1. This idea how got. The mind being every day informed, by the
senses, of the alteration of those simple ideas it observes in
things without; and taking notice how one comes to an end, and
ceases to be, and another begins to exist which was not before;
reflecting also on what passes within itself, and observing a constant
change of its ideas, sometimes by the impression of outward objects on
the senses, and sometimes by the determination of its own choice;
and concluding from what it has so constantly observed to have been,
that the like changes will for the future be made in the same
things, by like agents, and by the like ways,- considers in one
thing the possibility of having any of its simple ideas changed, and
in another the possibility of making that change; and so comes by that
idea which we call power. Thus we say, Fire has a power to melt
gold, i.e. to destroy the consistency of its insensible parts, and
consequently its hardness, and make it fluid; and gold has a power
to be melted; that the sun has a power to blanch wax, and wax a
power to be blanched by the sun, whereby the yellowness is
destroyed, and whiteness made to exist in its room. In which, and
the like cases, the power we consider is in reference to the change of
perceivable ideas. For we cannot observe any alteration to be made in,
or operation upon anything, but by the observable change of its
sensible ideas; nor conceive any alteration to be made, but by
conceiving a change of some of its ideas.
  2. Power, active and passive. Power thus considered is two-fold,
viz. as able to make, or able to receive any change. The one may be
called active, and the other passive power. Whether matter be not
wholly destitute of active power, as its author, God, is truly above
all passive power; and whether the intermediate state of created
spirits be not that alone which is capable of both active and
passive power, may be worth consideration. I shall not now enter
into that inquiry, my present business being not to search into the
original of power, but how we come by the idea of it. But since active
powers make so great a part of our complex ideas of natural
substances, (as we shall see hereafter,) and I mention them as such,
according to common apprehension; yet they being not, perhaps, so
truly active powers as our hasty thoughts are apt to represent them, I
judge it not amiss, by this intimation, to direct our minds to the
consideration of God and spirits, for the clearest idea of active
power...
  4. The clearest idea of active power had from spirit. We are
abundantly furnished with the idea of passive power by almost all
sorts of sensible things. In most of them we cannot avoid observing
their sensible qualities, nay, their very substances, to be in a
continual flux. And therefore with reason we look on them as liable
still to the same change. Nor have we of active power (which is the
more proper signification of the word power) fewer instances. Since
whatever change is observed, the mind must collect a power somewhere
able to make that change, as well as a possibility in the thing itself
to receive it. But yet, if we will consider it attentively, bodies, by
our senses, do not afford us so clear and distinct an idea of active
power, as we have from reflection on the operations of our minds.
For all power relating to action, and there being but two sorts of
action whereof we have an idea, viz. thinking and motion, let us
consider whence we have the clearest ideas of the powers which produce
these actions. (1) Of thinking, body affords us no idea at all; it
is only from reflection that we have that. (2) Neither have we from
body any idea of the beginning of motion. A body at rest affords us no
idea of any active power to move; and when it is set in motion itself,
that motion is rather a passion than an action in it. For, when the
ball obeys the motion of a billiard-stick, it is not any action of the
ball, but bare passion. Also when by impulse it sets another ball in
motion that lay in its way, it only communicates the motion it had
received from another, and loses in itself so much as the other
received: which gives us but a very obscure idea of an active power of
moving in body, whilst we observe it only to transfer, but not produce
any motion. For it is but a very obscure idea of power which reaches
not the production of the action, but the continuation of the passion.
For so is motion in a body impelled by another; the continuation of
the alteration made in it from rest to motion being little more an
action, than the continuation of the alteration of its figure by the
same blow is an action. The idea of the beginning of motion we have
only from reflection on what passes in ourselves; where we find by
experience, that, barely by willing it, barely by a thought of the
mind, we can move the parts of our bodies, which were before at
rest. So that it seems to me, we have, from the observation of the
operation of bodies by our senses, but a very imperfect obscure idea
of active power; since they afford us not any idea in themselves of
the power to begin any action, either motion or thought. But if,
from the impulse bodies are observed to make one upon another, any one
thinks he has a clear idea of power, it serves as well to my
purpose; sensation being one of those ways whereby the mind comes by
its ideas: only I thought it worth while to consider here, by the way,
whether the mind doth not receive its idea of active power clearer
from reflection on its own operations, than it doth from any
external sensation....
