14

Roderick Chisholm,
“Human Freedom and the Self”*

Roderick Chisholm (1916–1999) was a philosophy professor at Brown University

for many years. In this lecture, Chisholm develops a libertarian agent-causal
theory of action, according to which freedom of the sort required for moral
responsibility is accounted for by the existence of agents who possess a causal
power to make choices without being determined to do so. In this view, it is crucial
that the kind of causation involved in an agent’s making a free choice is not
reducible to causation between events but is rather irreducibly an instance of a
substance causing a choice. When such an agent acts freely, she can be inclined
but not causally determined to act by factors such as reasons, desires, and beliefs.

‘A staff moves a stone, and is moved by a hand, which is moved by a man.’

Aristotle, Physics, 256a.

1. The metaphysical problem of human freedom might be summarized in the

following way: Human beings are responsible agents; but this fact appears to
conflict with a deterministic view of human action (the view that every event that
is involved in an act is caused by some other event); and it also appears to conflict
with an indeterministic view of human action (the view that the act, or some event
that is essential to the act, is not caused at all.) To solve the problem, I believe, we
must make somewhat far-reaching assumptions about the self or the agent—about
the man who performs the act.
Perhaps it is needless to remark that, in all likelihood, it is impossible to say
anything significant about this ancient problem that has not been said before.1
2. Let us consider some deed, or misdeed, that may be attributed to a responsible
agent: one man, say, shot another. If the man was responsible for what he did, then,
I would urge, what was to happen at the time of the shooting was something that
was entirely up to the man himself. There was a moment at which it was true, both
that he could have fired the shot and also that he could have refrained from firing
it. And if this is so, then, even though he did fire it, he could have done something
else instead. (He didn’t find himself firing the shot ‘against his will’, as we say.) I
think we can say, more generally, then, that if a man is responsible for a certain
event or a certain state of affairs (in our example, the shooting of another man),
then that event or state of affairs was brought about by some act of his, and the act
was something that was in his power either to perform or not to perform.
But now if the act which he did perform was an act that was also in his power
not to perform, then it could not have been caused or determined by any event that
was not itself within his power either to bring about or not to bring about. For
example, if what we say he did was really something that was brought about by a
second man, one who forced his hand upon the trigger, say, or who, by means of
hypnosis, compelled him to perform the act, then since the act was caused by the
second man it was nothing that was within the power of the first man to prevent.
And precisely the same thing is true, I think, if instead of referring to a second man
who compelled the first one, we speak instead of the desires and beliefs which the
first man happens to have had. For if what we say he did was really something that
was brought about by his own beliefs and desires, if these beliefs and desires in the
particular situation in which he happened to have found himself caused him to do
just what it was that we say he did do, then, since they caused it, he was unable to
do anything other than just what it was that he did do. It makes no difference
whether the cause of the deed was internal or external; if the cause was some state
or event for which the man himself was not responsible, then he was not
responsible for what we have been mistakenly calling his act. If a flood caused the
poorly constructed dam to break, then, given the flood and the constitution of the
dam, the break, we may say, had to occur and nothing could have happened in its
place. And if the flood of desire caused the weak-willed man to give in, then he,
too, had to do just what it was that he did do and he was no more responsible than
was the dam for the results that followed. (It is true, of course, that if the man is
responsible for the beliefs and desires that he happens to have, then he may also be
responsible for the things they lead him to do. But the question now becomes: is he
responsible for the beliefs and desires he happens to have? If he is, then there was
a time when they were within his power either to acquire or not to acquire, and we
are left, therefore, with our general point.)
One may object: But surely if there were such a thing as a man who is really
good, then he would be responsible for things that he would do; yet, he would be
unable to do anything other than just what it is that he does do, since, being good,
he will always choose to do what is best. The answer, I think, is suggested by a
comment that Thomas Reid makes upon an ancient author. The author had said of
Cato, ‘He was good because he could not be otherwise’, and Reid observes: ‘This
saying, if understood literally and strictly, is not the praise of Cato, but of his
constitution, which was no more the work of Cato than his existence’.2 If Cato was
himself responsible for the good things that he did, then Cato, as Reid suggests,
was such that, although he had the power to do what was not good, he exercised
his power only for that which was good.
All of this, if it is true, may give a certain amount of comfort to those who are
tender-minded. But we should remind them that it also conflicts with a familiar
view about the nature of God—with the view that St. Thomas Aquinas expresses
by saying that ‘every movement both of the will and of nature proceeds from God
as the Prime Mover’.3 If the act of the sinner did proceed from God as the Prime
Mover, then God was in the position of the second agent we just discussed—the
man who forced the trigger finger, or the hypnotist—and the sinner, so-called, was
not responsible for what he did. (This may be a bold assertion, in view of the
history of western theology, but I must say that I have never encountered a single
good reason for denying it.)
There is one standard objection to all of this and we should consider it briefly.
3. The objection takes the form of a stratagem—one designed to show that
determinism (and divine providence) is consistent with human responsibility. The
stratagem is one that was used by Jonathan Edwards and by many philosophers in
the present century, most notably, G. E. Moore.4
One proceeds as follows: The expression

