circumstances." Let any one, for instance, review in his mind the events of yesterday, from the first moment of awakened consciousness until he sank into slumber at night, and remember, if he can, before how many of the ten thousand actions which constituted his daily life he paused to choose. Awakened in the morning, he arose, doubtless, at his usual hour—performed ablution, assumed his garments, one by one, in a certain methodical order, and descended to breakfast. He read portions of his newspaper; commented on events or politics; the coffee was burned and the steak tough, and he was irritable and morose; or both were excellent, and he was amiable and talkative. He walked to his place of business by the route he always takes; crossing the streets where he had crossed a thousand times previously; arriving at the usual hour, notwithstanding he might have made—had the motives existed—innumerable variations from his regular course in each of these proceedings. Now, up to this point, he has probably performed several thousand distinct muscular efforts, each under the control of his will—from the glance of an eye to the propulsion of his body along the street. How many of them can he remember, or does he suppose to have resulted from conscious choice between action as performed and another imaginable possible alternative? Probably he could count on his fingers all the acts of conscious choice performed during the entire day. The rest have been as instinctive and impulsive, as unconsciously determined by circumstances, as the operations of ordinary animal existence.
Turning now to the consideration of those acts which are preceded by that conscious weighing of motives which constitutes true volition, we shall find these no less determined by law. Appealing confidently to the consciousness of every reader, I submit that we not only invariably choose, but we can only choose, that object or course of action which at the instant, the will is exercised to choose, appears to us, all things considered, the most desirable.
This can hardly be doubted. For the very act of conscious choice implies of necessity (except in those imaginary cases of absolute indifference wherein morality can not be concerned) a preference, even if it be only momentary. Mind, I do not say the thing chosen is really desirable; perhaps the only courses open are all very undesirable, terrible, full of painful consequences, and the confused mind may pass from one to another with a hesitating tremulousness of indecision—obliged, however, ultimately to make a choice. Put yourself to any fair test, and see if you can possibly choose that which you prefer least to choose. Pain is exceedingly undesirable, is it not? Take a needle and place the point against your bared arm; now choose whether or not you shall force it to enter your flesh. "But it will hurt me," you say, and you throw down the needle, proceeding no further. Do you so decide without cause? Or perhaps you push the point beneath the skin, and inflict upon yourself pain, without apparent adequate motive.