 
  7. Whence the ideas of liberty and necessity. Every one, I think,
finds in himself a power to begin or forbear, continue or put an end
to several actions in himself. From the consideration of the extent of
this power of the mind over the actions of the man, which everyone
finds in himself, arise the ideas of liberty and necessity.
  8. Liberty, what. All the actions that we have any idea of
reducing themselves, as has been said, to these two, viz. thinking and
motion; so far as a man has power to think or not to think, to move or
not to move, according to the preference or direction of his own mind,
so far is a man free. Wherever any performance or forbearance are
not equally in a man's power; wherever doing or not doing will not
equally follow upon the preference of his mind directing it, there
he is not free, though perhaps the action may be voluntary. So that
the idea of liberty is, the idea of a power in any agent to do or
forbear any particular action, according to the determination or
thought of the mind, whereby either of them is preferred to the other:
where either of them is not in the power of the agent to be produced
by him according to his volition, there he is not at liberty; that
agent is under necessity. So that liberty cannot be where there is
no thought, no volition, no will; but there may be thought, there
may be will, there may be volition, where there is no liberty. A
little consideration of an obvious instance or two may make this
clear.
  9. Supposes understanding and will. A tennis-ball, whether in motion
by the stroke of a racket, or lying still at rest, is not by any one
taken to be a free agent. If we inquire into the reason, we shall find
it is because we conceive not a tennis-ball to think, and consequently
not to have any volition, or preference of motion to rest, or vice
versa; and therefore has not liberty, is not a free agent; but all its
both motion and rest come under our idea of necessary, and are so
called. Likewise a man falling into the water, (a bridge breaking
under him), has not herein liberty, is not a free agent. For though he
has volition, though he prefers his not falling to falling; yet the
forbearance of that motion not being in his power, the stop or
cessation of that motion follows not upon his volition; and
therefore therein he is not free. So a man striking himself, or his
friend, by a convulsive motion of his arm, which it is not in his
power, by volition or the direction of his mind, to stop or forbear,
nobody thinks he has in this liberty; every one pities him, as
acting by necessity and constraint.
  10. Belongs not to volition. Again: suppose a man be carried, whilst
fast asleep, into a room where is a person he longs to see and speak
with; and be there locked fast in, beyond his power to get out: he
awakes, and is glad to find himself in so desirable company, which
he stays willingly in, i.e. prefers his stay to going away. I ask,
is not this stay voluntary? I think nobody will doubt it: and yet,
being locked fast in, it is evident he is not at liberty not to
stay, he has not freedom to be gone. So that liberty is not an idea
belonging to volition, or preferring; but to the person having the
power of doing, or forbearing to do, according as the mind shall
choose or direct. Our idea of liberty reaches as far as that power,
and no farther. For wherever restraint comes to check that power, or
compulsion takes away that indifferency of ability to act, or to
forbear acting, there liberty, and our notion of it, presently ceases.
  11. Voluntary opposed to involuntary, not to necessary. We have
instances enough, and often more than enough, in our own bodies. A
man's heart beats, and the blood circulates, which it is not in his
power by any thought or volition to stop; and therefore in respect
of these motions, where rest depends not on his choice, nor would
follow the determination of his mind, if it should prefer it, he is
not a free agent. Convulsive motions agitate his legs, so that
though he wills it ever so much, he cannot by any power of his mind
stop their motion, (as in that odd disease called chorea sancti viti),
but he is perpetually dancing; he is not at liberty in this action,
but under as much necessity of moving, as a stone that falls, or a
tennis-ball struck with a racket. On the other side, a palsy or the
stocks hinder his legs from obeying the determination of his mind,
if it would thereby transfer his body to another place. In all these
there is want of freedom; though the sitting still, even of a
paralytic, whilst he prefers it to a removal, is truly voluntary.
Voluntary, then, is not opposed to necessary, but to involuntary.
For a man may prefer what he can do, to what he cannot do; the state
he is in, to its absence or change; though necessity has made it in
itself unalterable.
