THE FREEDOM OF THE WILL. If the Will, which we find governs the members of the body, and determines their motions, does not govern itself, and determine its own actions, it doubtless determines them the same way, even by antecedent volitions. The Will determines which way the hands and feet shall move, by an act of choice: and there is no other way of the Will's determining, directing or commanding any thing at all. Whatsoever the Will commands, it commands by an act of the Will. And if it has itself under its command, and determines itself in its own actions, it doubtless does it in the same way that it determines other things which are under its command. So that if the freedom of the Will consists in this, that it has itself and its own actions under its command and direction, and its own volitions are determined by itself, it will follow, that every free volition arises from another antecedent volition, directing and commanding that: and if that directing volition be also free, in that also the Will is determined: that is to say, that directing volition is determined by another going before that; and so on, till we come to the first volition in the whole series; and if that first volition be free, and the Will self-determined in it, then that is determined by another volition preceding that. Which is a contradiction; because by the supposition it can have none before it, to direct or determine it, being the first in the train. But if that first volition is not determined by any preceding act of the Will, then that act is not determined by the Will, and so is not free in the Arminian notion of freedom, which consists in the Will's selfdetermination. And if that first act of the Will which determines and fixes the subsequent acts be not free, none of the following acts, which are determined by it, can be free. If we suppose there are five acts in the train, the fifth and last determined by the fourth, and the fourth by the third, the third by the second, and the second by the first; if the first is not determined by the Will, and so not free, then none of them are truly determined by the Will that is, that each of them are as they are, and not otherwise, is not first owing to the Will, but to the determination of the first in the series, which is not dependent on the Will, and is that which the Will has no hand in determining. And this being that which decides what the rest shall be, and determines their existence; therefore the first determination of their existence is not from the Will. The case is just the same if, instead of a chain of five acts of the Will, we should suppose a succession of ten, or an hundred, or ten thousand. If the first act be not free, being determined by something out of the Will, and this determines the next to be agreeable to itself, and that the next, and so on; none of them are free, but all originally depend on, and are determined by, some cause out of the Will: and so all freedom in the case is excluded, and no act of the Will can be free, according to this notion of freedom. Thus, this Arminian notion of Liberty of the Will, consisting in the Will's Self-determination, is repugnant to itself, and shuts itself wholly out of the world. THE PERMISSION NOT THE PRODUCTION OF EVIL. There is a great difference between God being concerned thus, by his permission, in an event and act which, in the inherent subject and agent of it, is sin, (though the event will certainly follow on his permission,) and his being concerned in it by producing it and exerting the act of sin; or between his being the orderer of its certain existence by not hindering it, under certain circumstances, and his being the proper actor or author of it, by a positive agency or efficiency. As there is a vast difference between the sun being the cause of the lightsomeness and warmth of the atmosphere, and the brightness of gold and diamonds, by its presence and positive influence; and its being the occasion of darkness and frost, in the night, by its motion whereby it descends, below the horizon. The motion of the sun is the occasion of the latter kind of events; but it is not the proper cause efficient or producer of them; though they are necessarily consequent on that motion, under such circumstances: no more is any action of the Divine Being the cause of the evil of men's wills. If the sun were the proper cause of cold and darkness, it would be the fountain of these things, as it is the fountain of light and heat and then something might be argued from the nature of cold and darkness, to a likeness of nature in the sun; and it might be justly inferred that the sun itself is dark and cold, and that his beams are black and frosty. But from its being the cause no otherwise than by its departure, no such thing can be inferred, but the contrary; it may justly be argued that the sun is a bright and hot body, if cold and darkness are found to be the consequence of its withdrawment; and the more constantly and necessarily these effects are connected with, and confined to, its absence, the more strongly does it argue the sun to be the fountain of light and heat. So, inasmuch as sin is not the fruit of any positive agency or influence of the Most High, but, on the contrary, arises from the withholding of his action and energy, and, under certain circumstances, necessarily follows on the want of his influence; this is no argument that he is sinful, or his operation evil, or has any thing of the nature of evil; but, on the contrary, that he and his agency are altogether good and holy, and that he is the fountain of all holiness. would be strange arguing, indeed, because men never commit sin, but only when God leaves them to themselves, and necessarily sin It when he does so, and therefore their sin is not from themselves, but from God; and so, that God must be a sinful being: as strange as it would be to argue, because it is always dark when the sun is gone, and never dark when the sun is present, that therefore all darkness is from the sun, and that his disk and beams must needs be black. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, 1706-179C. "His mind a maxim, plain, yet keenly shrewd, Modest,-by nations is his memory bless'd."-WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. THIS distinguished philosopher and statesman was born in Boston, on the 17th of January, 1706. His father, who was a tallow-chandler, was too poor to give him the advantages of a collegiate education, and at ten years of age he was taken from the grammar school to aid in cutting wicks for the candles, filling the moulds, and attending the shop. When he was twelve, having a strong passion for reading, and thinking that a printer's business would give him the best opportunity to indulge it, he was bound to his brother, who had recently returned from England with a press and type. He soon made himself master of the business, while he employed all his leisure time and his evenings to the improvement of his English style, by reading the best books he could find, among which, happily, was Addison's Spectator, to which he labored to make his own style conform. In 1721 his brother started a weekly newspaper, called The New England Courant, for which Benjamin, though so young, wrote with great acceptance. Soon, however, from jealousy or other