Principle
of Life. For we see that at whatever period of the animals existence Life
departs, that organization, which before seemed to be proof against the
Surrounding Elements, is now no longer able to resist their impression. It
becomes a prey to corruption its organization is dissolved and all the parts
of its composition mix with their kindred Elements. From this it appears
evident that Life, whatever it be, was united to every part at least to every
organized part of the Body, and was that which embalmed it, as it were,
and preserved it from Corruption (AC 236).

divisible into parts which may not onely be separately conceived, but really have a separate
existence so that one part may be annihilate without affecting the remaining parts. But to suppose a
Life made up of parts of Life or divisible into parts is absurd. We cannot affix a meaning to a part
of Life. The Principle of Life therefore in every Being that has Life is one & indivisible” (AC 224).
343
Hence, there is an immaterial substance at work behind and in all animated life.
Reid therefore writes:
From all that has been said it seems reasonable to conclude that as
inanimate Matter is constantly acted upon by immaterial Beings so as to
produce its Gravitation Cohesion and the various Corpuscular Affinities
and Attractions which Natural Philosophy has discovered, so Animals and
Vegetables are animated by some immaterial Being which is the Efficient
Cause of their Animal & Vegetable Functions while they live & which is
separated from them when they die (AC 229).

God is the efficient cause of the unity and individuality of each living being whose
parts and organizations and qualities are organized under certain laws of nature
that are expressive of his intentions and purposes.
It is therefore a natural implication of the philosophy of nature in general to
look for an immaterial principle of life in human agents. Reid, indeed, writes:
To conclude if the meanest Animals and even Vegetables be endowed with
an immaterial Principle there can remain no doubt of the Existence of such
a Principle in Man. That the thinking Principle in our Composition is
immaterial appears agreeable to the whole Analogy of Nature (AC 230).