  12. Liberty, what. As it is in the motions of the body, so it is
in the thoughts of our minds: where any one is such, that we have
power to take it up, or lay it by, according to the preference of
the mind, there we are at liberty. A waking man, being under the
necessity of having some ideas constantly in his mind, is not at
liberty to think or not to think; no more than he is at liberty,
whether his body shall touch any other or no: but whether he will
remove his contemplation from one idea to another is many times in his
choice; and then he is, in respect of his ideas, as much at liberty as
he is in respect of bodies he rests on; he can at pleasure remove
himself from one to another. But yet some ideas to the mind, like some
motions to the body, are such as in certain circumstances it cannot
avoid, nor obtain their absence by the utmost effort it can use. A man
on the rack is not at liberty to lay by the idea of pain, and divert
himself with other contemplations: and sometimes a boisterous
passion hurries our thoughts, as a hurricane does our bodies,
without leaving us the liberty of thinking on other things, which we
would rather choose. But as soon as the mind regains the power to stop
or continue, begin or forbear, any of these motions of the body
without, or thoughts within, according as it thinks fit to prefer
either to the other, we then consider the man as a free agent again.
  13. Necessity, what. Wherever thought is wholly wanting, or the
power to act or forbear according to the direction of thought, there
necessity takes place. This, in an agent capable of volition, when the
beginning or continuation of any action is contrary to that preference
of his mind, is called compulsion; when the hindering or stopping
any action is contrary to his volition, it is called restraint. Agents
that have no thought, no volition at all, are in everything
necessary agents.
  14. Liberty belongs not to the will. If this be so, (as I imagine it
is,) I leave it to be considered, whether it may not help to put an
end to that long agitated, and, I think, unreasonable, because
unintelligible question, viz. Whether man's will be free or no? For if
I mistake not, it follows from what I have said, that the question
itself is altogether improper; and it is as insignificant to ask
whether man's will be free, as to ask whether his sleep be swift, or
his virtue square: liberty being as little applicable to the will,
as swiftness of motion is to sleep, or squareness to virtue. Every one
would laugh at the absurdity of such a question as either of these:
because it is obvious that the modifications of motion belong not to
sleep, nor the difference of figure to virtue; and when one well
considers it, I think he will as plainly perceive that liberty,
which is but a power, belongs only to agents, and cannot be an
attribute or modification of the will, which is also but a power.
  15. Volition. Such is the difficulty of explaining and giving
clear notions of internal actions by sounds, that I must here warn
my reader, that ordering, directing, choosing, preferring, &c.,
which I have made use of, will not distinctly enough express volition,
unless he will reflect on what he himself does when he wills. For
example, preferring, which seems perhaps best to express the act of
volition, does it not precisely. For though a man would prefer
flying to walking, yet who can say he ever wills it? Volition, it is
plain, is an act of the mind knowingly exerting that dominion it takes
itself to have over any part of the man, by employing it in, or
withholding it from, any particular action. And what is the will,
but the faculty to do this? And is that faculty anything more in
effect than a power; the power of the mind to determine its thought,
to the producing, continuing, or stopping any action, as far as it
depends on us? For can it be denied that whatever agent has a power to
think on its own actions, and to prefer their doing or omission either
to other, has that faculty called will? Will, then, is nothing but
such a power. Liberty, on the other side, is the power a man has to do
or forbear doing any particular action according as its doing or
forbearance has the actual preference in the mind; which is the same
thing as to say, according as he himself wills it.
  16. Powers, belonging to agents. It is plain then that the will is
nothing but one power or ability, and freedom another power or ability
so that, to ask, whether the will has freedom, is to ask whether one
power has another power, one ability another ability; a question at
first sight too grossly absurd to make a dispute, or need an answer.
For, who is it that sees not that powers belong only to agents, and
are attributes only of substances, and not of powers themselves? So
that this way of putting the question (viz. whether the will be
free) is in effect to ask, whether the will be a substance, an
agent, or at least to suppose it, since freedom can properly be
attributed to nothing else. If freedom can with any propriety of
speech be applied to power, it may be attributed to the power that
is in a man to produce, or forbear producing, motion in parts of his
body, by choice or preference; which is that which denominates him
free, and is freedom itself. But if any one should ask, whether
freedom were free, he would be suspected not to understand well what
he said; and he would be thought to deserve Midas's ears, who, knowing
that rich was a denomination for the possession of riches, should
demand whether riches themselves were rich.