cause, the elder brother quarrelled with the younger, who thereupon, at the age of seventeen, started alone for Philadelphia. The following is his own account of his FIRST ENTRANCE INTO PHILADELPHIA. I have entered into the particulars of my voyage, and shall, in like manner, describe my first entrance into this city, that you may be able to compare beginnings so little auspicious with the figure I have since made. On my arrival at Philadelphia, I was in my working dress, my best clothes being to come by sea. I was covered with dirt; my pockets were filled with shirts and stockings; I was unacquainted with a single soul in the place, and knew not where to seek a lodging. Fatigued with walking, rowing, and having passed the night without sleep, I was extremely hungry, and all my money consisted of a Dutch dollar, and about a shilling's worth of cop pers, which I gave to the boatmen for my passage. As I had assisted them in rowing, they refused it at first; but I insisted on their taking it. A man is sometimes more generous when he has little than when he has much money; probably because, in the first case, he is desirous of concealing his poverty. I walked towards the top of the street, looking eagerly on both sides, till I came to Market Street, where I met with a child with a loaf of bread. Often had I made my dinner on dry bread. I inquired where he had bought it, and went straight to the baker's shop which he pointed out to me. I asked for some biscuits, expecting to find such as we had at Boston; but they made, it seems, none of that sort at Philadelphia. I then asked for a threepenny loaf. They made no loaves of that price. Finding myself ignorant of the prices, as well as of the different kinds of bread, I desired him to let me have threepenny-worth of bread of some kind or other. He gave me three large rolls. I was surprised at receiving so much: I took them, however, and, having no room in my pockets, I walked on with a roll under each arm, eating a third. In this manner I went through Market Street to Fourth Street, and passed the house of Mr. Read, the father of my future wife. She was standing at the door, observed me, and thought, with reason, that I made a very singular and grotesque appear ance. I then turned the corner, and went through Chestnut Street, eating my roll all the way; and, having made this round, I found myself again on Market Street wharf, near the boat in which I arrived. I stepped into it to take a draught of the river water; and, finding myself satisfied with my first roll, I gave the other two to a woman and her child, who had come down with us in the boat, and was waiting to continue her journey. Thus refreshed, I regained the street, which was now full of well-dressed people, all going the same way. I joined them, and was thus led to a large Quakers' meeting-house near the market-place. I sat down with the rest, and, after looking round me for some time, hearing nothing said, and being drowsy from my last night's labor and want of rest, I fell into a sound sleep. In this state I continued till the assembly dispersed, when one of the congregation had the goodness to wake me. This was consequently the first house I entered, or in which I slept, at Philadelphia.1 1 "It is Franklin's history as a boy of the middle class, successfully but laboriously working his way upward, that has made it at once the most attractive and most useful biography of modern times. All over Christendom it has met with the sympathy of the working classes, and it has done more than any volume within my knowledge to give courage and heart to the sons of labor, as it has shown that the paths of ambition are open to them as to others, provided they be followed with Franklin's virtues,-honesty, frugality, perseverance, and patriot In a day or two he engaged to work with a printer by the name of Keimer, and soon by his industry and frugality accumulated a little money. A letter which Franklin had written to a friend having fallen under the notice of Sir William Keith, the Governor of the Province, he invited the young printer to his house, and finally persuaded him to go to London to better his fortunes, promising to give him letters of recommendation. Franklin set sail from Philadelphia, the governor promising to send the letters to him when the ship should reach Newcastle; but he was faithless to his promise, and Franklin landed in London a perfect stranger. But a gentleman, a fellow-passenger by the name of Denham, was interested in him, and very soon he obtained a situation in a printing-house in Bartholomew Close, where he worked a year. He soon gained a high character for temperance and industry among his fellow-workmen, and began to be favorably noticed, when he was persuaded by his friend Denham, who was about to return home with a large quantity of goods which he had purchased, to accompany him and aid him in their sale. He landed at Philadelphia on the 11th of October; but soon after the shop had been opened, with every prospect of success, Denham died, and Franklin was left once more to the wide world. He therefore returned to his old business, and was soon so successful in it that, in conjunction with a Mr. Hugh Meredith, he bought out the Pennsylvania Gazette, which had but recently been established, and which in a few years proved very profitable to him. In connection with the paper, he soon opened a stationer's shop, and so prospered that, in September, 1730, he married Miss Read, with whom he had become acquainted before he went to London. Feeling the want of good books, he started the plan of a subscription library,— obtained fifty subscribers, "mostly young tradesmen," who paid forty shillings each,-imported the books, and thus laid the foundation of the present "Library Company of Philadelphia," now one of the largest in the United States. At this time, when about twenty-six years of age, he drew up a series of resolations by which he might regulate his conduct, govern his temper, and improve his whole moral man; and it is but justice to say that in the main he conformed to them; that the result was a character which, for evenness of temper, solidity of judgment, honesty of purpose, and prudence in the regulation of all temporal affairs, has rarely been equalled. In 1732 he first published his celebrated Almanac, (commonly known as Poor Richard's Almanac,) under the assumed name of "Richard Saunders." Besides the usual tables and calendar, it contaized a fund of useful information, and "proverbial sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry and frugality." It had great success, and was continued for about twenty-five years. In 1736 he was chosen clerk of the General Assembly, and the next year post-master at Philadelphia. He now interested himself in all public matters, founded the American Philosophical Society and the University of Penn ism. What a contrast between the influence of such a biography as this, and that of a man whose life is only remarkable for success in bloodshed, or even in the more vulgar paths of vice, knavery, or crime ! What a debt of gratitude does the world owe to Franklin !"-Goodrich's Recollections. 1 Franklin and Meredith began the paper with No. 40, September 25, 1729; but in a year the partnership was dissolved, and Franklin had the sole management of it. |