For Reid we do have an idea of substance. Matter is one such substance and
Material substance is extended, solid but also inert and hence matter itself cannot
be the cause of all material events. The ultimate cause of the motion and cohesion
of these substances must be an immaterial substance, God. Living beings are also
material substances. Material substances are made up of parts which are organized
and sometimes alive and growing. The cause of this principle of life, however, is
not found in matter itself and hence must also be immaterial for Reid. The biggest
problem with Priestley’s views (and indirectly with the modern philosophers who
344
come before him) is that he fails to understand matter accurately. Reid shows that
he does not follow Newton’s rules of philosophizing and he often misunderstands
them, and thus reaches conclusions about matter that are false. And hence,
Priestley is also led to misunderstand human nature.
For Reid, the immaterial substance at work behind the inanimate and
animate creation is God. In the case of human beings, however, although the
material and physical aspect of our bodies, our animal constitution and even to
some extent the contingent constitution of our minds is a product of God’s will and
hence in part under his laws our being is also organized and united by our self. The
immaterial substance at work in creation, and which is the cause of its motion and
different rules, cannot be part of matter since efficiency implies understanding,
will and active power, which are not attributes of matter. In human beings,
however, we also find understanding, will and active power and since these are not
attributes of matter they must be the attributes of our immaterial souls. Our soul,
the agent per se, is therefore the efficient cause of its own actions and it is the
organizing and unifying principle of the agent as a whole.
Hence we do have an idea of substance, for Reid. By our senses, we
perceive the qualities of Matter and by our consciousness we are aware of the
operations of our mind. These qualities, attributes, operations, thoughts,
perceptions, etc. are things that are available to our senses and consciousness. But
we also believe, as a natural principle of our constitution, that attributes don’t just
345
float around. Indeed, “That Qualities and Attributes of every kind must have a
Subject, & that Operations must have an Agent is evident. These are necessary
truths, and implied in the Structure of all Languages” (AC 233). We conceive of
inert, material objects who follow certain laws but who cannot, of themselves, be
the cause of these laws. We also conceive of living substances that are made up of
material parts but that are organized and united according to a Principle of Life
which itself is not of the same nature as the material or animate being. And we also
believe in agents, in human selves, as bearers of certain qualities, attributes and
faculties. Now, the attributes we find specifically in humans are judgments,
conceptions, volitions, etc. Reid thinks it is contrary to all natural philosophy to
believe that matter could be endued with the power of thinking. Matter is made up
of parts and it is inert and passive. If there is anything living, any thought, any
activity, it must be owing to something that is not material. Thinking is an inherent
quality and one part of a thought could not be in one part of the being (in one
substance) and another part of the thought in another substance. Thought is an
attribute of one united being, who, as the bearer of thoughts, cannot be divided.
Also, matter is inactive and hence it cannot alter its state of motion or rest. Human
agents, however, are able to do this, they can think and they can initiate action and
hence agents cannot themselves be material.
The whole analogy of nature, therefore, includes immaterial substances as
efficient causes and as living principles of unification and organization. In material
346
objects and in animate creation, it is not clear whether there is only one immaterial
substance, God, or several such substances at work. All we know is that God must
be the first creating cause. But how he exerts his power in nature is beyond our
understanding. In the case of human agents, God is the efficient cause of our
being, of our constitution, of the laws that govern our bodies and mechanisms. But
God also created us to have a certain power over ourselves and our surroundings.
We conceive of ourselves as the bearer of our thoughts, feelings, etc. and as the
origin of our actions. Our own substance, therefore, if we follow the analogy of
nature, must be similar to the immaterial substance or substances at work in nature.
In a (limited) sense, we are to our bodies and to actions (and hence even to
‘artificial nature’) what God is to nature (to ‘natural nature’).
Now, to come back to the relation between agents and their motives, if we
follow the analogy, our instincts and physical motions are governed in part by the
rules of mechanics and the laws of nature. Our mechanical motives are tied to a
part of ourselves that we share with the material and vegetable part of nature. Also,
our animal motives are distinctive of our animal nature, of a nature that we share
with the world of brutes. Brutes follow laws that are imposed upon them, their
actions follow laws that govern matter but they are also endowed with feelings and
conceptions. In so far as we are living beings who can feel and conceive and be
moved by animal motives we share the same nature as brutes. Finally, then, our
rational motives are expressive of our nature as human beings, of our immaterial
347
self. Indeed, Reid often writes that what is distinctive about human beings other
than having active power is their ability to reason and their ability to make moral
evaluations.
Reid’s position is that the agent’s soul is inherently rational, moral,
aesthetic and active and it is also a principle of life and unity to the whole self. Our
own soul is very different from the soul of animals, if they have one. Reid writes
that “Man is distinguished from his fellow Animals by a rational and Moral
Nature, which is the image of his Maker…” (AC 230). Animals have feelings,
sensations, thoughts, conceptions, perceptions and motives but they do not seem to
be rational, moral, aesthetic and active. In fact, there is a difference between
appetites and desires and those animal motives that do involve judgment like
rational gratitude, resentment, etc. Reid writes that actions proceeding from
rational gratitude, resentment, and also from esteem for the wise, have no moral
worth but they are entitled to some degree of estimation superior to those actions
that result from appetite because they are “suited to the dignity of human nature”
(EAP 133). These actions are manly and human (EAP 134). Hence all those
actions that involve our judgment (moral, aesthetic or other) and hence our liberty
are more human, more expressive of the human self.
The two rational motives are even more ‘manly’ since they are expressive
of the moral and rational attributes of the self. As I have shown, the self is not only
rational for Reid. Indeed, if this were the case one would need no internal sense of
348
taste or of morals to perceive beauty and virtue. I have argued in the last chapter
that moral and aesthetic perception cannot be reduced to perception of external
objects exactly for this reason. Hence, it is no wonder that Reid writes that in
intelligent beings “the desire of what is good, and aversion to what is ill, is
necessarily connected with the intelligent nature” (EAP 203). Our nature is
inherently intelligent and it can judge what will be more in our interest. This shows
also that our nature is turned towards the good – it is good thirsty. Not only as far
as pleasure and happiness are concerned, but also for virtue. It is for this reason
that if a man goes against the dictates of his own conscience, “the sense of guilt
makes a man at variance with himself. He sees that he is what he ought not to be.
He has fallen from the dignity of his nature, and has sold his real worth for a thing
of no value” (EAP 245). Reid writes about conscience that
We may transgress its dictates, but we cannot transgress them with
innocence, nor even with impunity. We condemn ourselves, or, in the
language of Scripture, our heart condemns us, whenever we go beyond the
rules of right and wrong which conscience prescribes (EAP 254).

