In the following tragedy, Henry IV., he hatches a plot against the new King in just the same way.  In the fourth act we see the rebels united, making preparations for the decisive battle on the morrow, and only waiting impatiently for Northumberland and his division.  At last there arrives a letter from him, saying that he is ill, and that he cannot entrust his force to any one else; but that nevertheless the others should go forward with courage and make a brave fight.  They do so, but, greatly weakened by his absence, they are completely defeated; most of their leaders are captured, and his own son, the valorous Hotspur, falls by the hand of the Prince of Wales.

Again, in the following play, the Second Part of Henry IV., we see him reduced to a state of the fiercest wrath by the death of his son, and maddened by the thirst for revenge.  Accordingly he kindles another rebellion, and the heads of it assemble once more.  In the fourth act, just as they are about to give battle, and are only waiting for him to join them, there comes a letter saying that he cannot collect a proper force, and will therefore seek safety for the present in Scotland; that, nevertheless, he heartily wishes their heroic undertaking the best success.  Thereupon they surrender to the King under a treaty which is not kept, and so perish.

So far is character from being the work of reasoned choice and consideration that in any action the intellect has nothing to do but to present motives to the will.  Thereafter it looks on as a mere spectator and witness at the course which life takes, in accordance with the influence of motive on the given character.  All the incidents of life occur, strictly speaking, with the same necessity as the movement of a clock.  On this point let me refer to my prize-essay on The Freedom of the Will.  I have there explained the true meaning and origin of the persistent illusion that the will is entirely free in every single action; and I have indicated the cause to which it is due.  I will only add here the following teleological explanation of this natural illusion.

Since every single action of a man’s life seems to possess the freedom and originality which in truth only belong to his character as he apprehends it, and the mere apprehension of it by his intellect is what constitutes his career; and since what is original in every single action seems to the empirical consciousness to be always being performed anew, a man thus receives in the course of his career the strongest possible moral lesson.  Then, and not before, he becomes thoroughly conscious of all the bad sides of his character.  Conscience accompanies every act with the comment:  You should act differently, although its true sense is:  You could be other than you are.  As the result of this immutability of character on the one hand, and, on the other, of the strict necessity which attends all the circumstances in which character