  21....To return, then, to the inquiry
about liberty, I think the question is not proper, whether the will be
free, but whether a man be free. Thus, I think,
  First, That so far as any one can, by the direction or choice of his
mind, preferring the existence of any action to the non-existence of
that action, and vice versa, make it to exist or not exist, so far
he is free. For if I can, by a thought directing the motion of my
finger, make it move when it was at rest, or vice versa, it is
evident, that in respect of that I am free: and if I can, by a like
thought of my mind, preferring one to the other, produce either
words or silence, I am at liberty to speak or hold my peace: and as
far as this power reaches, of acting or not acting, by the
determination of his own thought preferring either, so far is a man
free. For how can we think any one freer, than to have the power to do
what he will? And so far as any one can, by preferring any action to
its not being, or rest to any action, produce that action or rest,
so far can he do what he will. For such a preferring of action to
its absence, is the willing of it: and we can scarce tell how to
imagine any being freer, than to be able to do what he wills. So
that in respect of actions within the reach of such a power in him,
a man seems as free as it is possible for freedom to make him.
...
 25. The will determined by something without it. Since then it is
plain that, in most cases, a man is not at liberty, whether he will or
no, (for, when an action in his power is proposed to his thoughts,
he cannot forbear volition; he must determine one way or the other);
the next thing demanded is,- Whether a man be at liberty to will which
of the two he pleases, motion or rest? This question carries the
absurdity of it so manifestly in itself, that one might thereby
sufficiently be convinced that liberty concerns not the will. For,
to ask whether a man be at liberty to will either motion or rest,
speaking or silence, which he pleases, is to ask whether a man can
will what he wills, or be pleased with what he is pleased with? A
question which, I think, needs no answer: and they who can make a
question of it must suppose one will to determine the acts of another,
and another to determine that, and so on in infinitum.
...
  29. What determines the will. Thirdly, the will being nothing but
a power in the mind to direct the operative faculties of a man to
motion or rest, as far as they depend on such direction; to the
question, What is it determines the will? the true and proper answer
is, The mind. For that which determines the general power of
directing, to this or that particular direction, is nothing but the
agent itself exercising the power it has that particular way. If
this answer satisfies not, it is plain the meaning of the question,
What determines the will? is this,- What moves the mind, in every
particular instance, to determine its general power of directing, to
this or that particular motion or rest? And to this I answer,- The
motive for continuing in the same state or action, is only the present
satisfaction in it; the motive to change is always some uneasiness:
nothing setting us upon the change of state, or upon any new action,
but some uneasiness. This is the great motive that works on the mind
to put it upon action, which for shortness' sake we will call
determining of the will, which I shall more at large explain.
 ...
31. Uneasiness determines the will. To return, then, to the inquiry,
what is it that determines the will in regard to our actions? And
that, upon second thoughts, I am apt to imagine is not, as is
generally supposed, the greater good in view; but some (and for the
most part the most pressing) uneasiness a man is at present under.
This is that which successively determines the will, and sets us
upon those actions we perform. This uneasiness we may call, as it
is, desire; which is an uneasiness of the mind for want of some absent
good. All pain of the body, of what sort soever, and disquiet of the
mind, is uneasiness: and with this is always joined desire, equal to
the pain or uneasiness felt; and is scarce distinguishable from it.
For desire being nothing but an uneasiness in the want of an absent
good, in reference to any pain felt, ease is that absent good; and
till that ease be attained, we may call it desire; nobody feeling pain
that he wishes not to be eased of, with a desire equal to that pain,
and inseparable from it. Besides this desire of ease from pain,
there is another of absent positive good; and here also the desire and
uneasiness are equal. As much as we desire any absent good, so much
are we in pain for it. But here all absent good does not, according to
the greatness it has, or is acknowledged to have, cause pain equal
to that greatness; as all pain causes desire equal to itself:
because the absence of good is not always a pain, as the presence of
pain is. And therefore absent good may be looked on and considered
without desire. But so much as there is anywhere of desire, so much
there is of uneasiness.
 ...
35. The greatest positive good determines not the will, but
present uneasiness alone. It seems so established and settled a maxim,
by the general consent of all mankind, that good, the greater good,
determines the will, that I do not at all wonder that, when I first
published my thoughts on this subject I took it for granted; and I
imagine that, by a great many, I shall be thought more excusable for
having then done so, than that now I have ventured to recede from so
received an opinion. But yet, upon a stricter inquiry, I am forced
to conclude that good, the greater good, though apprehended and
acknowledged to be so, does not determine the will, until our
desire, raised proportionably to it, makes us uneasy in the want of
it. Convince a man never so much, that plenty has its advantages
over poverty; make him see and own, that the handsome conveniences
of life are better than nasty penury: yet, as long as he is content
with the latter, and finds no uneasiness in it, he moves not; his will
never is determined to any action that shall bring him out of it.