To act against duty is to act against our selves since our souls are made to perceive
what is right and to pursue what is right. Hence
The life of a moral agent cannot be according to his nature, unless it be
virtuous. That conscience, which is in every man’s breast, is the law of God
written in his heart, which he cannot disobey without acting unnaturally,
and being self-condemned (EAP 365).

It is because the soul is inherently moral and capable of forming judgments and of
pursuing the good that we feel at odds with ourselves when we act against these
349
judgments. Hence, our rational motives are tied to our nature as persons or human
beings.
6

Rational motives are expressive of our immaterial substance and this self or
substance is, similarly to the immaterial substance at work in nature, a unifying
principle. When our judgments are correct and when our animal motives are not
warped by bad habits or education, all of our motives naturally fall in line.
According to Reid, it is important for us to make all parts of our being harmonize
with each other. This is what he writes in case of somebody who comes to
understand his moral obligations: “now he knows how to make his whole character
consistent, and one part of it to harmonize with another” (EAP 250). Indeed, when
one forms rational motives and when these motives are based on judgments that
are correct, following these resolutions will have an effect on the animal motives
we will act upon. Also, our mechanical motives will work according to laws of
nature but in order to further our own purposes, our own actions. Hence, all parts
of our being and all of our motives will be unified by our self as it acts according
to rational motives.
Immaterial substances in nature are principles of life and unity and they are
responsible for the effects or actions of the animate creation. God’s purpose is

6
Although Reid obviously holds that the characteristics of human immaterial substances are the
same as any other immaterial substance, he does not make a distinction between human beings and
persons. However, we could say that for Reid what is distinctive of human nature is to be a person
or an immaterial substance even if not only human beings are persons. Indeed, human beings are
not composed only of an immaterial substance since they have bodies. Other beings, however,
might also have immaterial souls but have different bodies or no bodies at all.
350
being unfolded in nature. Reid is not always clear as to what God’s purposes are,
but one of these purposes seems to be to have a world in which human agents can
not only live and survive but also act in a way that brings about God’s purposes.
Nature cannot help acting according to God’s laws and purposes. But human
agents form their own judgments and they can reason about the outcome of their
actions. When they follow purposes that bring about their overall good and that are
virtuous, they act as they were intended to act. And hence by freely forming their
own good resolutions and acting in a way that brings them about, human beings
follow the intention of the author of their nature. One of God’s purposes, therefore,
must be to bring about happiness and virtue. Therefore, there is a unity in all of
creation. Not only do we find immaterial substances at work at all level. But the
intention of nature seems to be to allow for life, growth and the possibility of
human life. For Reid, all of nature, by following laws of nature, furthers God’s
intentions (see EAP 66). Similarly, human agents further God’s intentions of virtue
and good for the whole when they resolve and act according to these resolutions.
But we do so freely, as God’s helpers so to speak.
Therefore, through the study of the principles of action and the active
powers of the mind, we come to understand different attributes and faculties of
agents. Actions that are purposeful and end directed require an efficient cause who
has understanding and will. And the different motives that are part of the
constitution of the agent point to an agent whose body follows the laws of nature
351
but also the laws or purposes of his own self. The purposes and motives of the
immaterial self work also as unifying principles of the agent as a whole. By
observing an agent’s motives, we come to see the essential nature of the agent, his
end-directedness and active power, his intelligent, moral and aesthetic nature. Our
idea of matter, as a substance, is not the product of sensation or reflection, and yet
through careful study we come to know some essential qualities of matter, like
solidity or impenetrability, inertia or inactivity (AC 167). In the same way, we
cannot directly perceive the agent’s self, but we can come to know its essential
qualities by observing its motives and the faculties involved in action.
Bibliography
Alston, William P., ‘Reid on Perception and Conception’, The philosophy of
Thomas Reid, eds. M. Dalgarno and E. Matthews (Dordrecht, Boston,
London, 1989): 35-47.