(a) He could have done otherwise,

it is argued, means no more nor less than

(b) If he had chosen to do otherwise, then he would have done otherwise.

(In place of ‘chosen’, one might say ‘tried’, ‘set out’, ‘decided’, ‘undertaken’, or
‘willed’.) The truth of statement (b), it is then pointed out, is consistent with
determinism (and with divine providence); for even if all of the man’s actions were
causally determined, the man could still be such that, if he had chosen otherwise,
then he would have done otherwise. What the murderers saw, let us suppose, along
with his beliefs and desires, caused him to fire the shot; yet he was such that if, just
then, he had chosen or decided not to fire the shot, then he would not have fired it.
All of this is certainly possible. Similarly, we could say, of the dam, that the flood
caused it to break and also that the dam was such that, if there had been no flood or
any similar pressure, then the dam would have remained intact. And therefore, the
argument proceeds, if (b) is consistent with determinism, and if (a) and (b) say the
same thing, then (a) is also consistent with determinism; hence we can say that the
agent could have done otherwise even though he was caused to do what he did do;
and therefore determinism and moral responsibility are compatible.
Is the argument sound? The conclusion follows from the premises, but the catch,
I think, lies in the first premiss—the one saying that statement (a) tells us no more
nor less than what statement (b) tells us. For (b), it would seem, could be true
while (a) is false. That is to say, our man might be such that, if he had chosen to do
otherwise, then he would have done otherwise, and yet also such that he could not
have done otherwise. Suppose, after all, that our murderer could not have chosen,
or could not have decided, to do otherwise. Then the fact that he happens also to
be a man such that, if he had chosen not to shoot he would not have shot, would
make no difference. For if he could not have chosen not to shoot, then he could not
have done anything other than just what it was that he did do. In a word: from our
statement (b) above (‘If he had chosen to do otherwise, then he would have done
otherwise’), we cannot make an inference to (a) above (‘He could have done
otherwise’) unless we can also assert:

(c) He could have chosen to do otherwise.