Let a man be ever so well persuaded of the advantages of virtue,
that it is as necessary to a man who has any great aims in this world,
or hopes in the next, as food to life: yet, till he hungers or thirsts
after righteousness, till he feels an uneasiness in the want of it,
his will will not be determined to any action in pursuit of this
confessed greater good; but any other uneasiness he feels in himself
shall take place, and carry his will to other actions. On the other
side, let a drunkard see that his health decays, his estate wastes;
discredit and diseases, and the want of all things, even of his
beloved drink, attends him in the course he follows: yet the returns
of uneasiness to miss his companions, the habitual thirst after his
cups at the usual time, drives him to the tavern, though he has in his
view the loss of health and plenty, and perhaps of the joys of another
life: the least of which is no inconsiderable good, but such as he
confesses is far greater than the tickling of his palate with a
glass of wine, or the idle chat of a soaking club. It is not want of
viewing the greater good; for he sees and acknowledges it, and, in the
intervals of his drinking hours, will take resolutions to pursue the
greater good; but when the uneasiness to miss his accustomed delight
returns, the great acknowledged good loses its hold, and the present
uneasiness determines the will to the accustomed action; which thereby
gets stronger footing to prevail against the next occasion, though
he at the same time makes secret promises to himself that he will do
so no more; this is the last time he will act against the attainment
of those greater goods. And thus he is, from time to time, in the
state of that unhappy complainer, Video meliora, proboque, deteriora
sequor: which sentence, allowed for true, and made good by constant
experience, may in this, and possibly no other way, be easily made
intelligible.
 ...
48. The power to suspend the prosecution of any desire makes way for
consideration. There being in us a great many uneasinesses, always
soliciting and ready to determine the will, it is natural, as I have
said, that the greatest and most pressing should determine the will to
the next action; and so it does for the most part, but not always.
For, the mind having in most cases, as is evident in experience, a
power to suspend the execution and satisfaction of any of its desires;
and so all, one after another; is at liberty to consider the objects
of them, examine them on all sides, and weigh them with others. In
this lies the liberty man has; and from the not using of it right
comes all that variety of mistakes, errors, and faults which we run
into in the conduct of our lives, and our endeavours after
happiness; whilst we precipitate the determination of our wills, and
engage too soon, before due examination. To prevent this, we have a
power to suspend the prosecution of this or that desire; as every
one daily may experiment in himself. This seems to me the source of
all liberty; in this seems to consist that which is (as I think
improperly) called free-will. For, during this suspension of any
desire, before the will be determined to action, and the action (which
follows that determination) done, we have opportunity to examine,
view, and judge of the good or evil of what we are going to do; and
when, upon due examination, we have judged, we have done our duty, all
that we can, or ought to do, in pursuit of our happiness; and it is
not a fault, but a perfection of our nature, to desire, will, and
act according to the last result of a fair examination.
 ...
 73. Recapitulation- liberty of indifferency. To conclude this
inquiry into human liberty, which, as it stood before, I myself from
the beginning fearing, and a very judicious friend of mine, since
the publication, suspecting to have some mistake in it, though he
could not particularly show it me, I was put upon a stricter review of
this chapter. Wherein lighting upon a very easy and scarce
observable slip I had made, in putting one seemingly indifferent
word for another that discovery opened to me this present view,
which here, in this second edition, I submit to the learned world, and
which, in short, is this: Liberty is a power to act or not to act,
according as the mind directs. A power to direct the operative
faculties to motion or rest in particular instances is that which we
call the will. That which in the train of our voluntary actions
determines the will to any change of operation is some present
uneasiness, which is, or at least is always accompanied with that of
desire. Desire is always moved by evil, to fly it: because a total
freedom from pain always makes a necessary part of our happiness:
but every good, nay, every greater good, does not constantly move
desire, because it may not make, or may not be taken to make, part
of our happiness. For all that we desire, is only to be happy. But,
though this general desire of happiness operates constantly and
invariably, yet the satisfaction of any particular desire can be
suspended from determining the will to any subservient action, till we
have maturely examined whether the particular apparent good which we
then desire makes a part of our real happiness, or be consistent or
inconsistent with it. The result of our judgment upon that examination
is what ultimately determines the man; who could not be free if his
will were determined by anything but his own desire, guided by his own
judgment. I know that liberty, by some, is placed in an indifferency