Baier, Annette C, A Progress of Sentiments: Reflections on Hume’s Treatise,
(Cambridge, Massachusetts and London, England: Harvard University Press,
1991).

Broad, C.D., Five Types of Ethical Theory (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul,
1971).

Broadie, Alexander, ‘Reid Making Sense of Moral Sense’, Reid Studies 1 (1998)
No. 2: 5-16.

Buras, Todd, ‘The Problem with Reid’s Direct Realism’, The Philosophy of
Thomas Reid, eds. John Haldane and Stephen Read (Oxford, UK: Blackwell,
2003) 44-64.

Butler, Joseph, “Fifteen Sermons” in British Moralists I, Ed. D.D. Raphael
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969).

Butler, Joseph, ‘Sermons’ in The Works of Joseph Butler, Vol. II, ed. W.E.
Gladstone (England: Thoemmes Press, 1995).

Byrne, Alex, ‘Intentionalism Defended’, The Philosophical Review, 110 (April
2001) No. 2: 199-240.

Chappell, Vere, ‘The theory of Sensations’, The Philosophy of Thomas Reid, eds.
M. Dalgarno and E. Matthews (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1989) 49-63.

Cohon, Rachel, ‘Is Hume a Noncognitivist in the Motivation Argument?’,
Philosophical Studies 85 (1997), 251-266.

Collins, Anthony, ‘A Philosophical Inquiry Concerning Human Liberty’ in
Determinism and Freewill, ed. J.O’Higgins S.J (The Hague: Martinus
Nijhoff, 1976).

Copenhaver, Rebecca,” Is Reid a Mysterian?” Journal of the History Philosophy,
vol. 44 no. 3 (2006) 449-466.

353
Cuneo, Terence, ‘Reidian Moral Perception’, Canadian Journal of Philosophy 33
(2003), No. 2: 229-258, 253.

-------‘Reid’s Moral Philosophy’, The Cambridge Companion to Thomas Reid,
eds. Terence Cuneo and René Van Woudenberg (Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press, 2004).
-------‘Signs of Value’, British Journal for the History of Philosophy 14 (2006),
No. 1: 69-91.

Davidson, Donald, ‘Hume’s Cognitive Theory of Pride’, The Journal of
Philosophy, N 76; 73 (4): 753-754.

DeMoor, Michael, “The Philosophy of Art in Reid’s Inquiry and its Place in 18
th

Century Scottish Aesthetics”, Journal of Scottish Philosophy (2006), Vol.
4.1: 37-49.

Duggan, Timothy J., ‘Thomas Reid’s Theory of Sensation’, The Philosophical
Review, 69 (1960): 90-100.

Edwards, Jonathan, Freedom of the Will (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1957).

Gallie, Roger D., Thomas Reid: Ethics, Aesthetics and the Anatomy of the Self
(Dordrecht, Boston, London: Kluwer Academic, 1998).

Goetz S. ‘Failed solutions to a standard libertarian problem’, Philosophical Studies
90 (1998) 237-244.

Haji, Ishtiyaque ‘Active Control, Agent-Causation and Free Action’, Philosophical
Explorations, Vol.7, No.2 (2004) 131-148.

Harris, James A. “Hume’s reconciling project and ‘the common distinction betwixt
moral and physical necessity.’” British Journal for the History of Philosophy
11 (3) 2003: 451-471.

-------Of Liberty and Necessity (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005).

Hazelton, W. Dean, 'On an Alleged Inconsistency in Reid's Theory of Moral
Liberty', Journal of the History of Philosophy 16 (1978) No. 4: 453-455.