And therefore, if we must reject this third statement (c), then, even though we may
be justified in asserting (b), we are not justified in asserting (a). If the man could
not have chosen to do otherwise, then he would not have done otherwise—even if
he was such that, if he had chosen to do otherwise, then he would have done
otherwise.
The stratagem in question, then, seems to me not to work, and I would say,
therefore, that the ascription of responsibility conflicts with a deterministic view of
action.
4. Perhaps there is less need to argue that the ascription of responsibility also
conflicts with an indeterministic view of action—with the view that the act, or
some event that is essential to the act, is not caused at all. If the act—the firing of
the shot—was not caused at all, if it was fortuitous or capricious, happening so to
speak out of the blue, then, presumably, no one—and nothing—was responsible
for the act. Our conception of action, therefore, should be neither deterministic nor
indeterministic. Is there any other possibility?
5. We must not say that every event involved in the act is caused by some other
event; and we must not say that the act is something that is not caused at all. The
possibility that remains, therefore, is this: We should say that at least one of the
events that are involved in the act is caused, not by any other events, but by
something else instead. And this something else can only be the agent—the man. If
there is an event that is caused, not by other events, but by the man, then there are
some events involved in the act that are not caused by other events. But if the
event in question is caused by the man then it is caused and we are not committed
to saying that there is something involved in the act that is not caused at all.
But this, of course, is a large consequence, implying something of considerable
importance about the nature of the agent or the man.
6. If we consider only inanimate natural objects, we may say that causation, if it
occurs, is a relation between events or states of affairs. The dam’s breaking was an
event that was caused by a set of other events—the dam being weak, the flood
being strong, and so on. But if a man is responsible for a particular deed, then, if
what I have said is true, there is some event, or set of events, that is caused, not by
other events or states of affairs, but by the agent, whatever he may be.
I shall borrow a pair of medieval terms, using them, perhaps, in a way that is
slightly different from that for which they were originally intended. I shall say that
when one event or state of affairs (or set of events or states of affairs) causes some
other event or state of affairs, then we have an instance of transeunt causation.
And I shall say that when an agent, as distinguished from an event, causes an event
or state of affairs, then we have an instance of immanent causation.
The nature of what is intended by the expression ‘immanent causation’ may be
illustrated by this sentence from Aristotle’s Physics: ‘thus, a staff moves a stone,
and is moved by a hand, which is moved by a man.’ (VII, 5, 256a, 6–8) If the man
was responsible, then we have in this illustration a number of instances of
causation—most of them transeunt but at least one of them immanent. What the
staff did to the stone was an instance of transeunt causation, and thus we may
describe it as a relation between events: ‘the motion of the staff caused the motion
of the stone.’ And similarly for what the hand did to the staff: ‘the motion of the
hand caused the motion of the staff’. And, as we know from physiology, there are
still other events which caused the motion of the hand. Hence we need not
introduce the agent at this particular point, as Aristotle does—we need not, though
we may. We may say that the hand was moved by the man, but we may also say
that the motion of the hand was caused by the motion of certain muscles; and we
may say that the motion of the muscles was caused by certain events that took
place within the brain. But some event, and presumably one of those that took
place within the brain, was caused by the agent and not by any other events.
There are, of course, objections to this way of putting the matter; I shall
consider the two that seem to me to be most important.
7. One may object, firstly: ‘If the man does anything, then, as Aristotle’s remark
suggests, what he does is to move the hand. But he certainly does not do anything
to his brain—he may not even know that he has a brain. And if he doesn’t do
anything to the brain, and if the motion of the hand was caused by something that
happened within the brain, then there is no point in appealing to “immanent
causation” as being something incompatible with “transeunt causation”—for the
whole thing, after all, is a matter of causal relations among events or states of
affairs.’
The answer to this objection, I think, is this: It is true that the agent does not do
anything with his brain, or to his brain, in the sense in which he does something
with his hand and does something to the staff. But from this it does not follow that
the agent was not the immanent cause of something that happened within his brain.
We should note a useful distinction that has been proposed by Professor A. I.
Melden—namely, the distinction between ‘making something A happen’ and
‘doing A’.5 If I reach for the staff and pick it up, then one of the things that I do is
just that—reach for the staff and pick it up. And if it is something that I do, then
there is a very clear sense in which it may be said to be something that I know that
I do. If you ask me, ‘Are you doing something, or trying to do something, with the
staff?’ I will have no difficulty in finding an answer. But in doing something with
the staff, I also make various things happen which are not in this same sense things
that I do: I will make various air-particles move; I will free a number of blades of
grass from the pressure that had been upon them; and I may cause a shadow to
move from one place to another. If these are merely things that I make happen, as
distinguished from things that I do, then I may know nothing whatever about them;
I may not have the slightest idea that, in moving the staff, I am bringing about any
such thing as the motion of air-particles, shadows, and blades of grass.
We may say, in answer to the first objection, therefore, that it is true that our
agent does nothing to his brain or with his brain; but from this it does not follow
that the agent is not the immanent cause of some event within his brain; for the
brain event may be something which, like the motion of the air-particles, he made
