d with the question of moral
responsibility, which, as it has been much talked of lately, it is
desirable to meet. With the view of removing the fear of our falling
back into the condition of 'the ape and tiger,' so sedulously excited
by certain writers, I propose to grapple with this question in its
rudest form, and in the most uncompromising way. 'If,' says the
robber, the ravisher, or the murderer, 'I act because I must act, what
right have you to hold me responsible for my deeds?' The reply is,
'The right of society to protect itself against aggressive and
injurious forces, whether they be bond or free, forces of nature or
forces of man.' 'Then,' retorts the criminal, 'you punish me for
what I cannot help.' 'Let it be granted,' says society, 'but had you
known that the treadmill or the gallows was certainly in store for
you, you might have "helped." Let us reason the matter fully and
frankly out. We may entertain no malice or hatred against you; it is
enough that with a view to our own safety and purification we are
determined that you and such as you shall not enjoy liberty of evil
action in our midst. You, who have behaved as a wild beast, we claim
the right to cage or kill as we should a wild beast. The public safety
is a matter of more importance than the very limited chance of your
moral renovation, while the knowledge that you have been hanged by the
neck may furnish to others about to do as you have done the precise
motive which will hold them back. If your act be such as to invoke a
minor penalty, then not only others, but yourself, may profit by the
punishment which we inflict. On the homely principle that "a burnt
child dreads the fire," it will make you think twice before venturing
on a repetition of your crime. Observe, finally, the consistency of
our conduct. You offend, you say, because you cannot help offending,
to the public detriment. We punish, is our reply, because we cannot
help punishing, for the public good. Practically, then, as Bishop
Butler predicted, we act as the world acted when it supposed the evil
deeds of its criminals to be the products of free-will.' [Footnote:
An eminent Church dignitary describes all this, not unkindly, as
'truculent logic.' I think it worthy of his Grace's graver
consideration.]

'What,' I have heard it argued, 'is the use of preaching about duty,
if a man's predetermined position in the moral world renders him
incapable of profiting by advice?' Who