354
Hebblethwaite, Brian, ‘Butler on Conscience and Virtue’ in Joseph Butler’s Moral
and Religious Thought, ed. Christopher Cunliffe (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1992).

Hume, David, An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, ed. Tom L.
Beauchamp (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1998).

-------A Treatise of Human Nature, ed. P.H. Nidditch (Oxford and New York:
Clarendon Press, 1978).

Hutcheson, “An Inquiry into the original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue”, in
Collected Works of Francis Hutcheson, 1(Hildesheim: Olms, 1971).

-------“An Essay on the Nature and Conduct of the Passions and Affections” in
Collected Works of Francis Hutcheson, 2 (Hidlesheim: Olms, 1971).

Karlsson, Michael, “Reason, Passion and the Influencing Motives of the Will”,
The Blackwell Guide to Hume’s Treatise, ed. Saul Traiger (Oxford:
Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 235-255.

Kivy, Peter, “Reid’s philosophy of Art”, The Cambridge Companion to Thomas
Reid, ed. Terence Cuneo and René van Woudenberg (Cambridge and New
York: Cambridge University Press, 2004) 267-288.

Lehrer, Keith, Thomas Reid (London and New York: Routledge, 1991).

Leibniz Gottfried, Theodicy (LaSalle, Il: Open Court, 1985).

Mele, Alfred R., ‘Ultimate Responsibility and Dumb Luck’, Social Philosophy &
Policy Foundation, 16 (1999): 274-293.

-------Free Will and Luck (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).

Nichols, Ryan, Thomas Reid’s Theory of Perception (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
2007).

O’Connor, Timothy, Persons and Causes: The Metaphysics of Free Will, (New
York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000).

Pitcher, George, ‘Emotion’, Mind, 74 (1965): 326-346.

355
Price, Richard, A Review of the Principal Questions in Morals, ed. D.D. Raphael
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974).

Priestley, Joseph, A Free Discussion of the doctrines of Materialism, and
Philosophical Necessity (New York: Kraus Reprint Co., 1977).

-------The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated, Ed. René Wellek (New
York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1976).

Pritchard, Michael S, ‘Reason and Passion: Reid's Reply to Hume’, The Monist 61
(1978) No. 2: 283-298.

Reid, Thomas, The Correspondence of Thomas Reid, ed. Paul Wood (University
Park, Pa.: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2002).

-------Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind, Ed. Baruch A. Brody
(Cambridge: MIT Press, 1969)

-------Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, Ed. Baruch A. Brody (Cambridge:
MIT Press, 1969).

-------An Inquiry into the Human Mind, On the Principles of Common Sense, ed.
Derek R. Brookes (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1997).

-------‘Of Power’, The Philosophical Quarterly, 51 (2001) No. 202 : 3-12.

-------The Philosophical Orations of Thomas Reid, ed. D. D. Todd, trans. S. D.
Sullivan (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1989).

-------Practical Ethics, Being Lectures and Papers on Natural Religion, Self-
Government, Natural Jurisprudence, and the Law of Nations, ed. Knud
Haakonssen (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990).

-------Thomas Reid on the Animate Creation, Papers Relating to the Life Sciences,
ed. Paul Wood (University Park, Pennsylvania: The Pennsylvania State
University Press, 1995).

Rivers, Isabel, ‘Shaftesbury and the defense of natural affection,’ Reason, Grace,
and Sentiment A Study of the Language of Religion
and Ethics in England, 1660-1780, vol. 2. Shaftesbury to Hume, (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1991/2000).
356

Roeser, Sabine, ‘Reid’s Account of the Moral Emotions’, Reid Studies 4 (2001)
No. 2: 19-32.

Rowe, William, Thomas Reid on Freedom and Morality, (Ithaca: Cornell
University Press, 1991).

Schneewind, Jerome B., ‘The Active Powers’ in The Cambridge History of
Eighteenth-Century Philosophy, ed. Knud Haakonssen (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2006).

Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, An Inquiry Concerning Virtue and Merit,
ed. David Walford (England: Manchester University Press, 1977).

-------Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times, ed. Lawrence E. Klein
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999).

Stecker, Robert, ‘Thomas Reid’s Philosophy of Action’, Philosophical Studies
66:197-208.

Taylor, Jacqueline, “Virtue and the Evaluation of Character,” The Blackwell Guide
to Hume’s Treatise, ed. Saul Traiger (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2006).

Turco, Luigi, ‘Moral sense and the foundations of morals’, Cambridge Companion
to the Scottish Enlightenment, ed. Alexander Broadie (Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press, 2003), 136-156.

Van Cleve, James, ‘Reid’s Theory of Perception’, Cambridge Companion to
Thomas Reid, ed. Terence Cuneo and René van Woudenberg (Cambridge
and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004): 101-133.

Weinstock, Jerome A., 'Reid's Definition of Freedom', Journal of the History of
Philosophy 13 (1975) No. 3:335-345.

Wolterstorff, Nicholas, Thomas Reid and the Story of Epistemology (Cambridge,
Cambridge University Press, 2001).

Yaffe, Gideon, Manifest Activity: Thomas Reid’s Theory of Action (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 2004).

Abstract (if available)

Abstract For Thomas Reid the careful study of the human mind, the anatomy of the mind, involves the study of all the operations and faculties of the mind. So far, most of the literature on Reid has focused on perception, the principles of common sense, and Reid's account of active power or moral liberty. In my dissertation, therefore, I examine Reid's account of motives or principles of action and their relation to the different faculties of the mind and I situate and evaluate it in the context of 18th century moral philosophy.

Linked assets

University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses

Conceptually similar

PDF

Thomas Reid on singular thought

PDF

Just imagining things: Hume's conception-based account of cognition

PDF

Descartes's creation doctrine and modality

PDF

The scope and significance of George Berkeley's language model

PDF

Language and the structure of Berkeley's world

PDF

Morality with Humean foundations: a proposal for a solution to the accommodation problem

PDF

Cause and consequence: confronting ethical challenges in models of morally informed legal practice

PDF

The effects of mindfulness on adolescent cigarette smoking: Measurement, mechanisms, and theory

PDF

Molyneux's question answered!

PDF

The boundaries of the intentional

PDF

Believing someone: the omission of the interpersonal component of testimonial belief and the concomitant limitations of merely believing a proposition

PDF

How to use intuitions in philosophy

PDF

The case for moral skepticism

PDF

What motivational factors influence community college students' tendency to seek help from the writing center?

PDF

Changing the landscape of institutional assessment on transfer: the impact of action research methods on community college faculty and counselors

PDF

A critical examination of the three main interpretations of probability

PDF

Thick concepts, reflection, and the loss of ethical knowledge

Register and style variation in speakers of Spanish as a heritage and as a second language

PDF

Developing adaptive expertise among community college faculty through action inquiry as a form of assessment

PDF

Theism and secular modality

Asset Metadata

Creator Kroeker, Esther (author)

Core Title Thomas Reid: motives and the anatomy of the mind

School College of Letters, Arts and Sciences

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Philosophy

Publication Date 11/22/2007

Defense Date 10/25/2007

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag action,Hume,motives,OAI-PMH Harvest,Reid

Language English

Advisor Yaffe, Gideon (committee chair), Heidsieck, Arnold (committee member), Van Cleve, James (committee member)

Creator Email kroeker@usc.edu

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-m940

Unique identifier UC1323314

Identifier etd-Kroeker-20071122 (filename),usctheses-m40 (legacy collection record id),usctheses-c127-489774 (legacy record id),usctheses-m940 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier etd-Kroeker-20071122.pdf

Dmrecord 489774

Document Type Dissertation

Rights Kroeker, Esther

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Repository Name Libraries, University of Southern California

Repository Location Los Angeles, California

Repository Email cisadmin@lib.usc.edu