happen in picking up the staff. The only difference between the two cases is this:
in each case, he made something happen when he picked up the staff; but in the
one case—the motion of the air-particles or of the shadows—it was the motion of
the staff that caused the event to happen; and in the other case—the event that took
place in the brain—it was this event that caused the motion of the staff.
The point is, in a word, that whenever a man does something A, then (by
‘immanent causation’) he makes a certain cerebral event happen, and this cerebral
event (by ‘transeunt causation’) makes A happen.
8. The second objection is more difficult and concerns the very concept of
‘immanent causation’, or causation by an agent, as this concept is to be interpreted
here. The concept is subject to a difficulty which has long been associated with
that of the prime mover unmoved. We have said that there must be some event A,
presumably some cerebral event, which is caused not by any other event, but by
the agent. Since A was not caused by any other event, then the agent himself
cannot be said to have undergone any change or produced any other event (such as
‘an act of will’ or the like) which brought A about. But if, when the agent made A
happen, there was no event involved other than A itself, no event which could be
described as making A happen, what did the agent’s causation consist of? What,
for example, is the difference between A’s just happening, and the agents’ causing
A to happen? We cannot attribute the difference to any event that took place within
the agent. And so far as the event A itself is concerned, there would seem to be no
discernible difference. Thus Aristotle said that the activity of the prime mover is
nothing in addition to the motion that it produces, and Suarez said that ‘the action
is in reality nothing but the effect as it flows from the agent’.6 Must we conclude,
then, that there is no more to the man’s action in causing event A than there is to
the event A’s happening by itself? Here we would seem to have a distinction
without a difference—in which case we have failed to find a via media between a
deterministic and an indeterministic view of action.
The only answer, I think, can be this: that the difference between the man’s
causing A, on the one hand, and the event A just happening, on the other, lies in
the fact that, in the first case but not the second, the event A was caused and was
caused by the man. There was a brain event A; the agent did, in fact, cause the
brain event; but there was nothing that he did to cause it.
This answer may not entirely satisfy and it will be likely to provoke the
following question: ‘But what are you really adding to the assertion that A
happened when you utter the words “The agent caused A to happen”?’ As soon as
we have put the question this way, we see, I think, that whatever difficulty we may
have encountered is one that may be traced to the concept of causation generally—
whether ‘immanent’ or ‘transeunt’. The problem, in other words, is not a problem
that is peculiar to our conception of human action. It is a problem that must be
faced by anyone who makes use of the concept of causation at all; and therefore, I
would say, it is a problem for everyone but the complete indeterminist.
For the problem, as we put it, referring just to ‘immanent causation’, or
causation by an agent, was this; ‘What is the difference between saying, of an
event A, that A just happened and saying that someone caused A to happen?’ The
analogous problem, which holds for ‘transeunt causation’, or causation by an
event, is this: ‘What is the difference between saying, of two events A and B, that
B happened and then A happened, and saying that B’s happening was the cause of
A’s happening?’ And the only answer that one can give is this—that in the one case
the agent was the cause of A’s happening and in the other case event B was the
cause of A’s happening. The nature of transeunt causation is no more clear than is
that of immanent causation.
9. But we may plausibly say—and there is a respectable philosophical tradition to
which we may appeal—that the notion of immanent causation, or causation by an
agent, is in fact more clear than that of transeunt causation, or causation by an
event, and that it is only by understanding our own causal efficacy, as agents, that
we can grasp the concept of cause at all. Hume may be said to have shown that we
do not derive the concept of cause from what we perceive of external things. How,
then, do we derive it? The most plausible suggestion, it seems to me, is that of
Reid, once again: namely that ‘the conception of an efficient cause may very
probably be derived from the experience we have had … of our own power to
produce certain effects’.7 If we did not understand the concept of immanent
causation, we would not understand that of transeunt causation.
10. It may have been noted that I have avoided the term ‘free will’ in all of this.
For even if there is such a faculty as ‘the will’, which somehow sets our acts
agoing, the question of freedom, as John Locke said, is not the question ‘whether
the will be free’; it is the question ‘whether a man be free’.8 For if there is a ‘will’,
as a moving faculty, the question is whether the man is free to will to do these
things that he does will to do—and also whether he is free not to will any of those
things that he does will to do, and, again, whether he is free to will any of those
things that he does not will to do. Jonathan Edwards tried to restrict himself to the
question—’Is the man free to do what it is that he wills?’—but the answer to this
question will not tell us whether the man is responsible for what it is that he does
will to do. Using still another pair of medieval terms, we may say that the
metaphysical problem of freedom does not concern the actus imperatus; it does
not concern the question whether we are free to accomplish whatever it is that we
will or set out to do; it concerns the actus elicitus, the question whether we are free
to will or to set out to do those things that we do will or set out to do.
11. If we are responsible, and if what I have been trying to say is true, then we
have a prerogative which some would attribute only to God: each of us, when we
act, is a prime mover unmoved. In doing what we do, we cause certain events to
happen, and nothing—or no one—causes us to cause those events to happen.
12. If we are thus prime movers unmoved and if our actions, or those for which we
are responsible, are not causally determined, then they are not causally determined