of the man; antecedent to the determination of his will. I wish they
who lay so much stress on such an antecedent indifferency, as they
call it, had told us plainly, whether this supposed indifferency be
antecedent to the thought and judgment of the understanding, as well
as to the decree of the will. For it is pretty hard to state it
between them, i.e. immediately after the judgment of the
understanding, and before the determination of the will: because the
determination of the will immediately follows the judgment of the
understanding: and to place liberty in an indifferency, antecedent
to the thought and judgment of the understanding, seems to me to place
liberty in a state of darkness, wherein we can neither see nor say
anything of it; at least it places it in a subject incapable of it, no
agent being allowed capable of liberty, but in consequence of
thought and judgment. I am not nice about phrases, and therefore
consent to say with those that love to speak so, that liberty is
placed in indifferency, but it is an indifferency which remains
after the judgment of the understanding, yea, even after the
determination of the will: and that is an indifferency not of the man,
(for after he has once judged which is best, viz. to do or forbear, he
is no longer indifferent,) but an indifferency of the operative powers
of the man, which remaining equally able to operate or to forbear
operating after as before the decree of the will, are in a state,
which, if one pleases, may be called indifferency; and as far as
this indifferency reaches, a man is free, and no further: v.g. I
have the ability to move my hand, or to let it rest; that operative
power is indifferent to move or not to move my hand. I am then, in
that respect perfectly free; my will determines that operative power
to rest: I am yet free, because the indifferency of that my
operative power to act, or not to act, still remains; the power of
moving my hand is not at all impaired by the determination of my will,
which at present orders rest; the indifferency of that power to act,
or not to act, is just as it was before, as will appear, if the will
puts it to the trial, by ordering the contrary. But if, during the
rest of my hand, it be seized with a sudden palsy, the indifferency of
that operative power is gone, and with it my liberty; I have no longer
freedom in that respect, but am under a necessity of letting my hand
rest. On the other side, if my hand be put into motion by a
convulsion, the indifferency of that operative faculty is taken away
by that motion; and my liberty in that case is lost, for I am under
a necessity of having my hand move. I have added this, to show in what
sort of indifferency liberty seems to me to consist, and not in any
other, real or imaginary.
  74. ...Before I close this chapter, it may perhaps be to our purpose, and
help to give us clearer conceptions about power, if we make our
thoughts take a little more exact survey of action. I have said above,
that we have ideas but of two sorts of action, viz. motion and
thinking. These, in truth, though called and counted actions, yet,
if nearly considered, will not be found to be always perfectly so.
For, if I mistake not, there are instances of both kinds, which,
upon due consideration, will be found rather passions than actions;
and consequently so far the effects barely of passive powers in
those subjects, which yet on their accounts are thought agents. For,
in these instances, the substance that hath motion or thought receives
the impression, whereby it is put into that action, purely from
without, and so acts merely by the capacity it has to receive such
an impression from some external agent; and such power is not properly
an active power, but a mere passive capacity in the subject. Sometimes
the substance or agent puts itself into action by its own power, and
this is properly active power. Whatsoever modification a substance
has, whereby it produces any effect, that is called action: v.g. a
solid substance, by motion, operates on or alters the sensible ideas
of another substance, and therefore this modification of motion we
call action. But yet this motion in that solid substance is, when
rightly considered, but a passion, if it received it only from some
external agent. So that the active power of motion is in no
substance which cannot begin motion in itself or in another
substance when at rest. So likewise in thinking, a power to receive
ideas or thoughts from the operation of any external substance is
called a power of thinking: but this is but a passive power, or
capacity. But to be able to bring into view ideas out of sight at
one's own choice, and to compare which of them one thinks fit, this is
an active power. This reflection may be of some use to preserve us
from mistakes about powers and actions, which grammar, and the
common frame of languages, may be apt to lead us into. Since what is
signified by verbs that grammarians call active, does not always
signify action: v.g. this proposition: I see the moon, or a star, or I
feel the heat of the sun, though expressed by a verb active, does
not signify any action in me, whereby I operate on those substances,
but only the reception of the ideas of light, roundness, and heat;
wherein I am not active, but barely passive, and cannot, in that
position of my eyes or body, avoid receiving them. But when I turn
my eyes another way, or remove my body out of the sunbeams, I am
properly active; because of my own choice, by a power within myself, I
put myself into that motion. Such an action is the product of active
power.