by our desires. And this means that the relation between what we want or what we
desire, on the one hand, and what it is that we do, on the other, is not as simple as
most philosophers would have it.
We may distinguish between what we might call the ‘Hobbist approach’ and
what we might call the ‘Kantian approach’ to this question. The Hobbist approach
is the one that is generally accepted at the present time, but the Kantian approach, I
believe, is the one that is true. According to Hobbism, if we know, of some man,
what his beliefs and desires happen to be and how strong they are, if we know
what he feels certain of, what he desires more than anything else, and if we know
the state of his body and what stimuli he is being subjected to, then we may
deduce, logically, just what it is that he will do—or, more accurately, just what it is
that he will try, set out, or undertake to do. Thus Professor Melden has said that
‘the connection between wanting and doing is logical’.9 But according to the
Kantian approach to our problem, and this is the one that I would take, there is no
such logical connection between wanting and doing, nor need there even be a
causal connection. No set of statements about a man’s desires, beliefs, and
stimulus situation at any time implies any statement telling us what the man will
try, set out, or undertake to do at that time. As Reid put it, though we may ‘reason
from men’s motives to their actions and, in many cases, with great probability’, we
can never do so ‘with absolute certainty’.10
This means that, in one very strict sense of the terms, there can be no science of
man. If we think of science as a matter of finding out what laws happen to hold,
and if the statement of a law tells us what kinds of events are caused by what other
kinds of events, then there will be human actions which we cannot explain by
subsuming them under any laws. We cannot say, ‘It is causally necessary that,
given such and such desires and beliefs, and being subject to such and such
stimuli, the agent will do so and so’. For at times the agent, if he chooses, may rise
above his desires and do something else instead.
But all of this is consistent with saying that, perhaps more often than not, our
desires do exist under conditions such that those conditions necessitate us to act.
And we may also say, with Leibniz, that at other times our desires may ‘incline
without necessitating’.
13. Leibniz’s phrase presents us with our final philosophical problem. What does it
mean to say that a desire, or a motive, might ‘incline without necessitating’? There
is a temptation, certainly, to say that ‘to incline’ means to cause and that ‘not to
necessitate’ means not to cause, but obviously we cannot have it both ways.
Nor will Leibniz’s own solution do. In his letter to Coste, he puts the problem as
follows: ‘When a choice is proposed, for example to go out or not to go out, it is a
question whether, with all the circumstances, internal and external, motives,
perceptions, dispositions, impressions, passions, inclinations taken together, I am
still in a contingent state, or whether I am necessitated to make the choice, for
example, to go out; that is to say, whether this proposition true and determined in
fact, In all these circumstances taken together I shall choose to go out, is
contingent or necessary.’11 Leibniz’s answer might be put as follows: in one sense
of the terms ‘necessary’ and ‘contingent’, the proposition ‘In all these
circumstances taken together I shall choose to go out’, may be said to be
contingent and not necessary, and in another sense of these terms, it may be said to
be necessary and not contingent. But the sense in which the proposition may be
said to be contingent, according to Leibniz, is only this: there is no logical
contradiction involved in denying the proposition. And the sense in which it may
be said to be necessary is this: since ‘nothing ever occurs without cause or
determining reason’, the proposition is causally necessary. ‘Whenever all the
circumstances taken together are such that the balance of deliberation is heavier on
one side than on the other, it is certain and infallible that that is the side that is
going to win out’. But if what we have been saying is true, the proposition ‘In all
these circumstances taken together I shall choose to go out’, may be causally as
well as logically contingent. Hence we must find another interpretation for
Leibniz’s statement that our motives and desires may incline us, or influence us, to
choose without thereby necessitating us to choose.
Let us consider a public official who has some moral scruples but who also, as
one says, could be had. Because of the scruples that he does have, he would never
take any positive steps to receive a bribe—he would not actively solicit one. But
his morality has its limits and he is also such that, if we were to confront him with
a fait accompli or to let him see what is about to happen ($10,000 in cash is being
deposited behind the garage), then he would succumb and be unable to resist. The
general situation is a familiar one and this is one reason that people pray to be
delivered from temptation. (It also justifies Kant’s remark: ‘And how many there
are who may have led a long blameless life, who are only fortunate in having
escaped so many temptations’.12 Our relation to the misdeed that we contemplate
may not be a matter simply of being able to bring it about or not to bring it about.
As St. Anselm noted, there are at least four possibilities. We may illustrate them by
reference to our public official and the event which is his receiving the bribe, in the
following way: (i) he may be able to bring the event about himself (facere esse), in
which case he would actively cause himself to receive the bribe; (ii) he may be
able to refrain from bringing it about himself (non facere esse), in which case he
would not himself do anything to insure that he receive the bribe; (iii) he may be
able to do something to prevent the event from occurring (facere non esse), in
which case he would make sure that the $10,000 was not left behind the garage; or
(iv) he may be unable to do anything to prevent the event from occurring (non
facere non esse), in which case, though he may not solicit the bribe, he would
allow himself to keep it.13 We have envisaged our official as a man who can resist
the temptation to (i) but cannot resist the temptation to (iv): he can refrain from
bringing the event about himself, but he cannot bring himself to do anything to
prevent it.
Let us think of ‘inclination without necessitation’, then, in such terms as these.
First we may contrast the two propositions:

(1) He can resist the temptation to do something in order to make A happen;

(2) He can resist the temptation to allow A to happen (i.e. to do nothing to prevent
A from happening).

We may suppose that the man has some desire to have A happen and thus has a
motive for making A happen. His motive for making A happen, I suggest, is one
that necessitates provided that, because of the motive, (1) is false; he cannot resist
the temptation to do something in order to make A happen. His motive for making
A happen is one that inclines provided that, because of the motive, (2) is false; like
our public official, he cannot bring himself to do anything to prevent A from
happening. And therefore we can say that this motive for making A happen is one
that inclines but does not necessitate provided that, because of the motive, (1) is
true and (2) is false; he can resist the temptation to make it happen but he cannot
resist the temptation to allow it to happen.

*The Lindley Lecture, 1964, pp. 3–15. Copyright © 1964 by the Department of

Philosophy, University of Kansas. Reprinted by permission of the author and of

the Department of Philosophy, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kansas.
1. The general position to be presented here is suggested in the following writings,
among others: Aristotle, Eudemian Ethics, bk. ii ch. 6; Nicomachean Ethics, bk.
iii, ch. 1–5; Thomas Reid, Essays on the Active Powers of Man; C. A. Campbell,
‘Is “Free Will” a Pseudo-Problem?’ Mind, 1951, 441–65; Roderick M. Chisholm,
‘Responsibility and Avoidability’, and Richard Taylor, ‘Determination and the
Theory of Agency,” in Determination and Freedom in the Age of Modern Science,
ed. Sidney Hook (New York, 1958).
2. Thomas Reid, Essays on the Active Powers of Man, essay iv, ch. 4 (Works, 600).
3. Summa Theologica, First Part of the Second Part, qu vi (‘On the Voluntary and
Involuntary’).
4. Jonathan Edwards, Freedom of the Will (New Haven, 1957); G. E. Moore,
Ethics (Home University Library, 1912), ch. 6.
5. A. I. Melden, Free Action (London, 1961), especially ch. 3. Mr. Melden’s own
views, however, are quite the contrary of those that are proposed here.
6. Aristotle, Physics, bk. iii, ch. 3; Suarez, Disputations Metaphysicae, Disputation
18, s. 10.
7. Reid, Works, 524.
8. Essay Concerning Human Understanding, bk. ii. ch. 21.
9. Melden, 166.
10. Reid, Works, 608, 612.
11. ‘Lettre à Mr. Coste de la Nécessité et de la Contingence’ (1707) in Opera
Philosophica, ed. Erdmann, 447 9.
12. In the Preface to the Metaphysical Element of Ethics, in Kant’s Critique of
Practical Reason and Other Works on the Theory of Ethics, ed. T. K. Abbott
(London, 1959), 303.
13. Cf. D. P. Henry, ‘Saint Anselm’s De “Grammatico”’, Philosophical Quarterly,
x (1960), 115–26. St. Anselm noted that (i) and (iii), respectively, may be thought
of as forming the upper left and the upper right corners of a square of opposition,
and (ii) and (iv) the lower left and the lower right.